I just re-read my last entry for squats and realized that I left both my readers wondering how my squat workout was going. Surely a big concern and despite my pithy words and quips that entry deserves an update.
Hopefully reading that entry gives you a full sense of what I was feeling that day. It's not just working out. It's not just lifting, it's a metaphor for so much more in my life.
Walking the weight out, holding it and walking it back in was the equivalent of saying "I quit." "I'm done." "This is too much." "It's over."
My knee hurt just too much. My spirit was broken.
I've not quit anything...or anything that I can remember, without my wife's help.
Squats are a metaphor or an analogy. Please allow me...
A proper squat requires that you first get under a bar suspended in air, put that bar with all it's weight on your shoulders, push your butt back (key) and descend with that weight. What happens at the bottom is madness. It's a swirling cauldron of pain, despair and fear. Newton is fighting you to keep that bar moving towards the ground. Every single physical science argument tells that weight to go to the ground. You grunt, you dig, your glutes fire and you rise up out of that morass. Every single rep you come out a new person.
Quitting while an option ,was not on the table.
So what are the options?
You can look at the guy quarter repping, you can make fun of the guy using the smith machine, you can look all around you...that doesn't fix the problem.
It doesn't fix the problem! That doesn't clean up your house.
So what do you do?
You swallow your pride, you examine the failure, you look at the reasons and you plan. You start over...
Starting over...
Starting over is a humbling process. Starting over does not mean you failed. Starting over does not invalidate your success.
Doing something wrong over and over...
Doing something wrong over and over...is insanity, especially when it's causing you pain.
You start over and work.
You work and then you happily announce to the world that you got 305 for 10 reps with no knee pain. What did the guy next to you do?
I don't know and I don't care.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Sunday, February 22, 2015
He Ran...
Dear workout friends, go ahead and skip this one.
Workout is going good, squatting, deadlifting, killing it in the gym.
I can't get this thought and phrase out of my head...he ran.
I use a King James Version Bible. Everything in the church is cooler and has been upgraded now, Christianity 2.0 or 3.0 or 10.0. You've got guitars and drums. Everything a yuppie needs but someone singing the crushing hymn, "It is well".
Words are so much better in the King James version, riotous living is translated loosely. It doesn't have the same panache.
I've digressed and mumbled too much.
Today in Sunday School we did a look at the Prodigal Son, the lesson is the Lost Son but could also be called the Two Lost Sons. It's a story of a son who turned away from his father and a story of a son who had also lost his way. I'm not going to reveal the part about the second son because that was the kicker, the last 15 minutes. You have to pay for that part. :) You should've been in Sunday School.
Also, there's a beautiful Rembrandt painting.
Another long digression...
When another Bible version uses a phrase it makes my ears perk up.
In both readings and my version, when the father saw his son coming back, it says he ran. He ran to meet him. The father was looking for him and he ran to meet him. Now, let's go back the story...the son had gone. The son had spent everything. The son had hit rock bottom. His plan was to go back and beg his father to allow him to be a servant. He was going to beg his own father to be a servant.
A couple of neat things happen here...it says the father saw him from far off. That means he was looking. That means he hadn't given up.
The father was looking for him. The father ran to him. He didn't make him walk all the way up the drive and come inside. He went to meet him. This was his son at his lowest point and he ran to meet him.
As a father and a husband, I'm reminded of my failure. I've been called to love my wife as Christ and I've been called as a father to love my daughter.
More than that, I've been called to love others.
How often do I run to meet someone in need?
How often do I run to comfort?
I used to think of myself as the Hulk. A looming, lurking monster, always vigilant in the darkness, ready to visit pain and destruction.
Maybe, I'm Baymax. As a Christian, my primary function is healing and secondary preventing harm.
We'll see. Doogie Howser out.
Workout is going good, squatting, deadlifting, killing it in the gym.
I can't get this thought and phrase out of my head...he ran.
I use a King James Version Bible. Everything in the church is cooler and has been upgraded now, Christianity 2.0 or 3.0 or 10.0. You've got guitars and drums. Everything a yuppie needs but someone singing the crushing hymn, "It is well".
Words are so much better in the King James version, riotous living is translated loosely. It doesn't have the same panache.
I've digressed and mumbled too much.
Today in Sunday School we did a look at the Prodigal Son, the lesson is the Lost Son but could also be called the Two Lost Sons. It's a story of a son who turned away from his father and a story of a son who had also lost his way. I'm not going to reveal the part about the second son because that was the kicker, the last 15 minutes. You have to pay for that part. :) You should've been in Sunday School.
Also, there's a beautiful Rembrandt painting.
Another long digression...
When another Bible version uses a phrase it makes my ears perk up.
In both readings and my version, when the father saw his son coming back, it says he ran. He ran to meet him. The father was looking for him and he ran to meet him. Now, let's go back the story...the son had gone. The son had spent everything. The son had hit rock bottom. His plan was to go back and beg his father to allow him to be a servant. He was going to beg his own father to be a servant.
A couple of neat things happen here...it says the father saw him from far off. That means he was looking. That means he hadn't given up.
The father was looking for him. The father ran to him. He didn't make him walk all the way up the drive and come inside. He went to meet him. This was his son at his lowest point and he ran to meet him.
As a father and a husband, I'm reminded of my failure. I've been called to love my wife as Christ and I've been called as a father to love my daughter.
More than that, I've been called to love others.
How often do I run to meet someone in need?
How often do I run to comfort?
I used to think of myself as the Hulk. A looming, lurking monster, always vigilant in the darkness, ready to visit pain and destruction.
Maybe, I'm Baymax. As a Christian, my primary function is healing and secondary preventing harm.
We'll see. Doogie Howser out.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Trying The Next Post
This one's not going to be great.
Why didn't they hand off the ball?
I have the luxury of sitting at home and second guessing the coach's call.
Win or lose, it makes no difference on my life. Although, I did read a study that shows when the Patriots win the economy takes a down turn. That shouldn't happen due to the Saudi's trying to keep oil prices low in order to bankrupt the shale producers. Lower oil prices mean increased spending in our economy. The economic outlook is good in large part thanks to the Saudis...strange times. The lower oil prices will also hurt the Chinese and you should see the dollar strengthen in relation to the yen.
I digress. What has Bellichick won other than another title. In the wake of "deflategate", "spygate" and other cleverly plumbed titles, it's a kingdom built on...
Is it cheating? Is it good coaching? Can it be both?
Can the desire to win be so great that it leads you down paths you wouldn't and shouldn't tread?
As a society we are so obsessed with "winning" but quick to throw away success. Americans hate a success story. That's a whole idea to itself.
I'm reminded of fishing with my dad and he said "You can build a thousand bridges and they'll call you the Great Bridge Builder, but all you have to do is screw one goat."
This was also a strange game. It was a matter of a team snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
It's not good, and I hate putting something out there this unfinished but I don't have much other than the pressure of people asking me to write.
Let's see if I can get the juices started again.
Why didn't they hand off the ball?
I have the luxury of sitting at home and second guessing the coach's call.
Win or lose, it makes no difference on my life. Although, I did read a study that shows when the Patriots win the economy takes a down turn. That shouldn't happen due to the Saudi's trying to keep oil prices low in order to bankrupt the shale producers. Lower oil prices mean increased spending in our economy. The economic outlook is good in large part thanks to the Saudis...strange times. The lower oil prices will also hurt the Chinese and you should see the dollar strengthen in relation to the yen.
I digress. What has Bellichick won other than another title. In the wake of "deflategate", "spygate" and other cleverly plumbed titles, it's a kingdom built on...
Is it cheating? Is it good coaching? Can it be both?
Can the desire to win be so great that it leads you down paths you wouldn't and shouldn't tread?
As a society we are so obsessed with "winning" but quick to throw away success. Americans hate a success story. That's a whole idea to itself.
I'm reminded of fishing with my dad and he said "You can build a thousand bridges and they'll call you the Great Bridge Builder, but all you have to do is screw one goat."
This was also a strange game. It was a matter of a team snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
It's not good, and I hate putting something out there this unfinished but I don't have much other than the pressure of people asking me to write.
Let's see if I can get the juices started again.
Monday, May 26, 2014
1,321,612
That's the number of soldiers that have died from The Revolutionary War until now. I was surprised by Operation: Provide Comfort. It's just as important.
That was someone's Father, Mother, Brother, Sister, Son, Daughter, Uncle, Aunt, Cousin...you get the point.
We say freedom isn't free. Refer to the number 1 million, 321 three hundred and twenty one thousand, 612 six hundred and twelve.
Say the number out loud.
That's the cost of freedom. Freedom is won through bloodshed. Freedom is won through hard work. Freedom isn't won by sitting in a park tent protesting "Banksters". It isn't something voted for, it isn't something you sit in church and talk about, it isn't book clubs.
It's one of the things I ponder. What makes America great? It's people willing to give their life for that idea.
This is not "Thank a Vet" day, this is not "drink another beer" day, and this is not "eat another hot dog day".
This is the day where you remember that you have the ability to drink another beer and eat another hot dog because somebody was willing to die for your freedom.
America is great because of its people. America is great because of the things that we are taught to hold dear. That is to say: life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Ronnie Ray Gun says the things I want to say..only better.
God Bless the men and women who served and God Bless the families.
Read it...it's worth the read.
In honor of those who lost their lives while serving our country, we would like to share with you President Ronald Reagan’s 1986 Memorial Day remarks at Arlington National Cemetery:
Today is the day we put aside to remember fallen heroes and to pray that no heroes will ever have to die for us again. It’s a day of thanks for the valor of others, a day to remember the splendor of America and those of her children who rest in this cemetery and others. It’s a day to be with the family and remember.
I was thinking this morning that across the country children and their parents will be going to the town parade and the young ones will sit on the sidewalks and wave their flags as the band goes by. Later, maybe, they’ll have a cookout or a day at the beach. And that’s good, because today is a day to be with the family and to remember.
Arlington, this place of so many memories, is a fitting place for some remembering. So many wonderful men and women rest here, men and women who led colorful, vivid, and passionate lives. There are the greats of the military: Bull Halsey and the Admirals Leahy, father and son; Black Jack Pershing; and the GI’s general, Omar Bradley. Great men all, military men. But there are others here known for other things.
Here in Arlington rests a sharecropper’s son who became a hero to a lonely people. Joe Louis came from nowhere, but he knew how to fight. And he galvanized a nation in the days after Pearl Harbor when he put on the uniform of his country and said, “I know we’ll win because we’re on God’s side.” Audie Murphy is here, Audie Murphy of the wild, wild courage. For what else would you call it when a man bounds to the top of a disabled tank, stops an enemy advance, saves lives, and rallies his men, and all of it single-handedly. When he radioed for artillery support and was asked how close the enemy was to his position, he said, “Wait a minute and I’ll let you speak to them.” [Laughter]
Michael Smith is here, and Dick Scobee, both of the space shuttle Challenger. Their courage wasn’t wild, but thoughtful, the mature and measured courage of career professionals who took prudent risks for great reward—in their case, to advance the sum total of knowledge in the world. They’re only the latest to rest here; they join other great explorers with names like Grissom and Chaffee.
Oliver Wendell Holmes is here, the great jurist and fighter for the right. A poet searching for an image of true majesty could not rest until he seized on “Holmes dissenting in a sordid age.” Young Holmes served in the Civil War. He might have been thinking of the crosses and stars of Arlington when he wrote: “At the grave of a hero we end, not with sorrow at the inevitable loss, but with the contagion of his courage; and with a kind of desperate joy we go back to the fight.”
All of these men were different, but they shared this in common: They loved America very much. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for her. And they loved with the sureness of the young. It’s hard not to think of the young in a place like this, for it’s the young who do the fighting and dying when a peace fails and a war begins. Not far from here is the statue of the three servicemen—the three fighting boys of Vietnam. It, too, has majesty and more. Perhaps you’ve seen it—three rough boys walking together, looking ahead with a steady gaze. There’s something wounded about them, a kind of resigned toughness. But there’s an unexpected tenderness, too. At first you don’t really notice, but then you see it. The three are touching each other, as if they’re supporting each other, helping each other on.
I know that many veterans of Vietnam will gather today, some of them perhaps by the wall. And they’re still helping each other on. They were quite a group, the boys of Vietnam—boys who fought a terrible and vicious war without enough support from home, boys who were dodging bullets while we debated the efficacy of the battle. It was often our poor who fought in that war; it was the unpampered boys of the working class who picked up the rifles and went on the march. They learned not to rely on us; they learned to rely on each other. And they were special in another way: They chose to be faithful. They chose to reject the fashionable skepticism of their time. They chose to believe and answer the call of duty. They had the wild, wild courage of youth. They seized certainty from the heart of an ambivalent age; they stood for something.
And we owe them something, those boys. We owe them first a promise: That just as they did not forget their missing comrades, neither, ever, will we. And there are other promises. We must always remember that peace is a fragile thing that needs constant vigilance. We owe them a promise to look at the world with a steady gaze and, perhaps, a resigned toughness, knowing that we have adversaries in the world and challenges and the only way to meet them and maintain the peace is by staying strong.
That, of course, is the lesson of this century, a lesson learned in the Sudetenland, in Poland, in Hungary, in Czechoslovakia, in Cambodia. If we really care about peace, we must stay strong. If we really care about peace, we must, through our strength, demonstrate our unwillingness to accept an ending of the peace. We must be strong enough to create peace where it does not exist and strong enough to protect it where it does. That’s the lesson of this century and, I think, of this day. And that’s all I wanted to say. The rest of my contribution is to leave this great place to its peace, a peace it has earned.
Thank all of you, and God bless you, and have a day full of memories.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
I Promised Two Posts
I promised you two posts.
This one will both confuse my regular readers, make my dad guffaw, and get me kicked out of the "Brotherhood of Iron".
Squats, I'm done with you.
Let me propose first.
I can't get over the knee pain that I'm experiencing when I squat heavy. Granted it gets better every week as I progress in weight, but it still hits right around the 350 mark. It's the right knee and I want so bad for it to be some kind of strange disorder if nothing else so I can save face in front of my friends on the internet.
Which is strange.
This is the part where my dad gets to chuckle and it's in reference to not doing squats...
I was in highschool once. My dad used to come home and he likes running. He says he experiences runners high. I've never experienced anything from running other than I was being punished for something that was probably Mitch Dee's fault.
Lifting, yes, sir. I like lifting a bunch and I know that high.
Dad would run and I remember one time, he came back and he may have complained about his knee hurting.
Being a smartass, I told my dad, you probably have a weak knee.
There was a moment that passed. It looked like a convergence of a storm cloud and a hurricane, as he took my measure. "I don't have weak knees," he said. His voice sounded like Gandalf with his confirming presence, trying to enforce the inflection and make me scared.
Testing the waters I said...
"Dad, you have weak knees."
He looked at me and said in a gravely voice "I don't have weak knees."
I knew I had him. I knew I had him because my father never refuted the same way. It wasn't his way...he refuted based on logic.
I also know that I wounded him and I don't think I fully understood until I had a child...or as I get older.
We are Superman!
I'm glad I can't tell you a story about a cold father and mother, or tell a story about how it all broke down in that moment and my dad who never hugged me was suddenly gregarious with love...
It wouldn't be true. Dad, and mom, were always sharing their love. They loved each other and they loved me. I never doubted.
It was just funny that it took me until my late teens to get my dad's goat.
Thing about goats....If you let someone know where your goat is tied, they'll get it when they want.
Dad said that.
So here's my proposed lifting schedule 5/3/1 style
Bench
5/3/1 protocol
Incline dumbbell 5x10
Pull ups 5x10
Face Pulls 5x10
Deadlift
5/3/1 protocol
Front Squats 5x10
Leg press 5x10
Calf Work
Overhead Press
5/3/1 protocol
Pull ups for weight
Face Pulls 5x10
I will also be doing sets of rowing for HIIT after each workout.
I use lots of dad maxims and my dad's maxims, when dealing with my daughter, but I've invented a new one...feel free to use:
"It wasn't a question, it was a statement."
Now we're getting angry.
This one will both confuse my regular readers, make my dad guffaw, and get me kicked out of the "Brotherhood of Iron".
Squats, I'm done with you.
I can't get over the knee pain that I'm experiencing when I squat heavy. Granted it gets better every week as I progress in weight, but it still hits right around the 350 mark. It's the right knee and I want so bad for it to be some kind of strange disorder if nothing else so I can save face in front of my friends on the internet.
Which is strange.
This is the part where my dad gets to chuckle and it's in reference to not doing squats...
I was in highschool once. My dad used to come home and he likes running. He says he experiences runners high. I've never experienced anything from running other than I was being punished for something that was probably Mitch Dee's fault.
Lifting, yes, sir. I like lifting a bunch and I know that high.
Dad would run and I remember one time, he came back and he may have complained about his knee hurting.
Being a smartass, I told my dad, you probably have a weak knee.
There was a moment that passed. It looked like a convergence of a storm cloud and a hurricane, as he took my measure. "I don't have weak knees," he said. His voice sounded like Gandalf with his confirming presence, trying to enforce the inflection and make me scared.
Testing the waters I said...
"Dad, you have weak knees."
He looked at me and said in a gravely voice "I don't have weak knees."
I knew I had him. I knew I had him because my father never refuted the same way. It wasn't his way...he refuted based on logic.
I also know that I wounded him and I don't think I fully understood until I had a child...or as I get older.
We are Superman!
I'm glad I can't tell you a story about a cold father and mother, or tell a story about how it all broke down in that moment and my dad who never hugged me was suddenly gregarious with love...
It wouldn't be true. Dad, and mom, were always sharing their love. They loved each other and they loved me. I never doubted.
It was just funny that it took me until my late teens to get my dad's goat.
Thing about goats....If you let someone know where your goat is tied, they'll get it when they want.
Dad said that.
So here's my proposed lifting schedule 5/3/1 style
Bench
5/3/1 protocol
Incline dumbbell 5x10
Pull ups 5x10
Face Pulls 5x10
Deadlift
5/3/1 protocol
Front Squats 5x10
Leg press 5x10
Calf Work
Overhead Press
5/3/1 protocol
Pull ups for weight
Face Pulls 5x10
I will also be doing sets of rowing for HIIT after each workout.
I use lots of dad maxims and my dad's maxims, when dealing with my daughter, but I've invented a new one...feel free to use:
"It wasn't a question, it was a statement."
Now we're getting angry.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Where You Be?
It's been a while.
Let's be honest, this blog needs direction. I originally started the blog because of my good friend Hank. Hank is an encouragement, all around good bro and I like his style, so I did what any gorilla does, I aped him. See links to the right for Hank's blog.
Originally I started it as a way to document my workouts, then morphed it into just my thoughts and now we're going into general rambling.
My lack of posting hasn't been because I don't value my 4 readers. It also hasn't been because I'm not thinking. Cogito Ergo Sum...Carpe the bass and all that... It's probably because I haven't been very angry. That part bothers me. We'll get back to that...
I'm a pretty introverted guy, I put on the extrovert mask because it's what society and my job demands. When I originally started this blog, I fashioned myself as a Doogie Howser typing away on his green screen and chronicling the day's issues.
This is the part where I'm trying to decide if you get two entries or just one entry.
Let's talk about something awesome.
Yesterday, I met/got a picture with Brandon Weeden.
For those that aren't aware, Brandon Weeden was the Oklahoma State QB that led us to a one loss season. Notice I didn't say 12 win season. The one loss keeps me up at night. I can remember that loss vividly, it was to Iowa State. I can remember it because I was working in Boston and my wife came to visit that weekend and I grew a bit as a person. We walked the Freedom Trail, we went to Paul Revere's house, it's pronounced "Riveeh" if you're a Bostonian. Also, Worchester is "Wooster", like rooster, but Dorchester is not "Dooster". It's pronounced the way it's spelled...roughly. Add an "h" sound roughly before the first "r" and you've got it right.
I know as the reader you're thinking me silly, but let's be clear. That was a breakout season, despite the one loss we were still being talked about for a National Championship. It was a debate that ESPN pretended to consume. We were #2 in the AP poll prior to the loss and the loss gave the pundits fire to get Alabama, also a one loss team, into the debate. ESPN sponsors the SEC channel...think about that. Without the loss, there is no OSU or Alabama argument.
OSU went on to play in the Fiesta Bowl where they beat Stanford, quarterbacked by Andrew Luck, in overtime.
SEC BITERS GET OUT!
Fast forward...Weeden was drafted in the first round of the 2011 draft by the Cleveland Browns. He had a bad season running behind what appeared to be an offensive line that couldn't stop a high school team. In March the Dallas Cowboys picked up Brandon Weeden. He's now behind Tony Romo who may be out for a bit due to back surgery.
The events of yesterday:
After leaving church we decided on Chipotle. Not before driving to J. Macklin's but as it goes with Baptists, we were late getting out so St. Ann's had beaten us to the restaurant. We went to Chipotle instead.
Sidebar: Overall if eating is your thing Baptist are good at that, but not so good on time management.
We enter Chipotle and being the Tier 1 operator that I am, I always watch the sidewalk and people entering. Guy gets in line behind us and I look, then realize I recognize him and do a triple take. He does the bro nod.
I think I mentioned it to my wife once or 400 times during dinner. She knew the name but she'd never recognize the face.
Here's the part that I find funny personally. I was absolutely star struck. I've never been star struck. I should mention that I've flown to LA a number of times. I flown to Vancouver a lot. Vancouver is called "North Hollywood" or "Hollywood of the North". Yeah, I'm a big deal and I don't mind letting you into the business.
I've sat on planes with lots of celebrities. My favorite was Jessica Simpson, Monday morning, when she was dating Romo she was on the flight back to LA a lot. She was always very kind and courteous towards the flight attendant and her fans. Most of them seemed nice despite the fact that it meant me moving out of the way or some mouth breather leaning over my lap to get a picture.
We sit and enjoy our dinner as only can be done when a toddler has the palette of a...toddler. Roughly $445 later we are all fed. The chicken, beans and rice we bought first, was what she finished...We could've gone to Hard 8 and had good BBQ for that money.
So we leave, get Little Bit loaded in the car. Loading a toddler, who is a good little monkey and always very curious, takes about 8 hours of the day each time. Here's a rough draft of things I can complete while my daughter is getting into her seat:
- Prayer to ask God why he's teaching me patience since I never pray for it
- Prayer to give me strength
- Prayer to thank God for my daughter
- Writing another blog
- Reading War and Peace
- Reading Anna Karenina
- Writing a paper contrasting the writing style of Tolstoy from his seminal work throughout his life until he wrote his final masterpiece.
- Looking up the email for my English 101 professor
- Logging into my email and sending the paper
- Getting back a "B+" but it would've been an "A" had I referenced some additional literary works and cited my sources.
Little Bit loaded, I fire up the Dragon Wagon ( I need to think up a cool name for my truck because it looks like a mobile assault platform)...."lo and behold", Brandon Weeden is walking to the car next to me. I roll down the window and say, "I'm an OSU grad, can I get a picture with you?" He smiles and gives consent. I hop out and we get the picture below. I also asked him if it was cool that I do "the guns" since I didn't want to get him trouble with Roger Goodell. Roger if you're reading this, that was all me and should hold no bearing on Brandon's conduct.
We chatted for about 20 seconds and I'm pretty sure that I offered to knee-cap Romo for him. That's pretty much all I could think of to say since my ai'jin-pal, (The Warded Man by Peter V. Brett) Frankincense told me to say it when I was texting him during lunch.
Don't hold you're breath...you might get another one this week.
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Just Be Outside...Just Be
This has been the hardest blog to write. It was supposed to be my introductory blog...that blog turned into Ishmael. This was supposed to be my follow-up blog, but that turned into something else. This was supposed to be the introduction to "Things I like"....that blog I just failed at doing.
I pulled my second chute with that blog.
What are pet peeves but First World Problems. That was supposed to be a title. I bet that title would've won me blogger of the year award. That reminds me of a funny conversation I had with a good friend today. The Governor's nephew also makes me smile...I need to figure out how to write about that.
I'd rather tell you, the reader, (mom, dad and Uncle Dana) about things I like. I'd rather write about things I like than talk about things I don't like.
The moon moved past Nebraska and it made a lap around those cold Dakota hills.
Angels danced on Jacob's stairs.There was a silence in the bad lands and over Kansas the whole universe was still.
A single hawk burst into flight and in the east the whole horizon is in flames.
I feel the thunder in the sky
I see the sky about to rain
and I hear the prairies calling out your name.
Once had a sky pilot tell me that Rich Mullins was too nature focused. He called it humanistic philosophy.
I guess. Don't mind too much about sky pilots. In general I don't mind about too much. It's probably my Libertarian bent, but I figure you can do your thing and I'll do mine.
I don't mind being a product of two "wannabe" hippies and Jimmy Carter's failed economic policy. I still giggle at the fact that I have an Eagles record...the big black round thing...with my mother's signed name when she changed it. I don't mind being a child of two people who understood freedom and saw Reagan's Bright Shining City.
I don't really mind too much.
What I like:
I recharge my batteries outdoors.
That's a harsh segue, but you're going to get that in this blog...it's my most failed blog and the one I need to get published.
I'm tired of it sitting in draft status staring at me like a failed lover.
Saturday was a beautiful day. Temps mid 70's and a cool south eastern breeze.
We were pig hunting.
Pig are an invasive species in Texas...no limit...there is no quarter given.
Didn't see a single pig.
What we saw:
Two deer came in to feed. Beautiful creatures and very tasty. Looked to be about 2 years old. They weren't totally alert and it must be because the rut has long gone. During deer season they remind me of my wife. Head on a swivel so they don't get suddenly mated.
In Texas we try to spread the rut out over a month versus the 10 days in most places. It helps with deer longevity, keeping food on the table and in general why we're #1.
I forgot my Independence Day post for Texas. I must be getting soft.
Hawks riding thermals and killing rabbits.
Cardinals eating corn off the ground.
Coyotes calling at dusk. Strange call, it sounds very lonely. I wished I had my raspy critter call.
Being outside is different. It's a place where you need to actually be and you don't need to be. Verbs and adverbs. I used to hate doing that in school.
You can sit back and lose yourself and soak it in or you can focus and lose yourself. It's a place where you are the apex predator or just the visitor.
When I'm outside I feel like God (big g) is talking just to me. We come full circle to the humanistic part.
Being outside is good for the soul. The city, the noise, the STUFF takes everything. Nature gives back. Nature lets you take...I've got a freezer full of venison...it doesn't care.
Come be or come and be.
I'm going to go watch "Catching Fire" with Ms. Marvel...hopefully it wets her appetite for real sci-fi which was the segue into things I like the whole time.
I pulled my second chute with that blog.
What are pet peeves but First World Problems. That was supposed to be a title. I bet that title would've won me blogger of the year award. That reminds me of a funny conversation I had with a good friend today. The Governor's nephew also makes me smile...I need to figure out how to write about that.
I'd rather tell you, the reader, (mom, dad and Uncle Dana) about things I like. I'd rather write about things I like than talk about things I don't like.
The moon moved past Nebraska and it made a lap around those cold Dakota hills.
Angels danced on Jacob's stairs.There was a silence in the bad lands and over Kansas the whole universe was still.
A single hawk burst into flight and in the east the whole horizon is in flames.
I feel the thunder in the sky
I see the sky about to rain
and I hear the prairies calling out your name.
Once had a sky pilot tell me that Rich Mullins was too nature focused. He called it humanistic philosophy.
I guess. Don't mind too much about sky pilots. In general I don't mind about too much. It's probably my Libertarian bent, but I figure you can do your thing and I'll do mine.
I don't mind being a product of two "wannabe" hippies and Jimmy Carter's failed economic policy. I still giggle at the fact that I have an Eagles record...the big black round thing...with my mother's signed name when she changed it. I don't mind being a child of two people who understood freedom and saw Reagan's Bright Shining City.
I don't really mind too much.
What I like:
I recharge my batteries outdoors.
That's a harsh segue, but you're going to get that in this blog...it's my most failed blog and the one I need to get published.
I'm tired of it sitting in draft status staring at me like a failed lover.
Saturday was a beautiful day. Temps mid 70's and a cool south eastern breeze.
We were pig hunting.
Pig are an invasive species in Texas...no limit...there is no quarter given.
Didn't see a single pig.
What we saw:
Two deer came in to feed. Beautiful creatures and very tasty. Looked to be about 2 years old. They weren't totally alert and it must be because the rut has long gone. During deer season they remind me of my wife. Head on a swivel so they don't get suddenly mated.
In Texas we try to spread the rut out over a month versus the 10 days in most places. It helps with deer longevity, keeping food on the table and in general why we're #1.
I forgot my Independence Day post for Texas. I must be getting soft.
Hawks riding thermals and killing rabbits.
Cardinals eating corn off the ground.
Coyotes calling at dusk. Strange call, it sounds very lonely. I wished I had my raspy critter call.
Being outside is different. It's a place where you need to actually be and you don't need to be. Verbs and adverbs. I used to hate doing that in school.
You can sit back and lose yourself and soak it in or you can focus and lose yourself. It's a place where you are the apex predator or just the visitor.
When I'm outside I feel like God (big g) is talking just to me. We come full circle to the humanistic part.
Being outside is good for the soul. The city, the noise, the STUFF takes everything. Nature gives back. Nature lets you take...I've got a freezer full of venison...it doesn't care.
Come be or come and be.
I'm going to go watch "Catching Fire" with Ms. Marvel...hopefully it wets her appetite for real sci-fi which was the segue into things I like the whole time.
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