Bring It On

When margarine first burst onto the scene back in the day, it came along with a series of catchy (lame) commercials wherein Mother Nature gets pissed off after being fooled into thinking she was tasting real butter. It struck on the universal truism that Mother Nature has a way of getting even.

Monty Python's Search for the Holy Grail

So at the risk of taunting Father Time, with 2 days left, I stand high atop Mt. Krumpet and bellow: Come on, 2012! Is that all you got?

Today I took several long walks with Panda the Borador.
There were things to do. Places to see. Sticks to chew on.

The leaves danced along the sidewalk in the cold wind. A last celebration of life and perhaps a taunt before mulching out. And so it goes.

‘Holey Ghost landscape’ c. Adrian Gray photography

In celebration of my 100th post, I have worked herein to keep a promise made long ago to "keep it brief.". Hopefully a working balance has been struck. You may now return to your taunting.

Life Cycling

We have a new addition to the family. A 12-week old Borador that we named Panda. Caring for her over the last few days, I have observed a basic life cycle: Bowl. Ball. Bed. Repeat. This occurs about 3 times per day.

It caused me to reflect on a similar life cycle I followed as a graduate student: Apartment. Department. Adviser. Budweiser. In undergraduate work it was similar, only no Adviser. Sure there were other activities, and in fact I knew then what I later forgot over the course of the big life cycle after school, that we have discussed previously. This is the answer (for me) that I alluded to in the last post. It's not the meaning of life, but it's the secret to a happy life.
I had to leave you hanging for a while.

And the answer is...balance. Of all the qualities of life that were shed in the exercise, only balance was nonsingular. It acknowledges the presence of many competing aspects of life, yet requires that none receive too much attention, and none may go ignored.

Now I was going to share a passage from Aldous Huxley's Point Counter Point on the subject, but perhaps fortunately for you I came across This Radiant Life, that provided a great tool illustrating the concept. The native source is apparently the Institute for Integrative Nutrition, but this is how it works: The more satisfied you are in each section of the wheel (life) place a dot toward the center. Connecting the dots provides a revealing pattern, and the closer to a circle - the more balanced!

It's kind of like biorhythms with added complexity and subjectivity! In the figure above, different "life areas" appear between the spokes (not my data by the way). It's hard to say what life areas might be right for you, but I think there are some fairly universal themes in the examples. Now I happen to think it's better to mark satisfaction toward the rim, to represent an expanding radius of mindfulness. You might draw other parallels to the Dharma Wheel.

So what's the point? you keep asking. Taking the time to do an honest assessment of where you are on the wheel, will undoubtedly reveal where focus can be added to increase your happiness. Check it out!
Seek the perfection of the circle, and be radiant.

Matters of Life and Death

Does absence make the heart grow fonder? Let us hope so, for it has been some time since Your Humble Narrator has offered a post. It's not like I've been working on anything important.

According to a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, the answer is "42". Others say it is "to find your gift." The corollary purpose being "to give it away".  Kind of nebulous. Wiki didn't help.  Merriam-Webster offers a definition:

But it goes on and on. I was disappointed that it was only offered as a noun. It's a verb. And it's yours. And if you look carefully, you'll see it's not defined by "others". So don't get trapped in that line of thinking whatever you do.

And now, a story. Back in the day I sat through an exercise where you were given 30 cards, each of which had some aspect of life that you could assign a value to. The cards were labeled with things like family, wealth, spirituality, friendship, integrity, security, etc. - you get the picture. A similar exercise is here, and I invite you to give it a try. Anyway, in the exercise you gradually had to jettison values to save your life, and in the end, you had just one.

As I looked down at my one value, I wasn't very satisfied. It seemed narrow.
I knew right then I needed to change, but I didn't know how.

Wishing you all honest and open minds, courage and clarity as you look for your one thing.

Red Light, Green Light

Green light - no one's watching - move. Red light - they're watching - stay.

Don't let them catch you changing. 

The other day as I rolled toward the wheel, the XM dial was turned to "the Wave". The eerie and somewhat creepy Robert Hazard and the Heroes tune "Escalator of Life" ran between the ears. I wondered...why not "the elevator"?

Are we only going in one direction? Does "up" symbolize our sisyphean existence? Keeping up with the Jeffersons? Or the climb toward a greater reward? And what about "down"? Seems like it always gets a bad rap.

Ugh. That's one song that was better without the video. But I was captive in my car, with a clearly unfocused mind, and there IS that haunting chorus...

There was a similar experience the night before, as the "X Factor" aired in the background of my book. I find the human nature aspect of these shows most interesting, when they start to follow a person during the day and you start to wonder how the audition will play out. Because it seems like you can never tell, and the miserable failures are often as entertaining as the successes, which is yet another disappointing aspect of human nature.

I was distracted by the audition of one Ms. Jennel Garcia, as she readied herself for the big moment. Chanting over and over "Life starts right now", she is getting psyched for her big moment, but for some reason I had the feeling it wasn't going to work out. And then.

She nailed it! The audition was nothing short of awesome, but the whole segment had the same effect on me as last season's Chris Rene audition. And that haunting chorus...

And I thought to myself....
Why don't we ALL chant that EVERY MOMENT of EVERY DAY?
After all, it helps you remember - Life starts right now!

Hey! Are you honking at me?
Oops. Green Light.

Das Walross lebt

Standing in line at the bank.

He notices her. His mind begins to wander...

He left Germany, and set sail for South America

He taught himself Portuguese when his Uncle thought he couldn't

He set sail for New York

He built a home in New Jersey

He sold his sailboat in exchange for freedom. Twice.

He had been living alone long enough. Too long maybe.

He had invented Old Spice.

Authentic Limited Edition Autographed Bottle of Old Spice

The sea called.

And he asked her out.

Change was hard

For he was set in his ways.

But she came with a crew.

At times it was like pulling teeth.

He refused anasthetics.

And he refused gifts that weren't perishable.

And he refused to share his gravy recipe.

The crew realized that inside the hard but sweet shell of the Pop-pop 

Was a soft and chewy center. And he had taken a few licks.

The sea called.

And he loved to sail.

Heinz Eiermann

1924-2012

Watch Your Step

Sometimes you notice right away. Other times you look down, unsure, and gently lift your foot to see whether treasure lurks below. And still other times, you walk away and it is as if something is following you. People start to notice. You suddenly realize you've stepped in it. You know...humanity.

Source: Goro Fujita

So here you are yet again with lifted foot. And on the bottom of your shoe you discover another report from the Modern Library. Entry # 66 from the Board's List is W. Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage.
 

W. Somerset Maugham

I found several noteworthy passages, but will relay only one here, wherein Philip's friend refuses to critique his paintings, and offers this explanation:

"People ask for criticism, but they want only praise. Besides, what's the good of criticism? What does it matter if your picture is good or bad?

The only reason one paints is that one can't help it. It's a function like any of the other functions of the human body, only comparatively few have got it. One paints for oneself: otherwise one would commit suicide. Just think of it, you spend God knows how long trying to get something on canvas, putting the sweat of your soul into it, and what is the result? ....Criticism has nothing to do with the artist. It judges objectively, but the objective doesn't concern the artist.

The artist gets a peculiar sensation from something he sees, and is impelled to express it and, he doesn't know why, he can only express his feeling in colours. It's like a musician; he'll read a line or two, and a certain combination of notes presents itself to him: he doesn't know why such and such words call forth in him such and such notes, they just do. And I'll tell you another reason why criticism is meaningless: a great painter forces the world to see nature as he sees it; but in the next generation another painter sees the world in another way, and then the public judges him not by himself but by his predecessor...We paint from within outwards - if we force our vision on the world it calls us great painters; if we don't it ignores us but we are the same. We don't attach any meaning to greatness or to smallness. What happens to our work afterwards is unimportant; we have got all we could out of it while we were doing it."

So there is the point. It matters not what you do, if it is the right thing for you. Seek the right path. You will find serenity and fulfillment, and therein, greatness.

Indelible Etchings

As discussed previously, growing up in rural Maryland was somewhat of a boring existence. So when the opportunity presented itself in the 5th grade to audition for the "Folksingers" choir it was not to be missed. I was surprised that I made the cut. We learned lots of songs that have remained in my repertoire, kind of like the highly useful Spanish and German dialogues of the 9th to 11th grades. After all, who could forget such phrases as: Donde esta la Biblioteca? or, Zeit wann kannst du um die Ecke sehen?

All of the popular musicals were mined for material. I never could have imagined that 40 years in the future - how much I would value the ability to sing 'Edelweiss' to my Mom on her deathbed.

So occasionally I challenge myself to recall the other tunes, because well, you never know when you might need one. Some of those tunes that bubble back to the top never really seemed like songs. More like poems that were set to music. For instance there was "The New Hungarian Folksong":

Oh how high, green forest spread your highest tree.

How long since its

latest leaf fell silently?

How long since its

latest leaf fell silently?

Now a lone bird seeks its mate so mournfully.

High above the clouds a lark now earthward flies.

Sad her heart forlorn amidst the empty skies.

Sheltered, hidden

under shade of leaf and flower

Still she mourns the mate who left her lonely here

  

OK, if you never heard it I'm not surprised. But it had a haunting tune. Well of course I digress, because after all circumlocution is an essential part of the format, and I refuse to respond to criticism.

But there was another such tune that I learned, and I am reminded of it on this 4th of July. You may not have heard the musical version, but sit back and consider the "lyrics" of Emma Lazarus' "The New Colossus" and see if there isn't a special meaning in them for you.

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Happy Birthday America. Set yourself free.

The 2nd Century

Neither A.D. nor B.C, but rather my 2nd Century. The 2012 Reston Tour de Cure, that is. This year the ride was slightly less epic, although longer at 107.5 miles. I was better prepared, and having survived the previous year's ride, I had far less anxiety about being able to complete it.

Paunch de Leon Reaches The Promised Land
Photo Courtesy Rich Silva

However the ride was far more epic from a fundraising perspective. Through the generosity of the world's greatest donors, almost $2,200 was raised to help fight diabetes. You know who you are.

And now, the abbreviated version of 7.5 hours in the saddle that you have all been waiting for. Let us start by noting the weather was perfect all day, almost chilly as the ride started at 6:15 AM. The theme once again was 1) hydration and 2) supplements. The key to 1) and 2) was quantity and timing, coupled with 3) low-resistance pedaling.

source

Rather than provide a painful narrative of the route, which was redesigned this year, I simply provide the map snapshot and link above for the few interested in interactive GPS, etc. Again, you know who you are.

There were several other themes for the day: Camaraderie. Well designed and marked course. Well managed event. Riding as a team, we hailed the first 3 rest stops leading to Purcellville. The pace was good and the chatter made the first 20+ miles pass unnoticed.

The low point of the event was throwing a chain as we crossed a bridge in a sag curve at ~Mile 50 and the pavement turned to hard oatmeal on the opposite side. Bad time to shift I suppose. I had to dismount rather than try a live re-chaining under load, and the pack dropped me. I knew enough not to chase them with 50+ to go, and resumed my own pace through the rolling Virginia countryside.

Here I will say that during all such events, a time comes when you are all by yourself. It's quiet. You're not exactly sure where you are, or where you are going, but the scenery is nice. It is a microcosm of life and that's why you ride.

Note: Captain America never abandoned his Bike

The high point came when I eventually caught up to a teammate walking uphill with a cramped quad and no water. As another teammate Terry had done for me a month before under similar conditions, I was glad I could share half my water. This helped get him the ~11 miles to the next rest stop, where he regrouped and proceeded to finish in full glory. Not that I had questioned it before, but at that moment carrying the weight of both bottles paid off in full.

So once again, thanks to all the generous donors, volunteers and organizers who put together another great event. Of course there was more cycling glory within the 7.5 hours, but after all this is the abbreviated version.

The Circle of Life

I remember piling into the back of my Mom's '59 Bel Air for the infrequent 20 mile expedition into Rockville, and a visit to the Toys R Us. While waiting we would climb up on the trunk and lay back across the  windshield, looking at the tree canopy above. When it was time to go we would slide down the fins.

I would have saved up my $1.68 and would need another 35 cents for the can of spray paint. If I had another 15 cents, I could buy either glue or a jar of paint - but not both. The rest of the day and most of the next would be completely consumed in the building of the new model, but - if we had behaved - not before a stop at the Golden Arches.

Fast forward to the golfing glory of last week, after which came the perfunctory celebrations. While for me this now amounts to being over caffeinated, for my friends it amounts to many car bombs and the like.

OK, not that many. But enough to start leaving a mark around 11:30, when I started getting my chest punctuated by the universal significance of the Jimi Hendrix quote (from If 6 Was 9):

"I'm the one who has to die when it's time for me to die

So let me live my life like I want to"

Not like I was telling anyone how to live, but the discussions had moved into "deep philosophy". Most of you have reached this point in an evening.

The next day, we returned to the Golden Arches. Bob needed his usual remedy as he fought to break through the thick crust of wakefulness, and I learned the philosophy hour was far from over. As he contemplated the last bite of his Egg McMuffin, he pointed out the remaining bits of egg and canadian bacon to me and said:

"You see Rusty, something couldn't live, and something had to die.

All for me."

Popping the last bite into his mouth, we rose to face the insincerity of the day. But I'm not sure I'll ever look at the Egg McMuffin in the same way.

Fabian & The Magician

This weekend marked the occasion of the annual spring golf outing, a ruse more akin to a scavenger hunt, wherein the participants attempt to find the true meaning of life, explore the depths of their souls and come to terms with the concept of equity in the universe - all within 4 rounds of golf.

Your Humble Narrator is a true hacker. Previous outings had taught me that the more I struggle with this reality, the more dissatisfied I become - like a chinese finger trap. Yet there are moments where the golfing gods cruelly challenge me by suggesting that I can actually play well.

By sinking a pair of 25-foot putts in Round 1, I was clearly in possession of the Golden Putter. And despite losing both the front and the back 9 to my sidekick, Fabian, this would go down as one of the most enjoyable rounds in golf history.

No, not THAT Fabian, but maybe close enough.

Fabian is the golf alter-ego of Bob, who goes by many other names as well, but also NOT the Bob from Twin Peaks. I think.

In Round 2 at the legendary Lighthouse Sound, the short game came to life as never before, leading to a birdie on the front 9. So infrequently do they occur, that YHN couldn't even remember his last one. But several holes later there was yet another birdie. A member of the foursome even tagged me "The Magician".

  
But Day 2 brought Round #3 at the fabled Eagle's Landing, and universal parity was re-established. Despite occasional glimpses of acceptable skill, "The Magician" performed a virtual disappearing act.

Even Fabian struggled on the front 9 - but in testament to his True Grit and mental toughness, he was able to play through. And he was rewarded with a majestic eagle on the par 4 #15, chipping in from 131 yards out - a true moment of golfing glory that will be etched forever in their minds.

(source)

In the final round, YHN was brought to his knees by the gods of golf. Unable to clear my mind of the day before, each stroke seemed to compound a 36-year history of bad golf that I was unable to shirk. At one point the only thing that was clear, was that a set of misused left-handed clubs would appear on Craig's List that evening.

But they won't be. Much to the disappointment of the golf community. I just needed more time than usual to recognize and accept some of my more deep-seated character defects. And sure, I could go take some golf lessons, but that would only help my golf game - and that's not really my problem.

Life Interprets Art

Each night I cross the threshold to announce, "I'm going upstairs to change".
I return downstairs, a new man. But people usually just notice my clothes.

I finally completed the last D.H Lawrence work in The Modern Library. Having found them mostly insufferable, except possibly The Rainbow, I thought I would share one striking excerpt from Women In Love:

Gehry's Richard B. Fisher Center at Bard College

"Sculpture and architecture must go together. The day for irrelevant statues, as for wall pictures, is over. As a matter of fact, sculpture is always part of architectural conception. And since churches are all museum stuff, since industry is our business, now, then let us make our places of industry our art - our factory-area our Parthenon-ecco!"

High Desert House

"...there is not only no need for our places of work to be ugly, but their ugliness ruins the work, in the end. Men will not go on submitting to such intolerable ugliness. In the end it will hurt too much, and they will wither because of it. And this will wither the work as well. They will think the work itself is ugly; the machines, the very act of labor. Whereas machinery and the acts of labor are extremely, maddeningly beautiful. But this will be the end of our civilisation, when people will not work because work has become so intolerable to their senses, it nauseates them too much, they would rather starve. Then we will see the hammer used only for smashing, then we shall see it. - Yet here we are - we have the opportunity to make beautiful factories, beautiful machine-houses - we have an opportunity - "

Richard Meier Church

"Art should interpret industry, as art once interpreted religion."

Crossing The Bar

***

Sunset and evening star

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea

***

I first heard Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "Crossing The Bar"  at my Uncle's funeral. It had been read at my grandfather's funeral, and perhaps at others on my mother's side (the Beaches). Perhaps one day it will be read at mine. I found it poignant that he requested it to be placed as the last poem in all editions of his works. But at the risk of moderate irreverence, I submit that I have crossed the bar already, and today I will tell the tale(s).

The year was 1969. At 10 years old, I had yet to graduate to a "10 speed" but I was in possession of the most bitching 5-speed Stingray on the planet. Or so I thought. And OK, it probably wasn't a real Stingray, but a knock-off brand, but I polished the crap out of it. 

It was almost identical to the bike pictured above. Except I kept the seat down and reveled in the full-height sissy-bar. I was never quite sure why the name 'sissy-bar' wasn't mocked more. Maybe it was.

As my brother and I embarked on our ride to the nearest shopping center (5 miles away) he informed me he wouldn't be stopping until the nearest town (2.2 miles away). Dick.

The ride began with a ridiculously steep and long downhill grade. Since he had the much faster 10-speed, I knew I had to pedal my ass off to keep up, and reaching warp speed was essential.

This was my first encounter with a condition known as resonance. To sum it up, in an undamped system being driven at its resonant frequency, displacement theoretically goes to infinity. This is also known in skateboarding as the wobbles. Your Humble Narrator has a similar story about that but let us save it for another day.

After being jettisoned over the handlebars, I awoke on the simmering hot pavement of a 50-MPH 2-lane rural road with cars bearing down on me. There were no helmets back in the day. Fortunately for me the first car stopped and drove me to our family doctor, a few miles in the other direction. A few stitches and a diagnosis of severe road rash later, I got to spend the rest of the summer and most of the fall in a sling and not a lot of skin on my right arm and fingers. 

Fast forward to last weekend. Now graduated to a 2x9 full-carbon GT Sport (no sissy-bar), I stood up hard on the pedals to build momentum for a hill climb on the W&OD. Up ahead, I see a helmet-less adult male with 2 children on dwarf bikes, stopped and loitering ON THE TRAIL. Now mind, I'm moving at about 10-meters/second at this point.

ME: on your left.
ME: On Your Left.

ME AGAIN: ON YOUR LEFT!!!

And at this point, the unrestrained children decide to leave the trail via an intersecting trail on the left, ACROSS MY PATH.

ME: STOP!

Maybe I needed to utter these phrases in a second language, but what followed needed no translation. I was able to dodge both kids, but COMPLETELY took out the helmet-less adult male. And "across the bars" I went. And let me tell you, when you're clipped into the pedals when this happens, it's a lot like being thrown into the ditch with a lawn chair tied to your feet, doing a somersault

Shaking off the impact at ground level, I became aware of this screaming kid, who had just witnessed the bicycling equivalent of a drive-by shooting. Dad was still pasted to the pavement. But fortunately he was OK - after the stars stopped circling his head. I cleaned him up with my first-aid kit, we shook hands and went our separate ways. No harm, no foul, no lawsuit.

When I got home a few hours later, I was curious. Just how much energy got transferred in that collision? Well, it turns out my pendulous self at 22 MPH is going to deliver about 4,660 Joules of kinetic energy to the recipient. Tasers only deliver about 0.3-1.4 Joules. Defibrillators - about 400 Joules. So yeah, I'm guessing that stung a little.

Translation: Always wear a helmet. 
And especially for me - Slow down. Remain seated until called.  

Rub Some Dirt On It

Clark was tiring of his routine at The Daily Planet. Perhaps it started with his wardrobe, or maybe it was the traffic. Neither of which was as comfortable or expedient as his alternatives. He sized up his opportunities. He didn't really want Perry's job and he could hardly go back to Jimmy's. And then there were the deadlines - because they were daily, and you were only as good as your last contribution to The Planet.

Maybe that was it. Did work provide him with a sense of fulfillment? It wasn't at all clear Clark had ever even written an article.

And the duality of his life only added to its unmanageability. He had created the duality as a solution. Now it seemed only to add to his problems.

Or, maybe it was the Kryptonite. He had to admit, he was powerless over it.

But then his thoughts returned to the people of Metropolis. His peeps had become accustomed to living in a world where truth, justice, and the American way prevailed. Who else would fight for them?

Maybe Atlas would still shrug, but not this day. Clark knew that he still loved his peeps. And with that he suited up, rode the bus to work once again with his spirit lifted.

The Big Blur

Out in the garden...the march of the Grape Hyacinths has begun. They will stand guard over the toadies and the sidewalk for a week or two, and then recede to gather strength for next season.

For spring has come once again to Northern Virginia.

The forsythia, daffodils and Mrs. Incredible's cherry tree have all joined in. Mary the redbud is beginning to show her bright clumps of purple blooms on every branch. We must pay attention, for the transient blooms will help us appreciate the fleeting moments.

Yet seek clarity as we might, we cannot help but see the world through our own personal lenses. Those lenses that started at "I Am Born" and have been finely ground by all that we have lived and learned, to the point that we are convinced we see more clearly than most.

But have you ever noticed how your rear-view lenses seem to work better? How is it that we can look back at our actions, and ask "What the hell was I thinking?" To say nothing of haircuts. What makes you think you aren't living in one of those moments right now?

Clean your lenses and live in the moment. See life as it unfolds before you. For when the time comes to look back over it all, you won't want it to be just a big blur.

Make the Most of It

Ah, the winter doldrums. A bleak time. Change slows to a crawl as the days pass in a somnambulistic trance. I persevere, and seek inspiration - something to help me shed my marcescent husk and burst forth into the glory of spring. Neither Happy Light nor Soma restores enlightenment.

For soon, "the days will be getting longer". We who subject ourselves to Daylight Savings Time will need to adjust our clocks, to "Spring Forward".
Let's hope that the Atomic Scientists don't feel the same way.

For while I was mindlessly wasting my January, those whacky guys decided to "Spring Forward" themselves, setting the Doomsday Clock to 5 minutes before midnight. And if you've been watching the news lately, it wouldn't surprise me if it gets moved again soon.

So much for the days getting longer. But it can help one feel a greater sense of urgency, and it makes it a little easier to "Live Like You Were Dying" as Tim McGraw would say.

And then, I walked out my front door and looked around. There they were - the first tiny daffodils. Now that's more like it. Think I'll watch the flowers instead of the news. They've got a beat I can dance to.

Groundhog Day #23

As an adult, I never really liked running that much. In my mind I remember running effortlessly as a child, at full speed, not getting winded. I kind of hoped I could experience that again. At times I have been able to achieve it, but only for about 50 yards.

In the dream I glide along the path

I feel my stride and begin to soar

Beneath the trees, below the wires

Between the poles, beside the spires

I plot my course in a compound curve

That ends at the stands

The more I plot and adjust my flight

The less I soar, to finish, a fight

To stay aloft I must only See

Neither process or possess, but just to be.

And when I've finished, panting and pale

My son looks up to smile, and endure the tale

For he had finished long before
And some time ago had learned to soar

~ Happy 23rd Birthday, Max ~
(P.S. - Princess Stefani observed it is technically GHD #24)

Editor's Choice

How vivid the memories of the Bedtime Story. Nestled under the covers, my mother would come and read from a marvelous leather-bound and gilded edition of Rudyard Kipling's Just So Stories. Kipling revealed the secrets of how things came to be as they are. Many times a question of survival, often linked to behavior, but always about adaptation. And there were subconscious lessons to be learned in the tales of how the elephant got his trunk, how the leopard got his spots, or how the camel got his hump.

I recently finished Saul Bellow's Henderson, The Rain King. I share this passasge from King Dahfu of the Wariri:

"...he began to talk again about the connection between the body and the brain. He said “It’s all a matter of having a desirable model in the cortex. For the noble self-conception is everything. For as conception is, so the fellow is. Put differently, you are the flesh as your soul is. And in the manner described a fellow really is the artist of himself. Body and face are secretly painted by the spirit of man, working through the cortex and brain ventricles three and four, which direct the flow of vital energy all over. And this explains what I am so excited about, Henderson-Sungo.”

This struck me as an important idea if one finds oneself in a situation where a change is desirable. You do not have to play out the story that may seem written for you. You can be both the editor, and the artist of yourself.

Attempting The Hat Trick

I have found over time that one tends to stop making resolutions as they are infrequently kept, tending to reinforce a sense of failure. Take exercising for example. It's hard to get started. But it's a lot harder after you've stopped. 

The key is not to beat yourself up over setbacks. Take each day new, fresh and untarnished. So while the Hat Trick never worked for Bullwinkle, I too shall attempt it again, and in no particular order:

1) Seek truth

2) Maintain balance

3) Love more

As I laid down last night after resolving the above, it struck me how similar these were to the 3 goals my father had for issuing us into the world:

1) Ride

2) Shoot straight

3) Tell the truth

Times change, but not by much. Or if you prefer - Yard by Yard, life is hard. But Inch by Inch, life's a cinch. So when times are hard, regroup. Take life in small measure. Just don't quit.