Time Will Tell

Yesterday was a wash. As I am confident you noticed, and I apologize for the interruption, there was no posting, meaning the 2019 streak snapped like a dry twig at 58. The streak (one post every day again this year) is dead, long live the streak. 

Here we go. Taking a page from the ‘Reasons Why it is Good to Break NY Resolutions’ thread (Imperfections, Accomplishments, Reminders and Fresh Starts), we trust that there has been sufficient growth, progress and insight during our one day absence to make the reset of high value. A lofty goal indeed but one we strive daily to achieve.

At oh-dark-thirty, in sub-freezing bleakness, the day offered the kind of hope more tolerated than anticipated. Spin class was good, as always, once the juices warmed to operating temps and the volume cranked. But almost immediately after our high-intensity hour-long set, I started wondering if the flu bug that my neighbor mentioned had made a pit stop here as well as there. My usual medicinal response is to eat 2,500 units of vitamin C and drink enough water to dampen even the most saturated spirits. Worse, and this has been a nasty reoccurring symptom, I experience what I call ‘dropouts’ split-second losses of spatio-temporal awareness. It is like editing video and losing a frame or two to complete black. Once it hit so hard I had to go upstairs and lay down. 

After the calming effects of a nap, I was back at my desk glued to the screen watching Michael Cohen’s testimony to the House Oversight Committee. During the breaks I tried to author a post but all that it was producing read more like Greek than my native language. Still, I forced myself to endure the drama and trauma of the political theatre. I can make a succulent, succinct, one sentence summation of the hearing: The entire Trump family should be locked up. 

I feel better already after delivering that sentence. I wish I was a judge or Robert Mueller. 

After the eight hours of testimony (all along I kept seeing the Corleone instead of Cohen, Michael) it was off to the PowerBarn for the second set of the day. Which, again as is the normal and desired effect, I felt great during and awful after. With my limited medical training all I can offer as a diagnosis is that it must have something to do with blood and oxygen flow. Or lack thereof. 

Once I got home it was back to the analysis of the testimony by the talented crew at MSNBC, Rachael, Ari and Lawrence. Not surprisingly, they all pretty much agreed with my sentencing recommendation. By the time I again headed upstairs, this time for serious sleep, I had a sore throat and even more dizziness. 

In the vividness of my dream, merely a variant of the general theme, I am walking around my old cabin and property, appalled and deeply saddened by the new owners disrespect for land use, the character of the forested location and any attempt whatsoever at harmonious structural feng shui. This is a reoccurring nightmare brilliantly showing my mistakes to me in dreaming REM color. I think it has subliminal connotation, probably sexual. 

Feeling remorse for losing a creative opportunity by the political and medical distractions, I pledged to make up for lost time today. I feel much better on both fronts as a result. 

One of the designs I mocked up to submit to the design illustrator in India for the 2019 Olympic Peninsula Cycling Tour is at right. While I like it, I am placing a $63 bet that he can do better.

And as is the case of the Trump family sentencing, the new logo design and the quality and vitality of my health and fitness…

Time will tell. 

F is for Former

Stay positive and find beauty

I strongly believe (now THERE is a solid open!) that the political jingle suggesting that one day our kids - or their kids - will ask of us: What the heck we were doing while this social malady was running rough-shod over our democracy? You were there? What were you doing? How could you NOT see what was happening? Defend yourself. 

For should we choose not to, we will have already been judged as guilty by the passage of time, what we call a solid and secure place on the wrong side of history. 

I, for one, cannot allow this to happen. To myself, if for no other altruistic and further reaching extensions and obligations, I owe the respect of my own puny, individualistic and alone voice. There is a compelling tug at the gates of my soul screaming, literally shouting, to say something, to do something, to put down whatever distractive device is wasting so much time when it could be better spent on the introduction of more peace into the equation, instead of more violence. I see that awesome responsibility as a part I can play, not matter how small it is, here and now.

I can speak up. I can speak out. I can address the current situation. I can offer a solution. 

Then, and only then, will I be able to return to mundane normality of my self created status quo. 

So let’s give it a go. Has anyone seen my soap box? Is the choir ready? Ten-hut.

They are winning. The powers that be (PTB being a reality and not simply a toss-away acronym), are delighted that we spend so much of or time and energy fighting among ourselves. Left versus right, libs vs neocons, black vs white, gay vs straight, rich vs poor, educated vs illiterate, red vs blue, have vs have-not, Yankees vs Braves, fat vs skinny, rural vs urbane, he vs she. It allows them to buy (as we are distracted and numb), judges, lobbyists, senators, law-makers, cops and media to shield them from the riff-raff of the proletariat. To build bigger walls, keep the minimum wage pitifully low, deny health care and education, regulate women’s bodies as commodities, and ensure the steady flow of obscene profits through the gross manipulation of the military-industrial complex. All of this for starters. We can quickly toss oil, energy, medicine, water, food, housing, transportation and entertainment into this one-way revenue flow mixture. 

You should know by now that I detest the current ‘leadership’. There are very few criteria necessary for inclusion into this exclusive club, the most important among them being one’s ideology, one’s color of skin, one’s gender, and one’s lust for power. 

Current polling data indicates there to be approximately 44% of Americans agreeing with the racist strategies and bigoted tactics of the crime family calling the white house home. One by one they are being weeded out, indicted, held accountable and sentenced. This is a slow process, because they have gamed the system so thoroughly that we need to have evidence thick enough to carry the weight of several smoking guns. Meanwhile our democracy and the very guide-book we live by, the Constitution - NOT the Bible, is being ripped apart like fresh carrion road-kill.

Two things. We cannot fight this battle with the same energy that created it. Pouring kerosene on the fire will not extinguish it. An eye for an eye eventually creates a village of cyclopes. The tools to successfully turn this red tide of hate and fear around are their opposites. 

LOVE AND PRESENCE. 

Put them into play. Love your neighbor. Embrace diversity. Stay positive and fund the fun. Open your doors and feed the hungry. Teach your children. Speak the truth and see the beauty. Say ‘not acceptable’ to all forms of racism. DEMAND WE STOP SENDING OUR KIDS TO FIGHT GEO-POLITICALLY BASED GLOBAL MONEY GRABS. All this is possible if we quit our in-fighting and point the business end of our united spirit towards those currently abusing both the laws of man and God. This is for the greater good and will only be successful when we rise above the oppressions placed upon us by those that profit from our suffering. 

As we assemble and prepare for the upheaval, we do so with peaceful energy and razor-sharp awareness. We clearly see the urgency and need for revolution. There are kids in cages that cannot defend themselves. There are national emergencies concocted out of ego and greed. There is injustice, literally, everywhere we look. We are being had. As they ship boat-loads of cash to off-shore accounts. 

The PTB must quickly become the FPTB. Where F is for former. 

TMI?

Ah, the age of information. And along with it the somewhat (and sometimes) appropriate, digital acronym TMI. The warning of information being too great, over the top or totally unnecessary. Many times certain things are better left unsaid. With this user warning as intro, and the reality that across our computer screens often fly unsolicited memes of varying intentions, this one came in hot yesterday and caught my attention without click bait, full caps or seamy innuendo.  Very straightforward and unassuming it asked if this might be a good time to review our New Years resolutions. After all Friday will be March. Already. Is time flying or am I? 

Why did the author suggest that a review might be in order? Could there be other reasons besides personal humiliation and self flagellation? With the possibility that there could be, I resisted for about ten seconds before clicking on the site claiming ownership of this important information. (Editors note: In the dawn of personal computing, I was one of those who HAD to find the secrets of washboard abs in thirty days.) Here is what I discovered, and be advised that my suspicions were correct and I find this author’s assessment particularly accurate. 

Four reasons why a review of (the current status) of your NYR is a good thing:

1) As we have been discussing, tiss far, far better to seek perfect effort rather than perfection, therefore, failing at the get-go of a resolution is a wonderful and timely reminder of our human imperfections. 

2) It is also a good time (with number one in mind) to review those things that we have accomplished to date. After all if you are reading this you have just set a personal best for consecutive days alive. Way to go!

3) This is an important reminder that our efforts are best continued, practiced and improved by relentless awareness of our state of flow. Do not be discouraged, keep the fire burning. 

4) Everybody needs a re-boot on occasion. This could be (should be) a powerful and timely option in your play-book. What is keeping you from a re-set? 

Summarized, the values and qualities listed above represent wholesome and worthwhile tools for use with our personal reconstruction. This, whether you are pouring the foundation or finishing the countertops. Humility, awareness, gratitude, forgiveness, presence, gumption and dynamic flow will go a long way in making that house of yours a beautiful, loving home. 

In the age of information, this has big value. We are fond of the saying suggesting we should fail often, or as Eleanor Roosevelt once suggested that we do something every day that scares us. Let's take a discerning look at our progress to date, make it brutally honest, and then correct our course. There are charts, maps, memes and videos available to assist you in this due diligence and on-line research. 

As there never is too much information. 

Define Epic

As Bukowski, said (in this amazing poem), “If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start.” Alan Watts chimes in here. Then there’s Buddha’s wisdom: “There are two mistakes one can make along the road to truth: Not going all the way, and not starting.”

If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration - Nikola Testa

It is Sunday Morning. Cold, dark, damp. Something is missing and it could very well be the fact that today I am not doing the one thing, with the one tool, in the one place, that brings me great joy and meaning. I am not riding my bike today with thousands of others in our Island’s annual celebration of cycling and winter. Sure, I will venture out after this effort, try to avoid the endless pelotons of riders of every skill level and riding style and find some interesting spot to set up my cameras and capture video, but it feels today as if I have called in sick for the holiday of bussmen. I should be celebrating with them as I have dozens of times in the past, toasting the trees, embracing the chill-factor and facing an adventurous opportunity head on. 

I did mange to fortuitously capture an incredible segment last year, a long take of a young girl, maybe 20, struggling up one of our notoriously steep hills with a determination that only a cynic in comatose would fail to take motivation and inspiration from. I will try to find more of that today, and as always happens when I chose the lens over the legs and lungs, I will sense the energy, frequency and vibration that we seek as participants in life.

Bringing us to the point of today’s post. The theme of the tome and the gist of the mill grist, meaning. 

What is the meaning of all of this? Why do we do what we do and not do something other? With the largess of this grandiose existential conundrum as backdrop, I will narrow the scope to one pertinent and timely question.

Please, as a personal favor to me (as if you owe me) consider, and then respond to the following question. It is a test with one ask. Just a sampling of abstract, perhaps dyspostiac vision of how you see yourself in this wild ride. Please, using any medium or number of words, define your understanding of the possibilities surrounding the term 'Epic'. 

What does Epic mean to you?

That is it. Good luck. Take as long as you like but be advised that the sooner your response is truthfully framed -  the sooner you can get started accomplishing it. 

High Noon

Psychologically, it makes sense. For the last two or three or ten months I have witnessed a deeper, more intense appreciation of the time I schedule each (and every) day for writing. It occurred to me recently that this might come as a subliminal response to the continual bombardment of negative news we are subjected to in this age of politics as reality TV. When I simply cannot take another scandal, racially motivated hate crime, school shooting, head count of incarcerated kids in dog cages, separated from their parents awaiting a ‘fair’ hearing, or our thoroughly corrupt administration attempt to gaslight the cover-ups, where I used to run, as in run for cover, I now write, as in the right thing. 

I find it helps. To talk about, as a form of civil disobedience, the positive steps I personally take to deal with this relentless fire bombing of our pursuit of happiness. This cloud of despair is now known as physic stress. I find that writing is a constructive way to self medicate, an attempt at therapeutic calming of the nerves and quieting of the rage that screams from within for it to stop. 

Just fucking stop. Indict the motherfucker and all his pathetic, complicit, obsessed with greed, criminal henchmen. 

In the meantime, as Robert Mueller prepares to take his widow maker to the dusty streets of Pennsylvania Avenue, cleverly set to resemble the streets of Hadleville, and Mr M made up to play a Gary Cooper look-alike, I edit the screenplay of my response to the pending gun fight. 

If it is as I believe it to be, our response should be some form of paradox. The allegory of the coin seems a good example, the ones with two sides to them. There is no doubt that ‘things in general’ are fairly decently screwed up. If you are a conservative republican, white, rich, racist, bigot, you are dismissed and should read no further. However, assuming you own a brain, a backbone and a soul, and I do assume you do, here is something to consider as we strategize the myriad ways and means to quit fighting among ourselves, join forces and face the madness that pervades the rich who want to be Kings. The flip side of the coin is the one with hope, faith, compassion, gratitude and forgiveness as logo. 

We must heal ourselves first. I am of no good use to you in the rebellion if I am weak, sick, ignorant, drunk, frightened or doing hard time. Oddly enough, that combination of characteristics is exactly what they fear. If I am ruling ham-fisted over a sheep-like population in order to exploit them for personal gain that LAST thing I want is for them to be strong, healthy, educated, vigilant, sober and free. In that scenario I am a dead duck, not merely a lame one. 

While this is not a dress rehearsal, it is practice. The curtains will rise and the filming starts now. THIS IS IT. It is Showtime. The cast has been assembled, the stages detailed, the lights on and filtered, the scripts distributed, studied and prepared and the stunt men standing by. We are ready for action. The cinematographer sits on the cherry picker ready to roll. AND YOU ARE THE STAR. You stand on the streets awaiting your destiny, alone.

Step into the responsibility of your role. You know what it is. You have prepared, consciously, or in deep REM since the moment you took your first breath. And every day since. It is not only the role we play but the sacred duty of our existence. We must speak out. This for justice, for liberty and freedom and for our very form of constitutional democracy. As Cooper might have phrased it, it is right versus wrong. 

Exercise your bodies, work them hard, stay curious, research everything, and schedule proper time to listen to the magical and miraculous lyrics your soul wants to sing. 

Then sing them. LOUD and CLEAR. Pass them along. Write them down, Blog about them. Call your Representative, Congresswoman or Senator and ask them to please listen to the chorus. Tell your neighbor. Post it to Facebook. Send it off in a letter to yourself. Rewrite it. Review it. Edit it. Color it. Nail it to a telephone pole with the butt of your .45. 

IT IS NOT ABOUT MONEY. IT IS ABOUT LOVE. (Where IT = grace)

Psychologically, this makes sense. It is High Noon. 

More Perfect?

Yesterday we offered a small, but provocative idea colloquially known as food for thought. It sprang from a simple anonymous quote about perfect effort besting the goal of perfection obtainment on the list of ways to improve. For the sake of addressing the specific interests of our core audience please be advised that this is targeted directly toward those wishing to up their game in regards to health and fitness. If you are interested in that general category, and wish to experiment with a bit of testing and training, read on. If not here is a link to one of my favorite bands doing one of my favorite songs. 

The idea that perfection as the goal of our endeavors to become faster, stronger, better, more successful and win more games is as old as sporting competition itself. The superlative is used in several literary works, The Perfect Mile (Running), The Perfect Season (Basketball), The Perfect Game (Baseball) creating the false sense of hope in those among us of less-than-perfect stature. So let’s start with the official definition. Used as an adjective: Having all the required or desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics; as good as it is possible to be, or as a verb: Make (something) completely free from faults or defects, or as close to such a condition as possible. 

You quickly see what we are up against here, (Funk and Wagnalls are undefeated in tournament Scrabble play)  but it is in the ambiguity we find solace and potential salvation, for with the introduction of  ‘as good as it is possible to be’ and ‘as close to such condition as possible’, both definitions remove it from absolute status and slam open the door for interpretation. ‘As good as’ and ‘as close to’ are ‘good enough’? Good enough to be perfect? WHAT? 

In our training, in the attempt to use, say, indoor cycling as the vehicle to push our fitness, reach our goals, stimulate a purer mind/body connection and manage our stress, we all eventually face the issue of being asked to measure and manage the good-better-best question. Leading, naturally, to the necessity of rating our effort, performance, response and overall benefit. This is human, a perfectly (adjective) normal response. We are all time-crunched professionals with enough already on our plates to feed a small militia. Therefore we make, or buy into, assumptions based upon quality. The best bang for your training buck is about as accurate as the claim for washboard abs in thirty days. 

Cutting to the chase means taking an honest look into our motivation. If you simply seek to fill hole in your day with semi-choreographed movements designed to overheard your internal cooling system as penance for your consumption habits, that is fine, but, if you deeply desire continual improvement in the participation of the sport that fills your spirit with meaning, here is the inconvenient truth:

SEEK NOT PERFECTION - BUT PERFECT EFFORT. Compile, arrange and address all the required and desired elements necessary for your achievement of your quest. That means everything. Food as fuel, proper rest and recovery time, professional diagnosis, a deep commitment, non-toxic stress management, and the synergy of your mind, body and spirit. Once all those are assembled the enhancement of your skills can be addressed, and then the details of speed, strength, endurance and balance. And then the qualities of focus, concentration, will, gumption, courage and gratitude. 

You see? That is a tuna boat load of fillets to manage. And you want it to be perfect? 

Let’s refine the quality of our effort. Make better decisions. Limit the questionable, and augment the obvious. Happiness, respect, joy, curiosity and faith play important roles as we move intrepidly towards that light we call ‘the satisfaction that comes from great effort’. If you can get to that cloud you have already figured out how to fly. It is in the efforts, as the road is the goal. Focus on the here and now and the there and then will care for itself. 

THAT is the perfection of practice. What we should all seek. 

Perfect Effort

It is not perfection we should seek - but perfect effort. 

Whew, that’s a major relief. All along I have operated under the understanding that positive results gained from productivity were the things that really mattered. Further, I think everyone at one point or another brokers a deal with themselves to consolidate the scope of this paradoxically sharp logical razor. Examples can be found literally in every field of endeavor. With a few that I have personal experience with leading this ignoble charge.

I realize deeply and sincerely that despite ‘my best effort’ I still manage to win my age group and stand on the podium with bowed head to allow the event director to place a cheap mass-produced symbol of victory around my neck. Usually this ritual has a background sound-track that includes scattered distracted applause and babies crying. Since I have acting experience (sometimes even listed on my resume) the challenge to remain humble and appreciative when feeling like a failure and a fraud tests my skills in this supporting role. Begging the question: Is it better therefore to give ‘perfect effort’ and finish off the podium, buried in middle-of-the-pack anonymity, or to gratefully accept the adulation of what few remaining peers that show up when they could have been golfing or gambling, or to just win, say thank you and go find a beer? 

Can it come down to our varying definitions of ‘best effort’, winning, victory, and perhaps most important - the fun factor that fills our souls with meaning and value? These are tough to gauge and ever tougher to properly evaluate and accept. 

Another example (the last one today - but you should consider some of your own), is the classic DNA hand me down scenario. An incredibly gifted athlete, with X’s and Y’s from prized stock, has all the tools, he can (using baseball terminology) hit, hit for power, run, throw and field. Collectively these are known as the five tools, and professional scouts make decent livings rating them in, mostly, high-school kids. I have personally seen the skill difference, obvious when understood, in the progeny from parents whose raw talents proceeded them. DNA is a great place to start. BUT. Sometimes those granted this generous gifting lack the one element that binds them together to allow success (assuming they choose sports and not medicine or law), that element being the bright burning fire of desire. They simply do not have the mental, emotional or fearless capacity to endure the enviable failures and setbacks that occur across this terse testing ground. They give up, quit, do drugs. 

I will readily admit that the pressure to succeed can be greater on these poor kids than that on the shoulders of the scrappy, not quite so gifted bulldog of an athlete, but our query du jour remains: As coach, manager, teammate or classmate, which would you prefer to assign the watching of your back? 

I find this a fascinating subject. It is applicable every day as we run, ride, stumble and crawl towards whatever our hearts, minds, souls (or employers) have established as ‘the goal.’ If we are wise enough, aware enough, honest enough and strong enough to see that it is our choices at every turn that shape the bigger picture of our eventual results, we can put this to practice. IT IS, BY FAR, WAY, WAY BETTER TO PRACTICE PERFECTLY THAN TO SEEK PERFECTION.

Practice that and I predict a cleaner, more appropriate and productive personal definition of perfection. With this I also predict that you will find that presence, your ability to stay in the present moment, is far more satisfying that productivity. Begging one final question today:

Can our effort be, truly, perfect? Or, in more utilitarian terms, how can we improve our levels of effort? That would be more pragmatic. 

Tomorrow I will offer a few suggestions. You should too. 

Just the Facts (F101)

JUST THE FACTS

WHAT:         2019 Fun 101 Olympic Peninsula Cycling Tour.
WHEN:        (New date) June 3 - 7.
WHERE:     Day one: Bainbridge Island to Port Angeles, WA, 79 miles
                    Day two: Port Angels to Forks, WA, 60 miles
                    Day three: Forks to Lake Quinault, WA, 68 miles
                    Day four: L Quinault to Shelton, WA, 67 miles
                    Day five: Shelton to B.I., WA, 91 miles. 365 total miles.
HOW:          By bike, supported. Pace chosen by individual preference. E-Bikes allowed. 
NIGHTS:     This is a motel trip, four nights, dbl occupancy.
SUPPORT:  SAG provided, food, water, parts, light repairs, detailed route maps, and road assistance.
ROUTE:      80% of route is on 101. 
UPGRADE: Participants are free to upgrade motels where applicable at their own expense. 
FOOD:         Light but nourishing breakfast and lunch is provided. 
COST:          Base package is $399 per rider. Deposits of $101per participant are due May 31. All                             amenities listed above are included in base pkg. 
CONTACT: KevinLynch 206.379.3608. 2019epicride@gmail.com. 2019 Epic Ride.blogspot.com

We are continually monitoring course conditions, planned roadwork and potential course corrections. This is a dynamic experience, subject to last minute change as conditions or opportunities dictate. We will be shooting video for an upcoming documentary, your agreement and signature at time of deposit holds us harmless for any and all non-planned incidents and grants permission to use captured media for video purposes. This is known informally as our standard disclaimer. Our mission statement is to jam as much fun and cycling adventure into five days as humanly possible. Should you decide to join us, your responsibility is to simply bring your best attitude along with you. Cheers!

We do all the cartography work!

CLOSING: Please contact me if you have any questions. Hope to see you in June!

Here is the North Olympic Discovery Trail site.
Lots of great info.

First Five Amendments

The first five amendments:

1) To the local folks for whom I have the honor of house and dog sitting, notice is hereby formally given that I will be OUT OF THE OFFICE and unavailable for duty from August 3 thru August 26, 2019. Those being the dates off the 2019 Epic Ride. 

2) Same for June 3 thru June 7, the dates of the 2019 Fun 101 Cycling Tour around the Olympic Peninsula. 

3) I am also trying to book cheap fare to Italy sometime in July, please stay tuned on that. 

4) For the first time ever, we will allow E-bikes on both rides. If you have been reluctant to ride either the Fun 101’s 365 miles (in five days) or the Epic Ride’s 1,600 (in 21 days) BE RELUCTANT NO MORE! I will do a crash course (sorry) on E-bike troubleshooting and upgrade our SAG to include parts should we have a sign-up rush as a result of this groundbreaking announcement and incredible opportunity. 

5) If you book early, flights out of LA to Sea-Tac can be yours for as little as $97. We will be hosting a post ride celebratory gala BBQ at my sisters house in Playa del Rey, CA the night of the 24th, a Saturday, making a Sunday afternoon flight a real deal. Bike packing and transportation to LAX all parts of your gold level package.

There is a Difference

I can tell you this: There is a difference.

It is a not-so-subtle deep and electrifying sense of flow (there is THAT word again). I am in smack dead-center of artistic flow, the dynamic responsible for creative expression, in the language of hope. I have been in its soothing glow for several days now and I wish very much to make it an extended stay. Having found from experience that projects are easy to start but hard to finish, I need to see this one through to completion. Not so much because there is a deadline or a bonus-type reward involved, but because it has meaning for me. This is personal. That being the difference. 

I am working on the design for the jerseys for both the 2019 Epic Ride and the Fun 101 Olympic Peninsula Cycling Tour. Having already subbed out the former to a graphic designer in Sri Lanka and accepting his work at about a 80% approval rating, I decided that the Fun 101 design needed more direct input from the one person that truly understands the entirety of its nuance. 

That person being me. 

I ran through the usual steps of finding the elements I wanted to incorporate into the new media, considered the differences between a logo, a graphic design, an illustration and a picture, settling at last on the image-like event identifier style known as info-branding. A cool artistic descriptor of the event applicable over several promotional platforms from flyers to the most important, placement on the event memorabilia in garment form. The jerseys. 

They are the one high-ticket item that has the potential to be a profit center unto themselves and return the financial investment. It would be difficult for me to adequately explain to you what happens when I see someone wear one of the four different commemorative jerseys I have produced. There is a difference between a cool bike jersey and one whose genesis you played a part of. Trust me on this. I am sure it is like watching one of your kids on stage. 

Remembering that my college major was Advertising Art (so many years ago), I decided to take charge of the project from the start. I know what I want. No one among the hundreds of artists whose work I viewed had the combination of talent at the price necessary for this job. Cheap and cheesy or decent and pricey. One night late last week I decided to try my hand at a thumbnail sketch, something to send to whatever designer, in whatever third world country, for whatever amount, that my designer could work from. One thing led to another with the conclusion that if I spent just a little more time with the sketch, I might not even need the aforementioned designer, or at least could provide he or she with a legitimate and accurate rendition. (And please be advised that I do not use the term ‘third world country’ in a disparaging way.)

I did a rough draft last night and plan on heading out after spin class this morning to purchase a few more tools of the trade; ink, pens, colored sharpies, a protractor, french curve, drawing paper, all in order to push the quality of the project, and of course, to satisfy my creative soul. 

All of this has introduced an interesting change in my demeanor. I am looking at everything in a different light, seeing brighter colors, looking for connectivity and content, asking more questions about the limits of my curiosity. As a result I feel the power of the creative imperative. I am hooked like a cutthroat trout, reeled in yet somehow knowing that this catch will end in release. It is sport. There is challenge, effort required and a precise discipline necessary for advancement to the next level. Whatever that might be. 

I have more energy, more alertness, more focus, a more colorful vibration and much more presence. I am aware of all this moving through my consciousness like the white water of class 5 rapids. I am in the flow. I have a general idea of where I would like to end, but i trust the dynamic energy of the flow state to land me wherever destined. All I have to do is to do. Do with everything I have. Give back in artistic form the elements of creation I feel so brightly commanding me to act as conduit. I trust that wherever these powerful messages are coming from, that greater spirit, higher good, cosmic energy, or simply my consciousness manifesting as translator, I will have the wisdom and courage to follow. To listen and learn. To try my best to see the message and hear the call. To let it go. I sense meaning in this vibration. That is so important. 

And therein lies the difference. 

Keep Running

We should always be running. Running towards something, a goal, a finish line or in the general direction of that Light at the end of whatever current tunnel we happen to be in. Because, after all, we have put ourselves in this tunnel as a test. One in which we can learn, grow, evolve, and rise from. Or not. We can just as easily stay right where we are and call it a day. We can choose to take the easy route, accept the status quo, and decide that this is good enough. But then…

Running ceases. We are at full stop. Nothing moves. Senses dull and the mind wanders in search of a solution to the anxious, boring routine of being comfortable with the convenience we have selected instead of adventure and evolution. I am not passing judgment of any kind, merely stating and suggesting to you (as a public service) that the latter place I find about as interesting as modern pop music. A genera I do not particularly care for (although a place one could consider necessary in order to say, ‘been there’, once one has crawled through). If this is an experience you are currently in, take the advice of the countless billions that have gone before you and, as the song suggests, ‘if you’re going through hell - keep on going.’ 

The moment we recognize the value in this transformation, the meaning of the experience, we move a notch up, one rung higher on the continual improvement path. This is crucial. We, like gerbils on a spinning wheel, are forever in a state of dynamic flux, moving ever onwards towards our goal, chasing the light that shines for us so brightly at (what appears to be) the end of the tunnel. Be cautioned, this is an illusion. No matter how far away, impossibly distant, the light appears to be, it is accessible, close as your hand, if only we ambulate one small step in its direction. One pedal rotation, one stride, one stroke, one pull of the oars or one simple meaningful breath. 

That is our motivation, that is our goal.  AND IF YOU MOVE YOUR SOUL TOWARDS ITS MAGNETIC COORDINATES - YOU ARE THERE. Because we know that the road IS the goal, not the destination. You will have arrived as soon as you think you have already got there. You are already here. Know this now. 

All we can do is manage our response to the here and our effort in the now. THAT IS IT. If we are moving towards it - that is it. If we aren’t  - that is not it.

It is our choice. You can put it off till tomorrow, wait until the kids have all graduated from college, when you are shooting scratch golf or lose that twenty pounds. You can make a deal with yourself, agreeing to the time being right upon your retirement, or as soon as your doctor recommends it. Additionally, as we noted earlier, you can decide that optimal health and good fitness aren’t your responsibility and assign it to your government, or medical technology, trusting that one day they will provide all this in pill form. Humankind as been waiting for this to happen since the literal dawning of time. So don’t be fooled. 

My dear friends, let’s not wait around for that fine day to come. Let us take charge of the one thing that we truly can control: our thoughts. Think positive, think powerful, think adventurous and think bold. 

And keep running. 

How Could I Not?

I culled a wonderful line from today’s PowerBarn Movie ride, an event we do every Sunday in winter when, by all civil standards, it is too cold to ride outside. Today we watched a couple of masters ply their trades. Denzel Washington needs no intro put perhaps since Antoine Fuqua probably isn’t a household name among cyclists, I should do a quick introduction. He has magnificently directed many of my personal faves including Training Day, Tears of the Sun, Brooklyn’s Finest and today's flick Equalizer 2. I highly recommend that, if you haven’t already, check out some of his work and appreciate his talent, especially as it comes to staging a scene. 

A minor character, who has a big, but somewhat overly sentimental payoff, is a Holocaust survivor, of maybe close to 100 years of age. Art in general plays an important metaphysical role in the film and he once painted a portrait of his sister before they were captured and separated into concentration camps in 1940. Denzel is moonlighting as a Lyft driver and our hero painter/survivor is one of his regular customers. They meet in a park near in Boston and one visit the gentlemen says to Mac, Denzel’s character, that he has just set a personal best for the day. Denzel in his warm way asks oh yeah, in what? 

Today, he responds, much like Rodney Dangerfield delivering the punch line, I set a personal best for consecutive days alive. 

Big grins. 

So I am stealing the line, unabashed and fully prepared to face whatever plagiarism penalties are applicable, for my class tomorrow. 

How could I not? 

Perfect

Locker rooms can be interesting. Men’s away. I have no idea what happens across the hall in the Ladies equivalent, but in our space, things can get, sometimes, odd. The chief factor of course being nakedness, but after that there exists another several layers of weird. The tennis players have their own rituals as do the lifters, the rowers, the pilates core and of course, perhaps the weirdest of all, the  cyclists. As a group the yoga folks are generally calm and quiet perhaps still in a lingering shavasna glow. There are other classifications but those represent our club’s main groupings where the young mix with the old, the strong with the meek and the big with the bigger. 

Some of the guys wear shower shoes and some don’t. Some take forever to change, some set PBs with every workout. Some shave, some floss, some brush every hair and most of their teeth. The last few days our smallish lockers have barely been of sufficient cubic footage to hold the many layers of clothing worn to combat the cold rain and snow. 

I try personally to engage with whomever is closest, the most similarly aligned or one of our cycling mates. Being a club employee, an instructor, I see it as my responsibility, at the very least, to make everybody feel at home and part of our club. Normally I am in a state of post-session endorphin flow so being animatedly extroverted is picking low hanging fruit. Bottom line, amid all this social chaos and mixture of personality types, I just try to be normal. 

Whatever that is.

Today, after a particularly grueling set of progressive hill climbs each ending with a sprint, I was feeling like a vegge burger left too long on the grill. Over-cooked and done-for. Perhaps this was a result of the set or, as I mentioned in class, due somewhat to the interruption of our cherished consistency ideal by the freak weather the week delivered to our door. Or it could be that I was again struggling with AFib. Or, most likely, some combination of all of the above. 

After the set I am out of the shower, and extra log and super hot one, toweling off when one of the tennis guys, a superb player and a rock music fan, opens his locker a few feet from mine. I casually ask how he is doing and he says without hesitation ‘perfect’. He then has the social skill to ask the same question of me. I let loose a long, deep and sincere belly laugh and tell him that, while OK, I am a long way from perfect. 

From rows away I can hear laughter, some snickers subdued and some vociferous guffaws. The subdued, in my instant analysis, from the guys who consider me a cocky, arrogant, SOB drill sergeant, and the vociferous from the other half that sense a Zen moment of honest introspection. 

He is no where near perfect!!! HA, can’t believe I just heard that. HA!

And I stumble into the story about that very topic being the theme of our workout today. That no one is perfect. That our entire focus should be on a dedicated search for continual improvement and not something as nebulous as the abstract idea of perfection. 

In my awkward attempt at catharsis through completion, I am silently reminded of a saying that suggests that although I am not as good as I would like to be, as fast as I want to be, or as strong as I can be, I am happy that I am better today than I was yesterday. 

I can’t quite put a condensed version into the proper words, so I smile and appreciate the moment, thinking to myself that the circumstance, amid this chaos, the special serendipity, is…

Perfect. 

2019 Fun 101 Primer

2011 Blog Post from Fun 101

This is local news. As all politics is local. Meaning is starts here and will end who knows where*. But start we must. So here we go. Hi-Ho. 

It is roughly 365 miles. Circular, or in cycling parlance, a bloated out and back. We will begin in our backyard and end five cycling days later, in our front yard. Here are the broad strokes of the 2019 Fun 101 Olympic Peninsula Cycling Tour:

June 3-7

Day One: Bainbridge Island, WA to Port Angeles, WA, 80 miles. 

Day Two: Port Angeles, WA - Forks, WA, 60 miles.

Day Three: Forks, WA - Lake Quinault, WA, 68 miles.

Day Four: Lake Quinault, WA - Shelton, WA, 67 miles.

Day Five: Shelton, WA - Bainbridge Island, WA**, 91 miles.

Each night is double occupancy in whatever combination of Motel or AirBnB accommodation I can score. If we can attract ten intrepid participants, we will be full supported, if not, I put the in-line trainer onto my rig, add additional panniers to each bike and off we go. 

Be advised that the biggest benefit of this ride being supported is the additional storage capabilities because in the five trips I have made on this route NEVER ONCE HAVE I STAYED DRY THE ENTIRE TRIP. We ride into and out of the Olympic Rain Forest and along the rugged and wild Washington Coast, both exceedingly titular. 

This will be another media capture trip so I factor that into the costs along with the reality that to hire a SAG crew for five days is not cheap despite the capitalistic charade of a minimum wage. With all that as grist for the mill, miles under tires, food for thought and of course your budgeting requirements - because I know many of you will be coming to join us from across ponds of varying lengths - the trip costs for this year’s trek are as follows (and subject to minor revision):

Five days of supported cycling, motel accommodations and ride food (breakfast and lunch) around the spectacular Olympic Peninsula for $399/ea. You are responsible for motel upgrades, dinner and any major mechanical repairs. We do everything else - except pedal for you. 

We will take reservations on this one in order to properly prepare. Reservation deposit is a non-refundable $101, due by May 1. 

Details, leg descriptions with elevation gain, side trip ops, maps and more will be added to this site as they come available. So MARK YOUR CALENDAR TODAY, Memorial Day plus one, June 3 to June 7, 2019 FUN 101 Olympic Peninsula Cycling Tour***.

Sponsored by Bainbridge Island’s favorite indoor cycling center, the world famous PowerBarn. 

* A rhetorical use of GPS.

** New route along Hood Canal & Hwy 101. 

*** All riders are supported as they ride at their own chosen pace. This is not a stage race. 

2019 Epic Ride

2019 Epic Ride, Aug 3-24. Seattle to LA. 1,600 miles, 21 days. How good can you ride it?

No Snooze Alarm Today

Seems that I have an unusually large amount of tediously nagging details to take care of today. Annoying, frustrating and irksome. But they all need doing. I can put them off, procrastinate, look the other direction or do something I like to do instead. Every time I attempt this common gambit, I end up with a small, uncomfortable feeling that I am supposed to be doing something other than what ever I have chosen to replace the responsibilities that I am shirking. It is like a relentless snooze alarm firing a reminder message every minute or so into the vacuum of my consciousness. 

That is the what always happens UNTIL I decide to stop the alarm, push the off button and do the thing that needs doing. No matter how small, seemingly insignificant or inert. Matter of fact the smaller the detail, the less its impact on my self-imposed daily quota of productivity, the better I will feel upon its completion. 

This my dear friend is what I base my Zen upon. This is the level of attention to detail that our practice thrives on. And practice it is. BECAUSE IT IS ALL PRACTICE. Everything and all the time. If I can focus so intently on whatever menial task needs attention, and then preform a ceremonial execution of its upgrade, with compassion and presence, I have made the world a better place. If not for the fact that I have removed a shed-load of psychic stress from the cosmos by tending to the banal, then by the opening of space in my heart and soul for more love, joy and kindness.

As you know we are now in day seven of or little snow session. It has impacted everyone from seniors without power, school kids land-locked at home with parents unable to get to work, first responders, tow truck drivers and grocers to politicians attempting leverage from the hardship. I have a good friend in the Coast Guard who says that if nothing moves there is no commerce. Ice, snow, freezing temperatures, cars in the ditch, power outages and people relying on communications for survival suddenly without service, are all part of the equation. We did’t ask (directly) for this. But here it is. Meaning that our response is what will determine our outcome. 

Very much like that nagging small voice, the alarm on snooze, is the bigger picture telling us that there are things to do, ways to help, people in need. One needn’t own a snow plow to assist a neighbor in clearing a path from the street to their door. We don’t need to contribute to the calamity, we need to reduce the volume of those in need. We must be a part of the solution and not a part of the problem. 

Because my truck was covered by two feet of snow and traction-less on the resulting black ice, our weekly trash was hauled out the half-mile from the home site to the road end my landlord neighbor in his 4WD ’96 Ranger. Two days ago. This small chore is normally my job. This morning I realized that I needed to add a large bag of my own recycled refuge and so set out on another trek, this time like Santa toting his bag on Christmas Eve, to the cans where no less than ten families line them up like dominoes for the weekly pickup. It was another spectacular pre-dawn morning and as I trudge closer to the row of containers I see what I was fearing. Trash everywhere. Our beautiful local coyotes are smart. Especially when threatened by the elements. Knock the cans over, sift for leftovers and dine like entitled royalty. 

I will tell you now that the twenty minutes it took to clean up the mess was worth every second of satisfaction, solitude and peace of mind I was rewarded with by this small task. 

No snooze alarm today buster.

A 1-2-3-Fo

I will desist my tales of the snow once all has melted and found its way to the sea. And all the cars and trucks have beed towed away. 

I got the call very late. My clients were calling to inform me that they had just caught the ferry. Instead of staying one additional night, they would now be home in less than an hour. Scramble drill. I am up, dressed, and cleaning with precision and lightning like velocity. I had mentally rehearsed the drill, refined it, visualized it and made a few changes to make it ultra-efficient. I have my two bags packed, laptop loaded and dop kit stowed in less than ten minutes. I kiss the dog goodbye and let my self out locking the door behind me. It is still cold out as I fish for my flashlight and tred carefully over the slush. I have about a twenty minute walk to my cabin. Which means that I will have less than four hours to sleep before rising to hike to my 0530 spin class. 

I does feel good to sleep in my own bed again, the electric heated fitted sheet and coil heater humming. I am fully relaxed and quiet but cannot seem to drift off. I am planning the route I must walk because my truck has been stuck in the snow for four days. It is the only way I can get there and my motto has always been that I will go first. I will lead, and not allow something as trivial as a four mile hike in a foot of snow to keep me from leading the however many courageous troops will likewise brave the elements and show up for class. I tweak the route several time eventually deciding on the main roads because they have been maintained, sanded and scraped, rather than the trails which, un-serviced, (as they should be) will be slower and potentially more dangerous. As I go over the gear check list again, I keep an eye on the red LEDs of the clock and finally agree to commit to sleep and get one hour of rest before starting the journey. (Editors note: I will tell you about that one hour dream on another occasion). 

It is 0350 and I am up. I run through the morning drill eager to get started. A last minute change is to transfer gear from my courier bag into my trusty backpack. I slam a second cup of coffee, turn out the lights and open the door. It is not as cold as I anticipated so I immediately think that I may have over-dressed. It is not raining. I feel good. I have allowed 65 minutes to traverse the hills and get to the club 10 minutes prior to class. Should there be one because I have yet to get a text confirmation that the power is on and the club open. A chance I will have to take. 

I am walking in the center of the street because most normal people are still in bed. So I risk putting the march on auto-pilot and drift into a semi-conscious dream state thinking about exactly what and precisely why I am doing this. My cadence snaps to attention and syncs with my breaths almost at once as I do so. This is no nice, so quiet, so peaceful, 2-3-4. I consider my role as facilitator, as squadron leader, as guide. What if I had decided to stay in bed and chance missing this magical moment, because of, what, a little snow? HA! 2-3-4. This is a character builder, a test of grit, another gut-check opportunity to do something out of the ordinary. EVEN IF CLASS IS CANCELLED, I STILL HAVE THIS MOMENT, THIS ACTION, THIS ADVENTURE. 2-3-4. My thoughts take me to the Buddha’s concept of right livelihood. I am marching in the snow to lead my brothers in group exercise. A drill we volunteer for, and execute like warriors at oh-dark-thirty. I cannot fail them, nor they me. That is our bond, our agreement and our salvation, 2-3-4.

Right livelihood suggests that we not engage in the selling or trading of weapons, living beings, meat, alcohol, drink or poison. Check 2-3-4.

I am close to the club when my phone pings. I remove my steamy glasses, dig out my phone from jacket pocket and see that the club is open and all group exercise classes are a go. I call and update Ian at the from desk with the status report than I am 15 minutes out and to please have the class prep their bikes and begin to warm up, I will be there shortly, 3-4.

It all makes sense now. There is a higher meaning to all of this. Doing the thing you consider to be right will always illuminate a path. One with the glowing light of passion showing the way. There are things that get done - and there are the things that must get done. 

I change into my workout kit, grab a couple of towels and step into our indoor cycling dojo at exactly 0529. Where four hardy souls sit and spin. I set up the stereo, hop aboard and welcome them. They all nod in agreement as if all is now well with the cosmos. 

Beatles: I Saw Her Standing There a 1-2-3-Fo. 

Like Icicles

I will tell you now, that I like a routine as well as the next guy. I like things that occur on a regular, and therefore expected, rotation. I find that it helps make some sense out of what could very well be considered utter and absolute chaos. Not that I have any formal charges to make (at this time your Honor) against utter and absolute chaos, but it helps to know that some things besides death and taxes are going to take place at a given hour, in a certain place and with an acceptable degree of challenge. Take snow for an example. 

I love snow. I have lived through winters where it was considered a heat wave to reach freezing. The ATA, American Tubing Association, was born one frigid Thanksgiving night after a robust dinner when it seemed like fun to tie a truck inner tube to my ’67 Jeep and rip through the snow covered alfalfa fields at 40 mph. I used to ski regularly, until New Years Day in 1992 when I ducked into the lodge to check on the Rose Bowl (Huskies vs Wolverines) game only to return to find my planks stolen like a Pick 6. There was a time when that poetic freshly fallen silent shroud of snow added more romance to the blazing fire in my cabin than a hot toddy and and a dozen french kisses ever could. If I didn’t like the show, or winters in general, I would have moved back to Southern California many years ago. I will take a blanket of occasional snow over stacked Chevy’s on the freeway any day of the commuting week. 

But the last three days have put that philosophy to the test. As I mentioned to the propane driver, who backed his 12-wheeler into our drainage ditch two nights ago, this is the deepest accumulation I have seen in my forty years here. The power has been off as well as cable and phone service. Unless one has access to 4WD, AWD, chains, or a helicopter, what you have in the bodega is what you’re having for dinner. There have been cancellations, delays, accidents, SOS’s and more cautionary warnings issued than the Coast Guard sends out in most years. 

This is not a complaint. While my cabin has been without power for several days I have been house and dog sitting for my neighbors whose beautiful home has weathered the storm without significant damage. The fire has been ready to light for three days, it almost calls out to me for a light. Yo dude, got a match? The house also comes with the use of an incredible piece of technology known as the Subaru. Naturally with Symmetrical All Wheel Drive. This was my first taste of this delicious driving nectar. In two words: It rocks. 

It is raining now, having heated all the way to almost 36 degrees. The slush created will most likely freeze overnight. I have a 0530 spin class. It is my routine. I will be up at 0430 in preparation. As I have many times in the past I will get up even earlier, 0400, just in case the black ice demands that I improvise and hike. 

The real nice thing about routines - is that every once in a while one needs to get out of them in order to more deeply appreciate their value. 

Very much like snow. Or icicles. 

Constant refinement and continuous commitment

It started innocently enough, with a question. 

After another night of anxious rest, wondering if the power would stay on and then whether or not my morning  spin class would take place, I was alerted at 0615 that the power had been restored to the cabin. OK, cool, I responded and immediately took the necessary precautions to go and take a look, getting in a dog walk as part of the process. Another beautiful morning and we are trudging through virgin snow slowly moving towards the cabin about a mile away. The only sounds are the crunching of snow and ice underfoot. At the cabin I begin a damage report, noting that not much has changed with the exception that the freezer seems to have died and taken all remaining perishables with it. I wonder if there is a heaven or hell afterlife for durable goods. I grab a quick look at the internet to get an update on road conditions, closures and reports of downed trees, pack another pair of clean socks and underwear into my backpack, give Tito a treat and reverse the walk. 

Now it is time for a decision. I can hike the 4 miles to the club as I have done many times in the past or trust my gut feeling on the drivability of the roads, and take a chance. I decide to test the roads on the hill. Cake. The Subaru symmetrical AWD responds as engineered and I spin her around, back down the hill and into the garage. I now have time for one cup of coffee and then out again. 

Checking with the clubs wifi I see we are open, the fire in the lobby is blazing and parking lots are being plowed. COME ON IN! 

I am rolling through the rolodex of spin drills permanently filed in my head when another matter pops up like English muffins from the toaster; that I am driving in treacherous conditions, in the snow and ice, up and down hills along with others who are perhaps not as prepared or experienced as myself. Let’s focus on the now shall we grasshopper? 

I pass a Hummer high centered on a hill near the golf course and stop to inquire. Thoroughly embarrassed the driver says everything is OK, the only damage apparently being to his ego. At the club everyone seems jovial and I volunteer to assist with the snow shoveling once my class is finished. Yikes, I think looking at the clock, class starts in ten minutes! I change into workout gear and head down the hallway wondering how many valiant souls will brave the elements to get in an hour of cardio, and I still have no idea as to the protocol we will preform. 

One of the gals up front immediately asks me about the 2019 Epic Ride logistics so I assume from her inquiry that fate has magically intervened to provide an appropriate segue into the morning’s theme. And off we go.

We get to the halfway point in a pleasantly challenging session of hill repeats, and I am still providing a rolling commentary (in the form of an infomercial), when an image commandeers my monologue with enough sizzle to provoke the spontaneous announcement that the number one reason why we do this, indoor cycle training, is to do that, outdoor adventure cycling. Or one of the main reasons, as there are many. Because to me, I move towards the crescendo with mercatissimo precision and emphasis, there is nothing more free than being on a bike moving in harmonic flow towards your destination. It is, I answer her question, my personal definition of freedom.

In need on constant refinement and continuous commitment. 

Deep Sense of Well Being

Tito wakes me as I start another attempt at counting breathes to ten. There is no light in the room save for the faint glow from the porch light of the neighbors, they a good five-iron away. I am nervous. Yesterday's snow storm, although advertised well in advance and amazingly accurate, left me with unanticipated responsibilities. The power is out in my cabin, roads need clearing, my spin class was cancelled and the PowerBarn shuttered. The house and dog, now under my charge as the owners recharge batteries in Hawaii, is secure. The power is on, Tito is fat, warm and happy, and I have the entire diem in which to carpe. But something is off.

And I don't know what it is.

The 'almost' cast in stone schedule has been obliterated like a asteroid landing on a chicken coop. What was once a routine is now nothing but red feathers and cracked eggs. In just two days I have 'lost' two spin sessions and a 10K run. I know this because they remain on my calendar nakedly missing the usual, and triumphant, strike-through. This bothers me. It reminds me how close every day I come to losing all semblance of continuity and consistency, the last two standing pillars of my former success. I remember a baseball manager, might have been the magnificent Earl Weaver, who responding to a rookie reporter one spring camp, said the difference between baseball and football is that, 'we do this every day, not just once a week'. I feel like it has been an eternity since my last workout.

Surrendering to Tito's request, I roll back the covers, sit upright and rub my eyes and her ears. In an instant I have grabbed my ski jacket, gloves and flashlight, hooked her collar to the leash and opened the front door. Where I am jolted into the present moment as if I had just died and this is heaven. The snow is a perfect blanket of ivory, somehow whiter than white. It is sparkling in amazing contrast to the pre-dawn darkness. The tracks that we blazed just few hours ago are gone, covered-up by the over-night dusting. I am dumbfounded as the combination of sights and the absence of sound mixes with the sensation of cold. I stand on the porch frozen in awe. Finally Tito tugs the leash, rolls her eyes and suggests we bliss-out among the trees where she can pee. And we are off.

Walking down to the cabin where the power remains just a word and not a utility. Mike has set up a space heater connected to his huge generator in the tiny bathroom. I know from experience that the only thing worse than having the power out are frozen pipes adding to the challenge. I laugh as I see chunks of snow from last night unmelted on the kitchen rug.

We return to the big house, a mile away, and Tito gets her gourmet breakfast and I start boiling a pot of water to french-press coffee.

As it heats I clean the plate and utensils from last nights dinner, a rather spartan but wholesome grill-cheese sandwich on a think slab of my favorite artisan whole-wheat bread, garnished with one medium-large whole green chili atop.

I am washing the fork as I look outside at the snow, the sun still an hour away. And something I read last night enters my consciousness much like what turning on a light switch does to a dark room. It was a simple phrase, not even a sentence, but here it was reminding me of its merit.

'…and he slept peacefully with a deep sense of well being.'