Thursday, December 26, 2013
The Digital Upright Piano Project--a "Functional Intermediate"
This has been a great project. While I still have a few things to do to really "finish" this thing, for now it's at a point where I could roll it into the house and set it up (and get it out of my shop!).
One question that came up in the process was, "why would you take on a project like that?" My first answer is, "why not?" But a more complete answer is this: as we all look forward to the future our kids will have, we need to look at things we are going to throw away, like an old piano, as either materials for new projects, or as a restorable resource. It's also useful to look at it in the same way you might look at restoring a classic car or a home from the early 1900s--it's a productive hobby with a beautiful product as the goal. It's a way to breathe new life into something that was probably headed to the landfill or the fireplace. Philosophy aside, this post details how I built in the functionality I though I'd need for my home music studio space.
After getting down to the empty case,
I cut, chiseled, scraped, filled, sanded, scrubbed, wire-brushed, shop-vac'ed and cleaned. I purchased and installed new casters from Piano Showcase Online (they have a huge selection or replacement piano parts). It rolls MUCH more smoothly now, and is much more stable with 4 casters instead of the 3 it had.
I put strips of 1/4" birch plywood between the large posts (I wanted the posts to be visible and needed the depth for some of my bigger songbooks and 3-ring binders), used 3/4" birch plywood for the "floor," and mounted pieces of cherry veneered MDF (which my wife found years ago at a yard sale) on the sides to bring the insides flush with the trim and enable opening/closing of the bottom flap (here the flap is open).
The upper shelf is more or less temporary, but for now will hold my speakers, recording interface, a mixer, and a computer. The shelf supports were made from pieces of the piano guts.
The upper arrangement will probably change. Part of rolling it into the house is to determine what will ultimately fit my needs.
For a more "authentic" look & feel, I set up the damper (right-hand) pedal on the piano to actuate the sustain function on the keyboard. I dismantled the plastic pedal that came with the keyboard, removed the switch, and installed it under the piano's pedal. The pedals had a bunch of holes drilled in them, making installation of a post (a screw, actually) to actuate the switch relatively easy. A fairly stiff spring was placed underneath the pedal arm to return the pedal to the "up" position. The other pedals were "fixed" in place and are currently just there for looks. I made a removable cover so I can go in and add some function to the other pedals later on, if desired. This picture is taken more or less from the top.
The front plate below the keyboard tray needed a hinge and a method to slide it back out of the way. I took two of the maple rods from the guts of the piano and transformed them into slides for the flap.
I fabricated pins for the slides from two of the screws that held the cast iron harp in place; I basically just ground the heads of the screws down to the diameter I needed and brushed them smooth. Here's the flap closed.
I wanted to rig the upper panel the same way, but there wasn't enough room in the carcase for the panel to slide inside very far. I'm still debating about what to do; I may make it so it slides straight up, but for now it'll just be removable (basically I'm going to leave it alone). There was a really cool, really simple mechanism that linked tilting the upper panel with opening the key cover. Since the key cover had to go, I just changed the mechanism so that I can still actuate it, but from the front with a lever (for now). Here's a close-up, which is the inside left of the piano between the upper shelf and keyboard shelf.
I finished all the shelves and plywood that I installed with rub-on polyurethane to stand up to wear & tear. Rub-on poly is my current favorite finish. It's easy to use, easy to clean up, goes on in thin, controllable coats, and dries relatively quickly so I can get multiple coats on in a single day.
Here's the "studio" in the house with most of the equipment installed and the upper front panel removed.
The cords and headphones are hanging on some of the pegs that once held the strings. There were more than 225 of these things. It's great pegboard. Ultimately I plan to have a dedicated keyboard for this piano, but for now I'll move my gigging piano in and out.
And here is the piano case with all the remaining covers closed.
As with most projects, there were a few things that I didn't anticipate. Moving it into the house was more difficult than I thought it'd be. The depth of the piano is ~28 1/2", leaving about 1/4" on each side as we squeezed it through the doorway between the garage and the house. We needed a straight shot, which necessitated moving a few things around (and cleaning) in the garage. The next several days will be spent sorting the garage back out.
Another problem is that the digital piano is a good 2-3" thicker than the keybed that I removed, and the piano sits a bit too high to play comfortably for long periods of time. I'll need to create a recess in the keyboard shelf for the digital to sit down in before I can start teaching lessons to little kids with this set-up. Or I'll need to find an organ bench.
An unanticipated bonus is the resonance that I get inside the wooden case, even through the 5 1/2" speakers I currently have. I had bring the bass and low-mid down and boost the high-mid and high, but it sounds really good. I could even feel the sound resonating while I was playing the last few days.
Next steps, eventually, maybe:
- re-do the keyboard shelf
- a couple trim pieces need to be installed
- connection box that houses all the hook-ups (audio, USB, power, etc) to ease switching keyboards and hooking up for recording
- main power switch and wired outlets in a few places
- retractable upper front panel (instead of removable)
- better way to tilt the upper front panel
- multiple positions/angles for upper shelf (in the likely event I want a 2nd keyboard there) and/or multiple upper shelves/cubbies/drawers
- dedicated keyboard (at that point I'll also install the wooden spacers between the case and the keys)
- larger speakers (more bass response)
- possibly, functionality for the other pedals (on/off switch? soft? expression?)
- other projects with the odds and ends that I took out of the thing.
Oh, and if you have any ideas for what to do with a gigantic cast iron harp, other than scrap, please let me know!
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Recent Small Projects and Deep Thoughts
I made a bunch of these Altoids tin fly boxes, just in time for the ol' holidays:
The idea of the Altoids tin fly box is not new, but this is a slightly classier version. I rendered a bitmap from a photograph (or, in non-tech-speak, I drew the stencil) in Inkscape (a good freeware graphics program), cut it out on a laser cutter, applied it in enamel (black fingernail polish) with a stenciling brush, and coated the lid with a spray-on acrylic clear-coat to protect the image. The ripple foam was a "boat patch" that I purchased a while back and cut down to fit the tins. It came pre-glued with rubber cement and sticks nicely. The boxes came from Specialty Bottle, though I'll probably recycle tins for future boxes and charge a bit less. I have these kits for sale at Warm Hearts Yarn in White Rock with a selection of flies (tied by me) for local waters. At this point I should also plug Bill Orr and Karen Denison's book, Fly Patterns of Northern New Mexico as the source of the fly patterns in this collection. Look for it at your local bookstore, or heck, find Bill at the Los Alamos Farmer's Market next summer (that's where I bought my copy!).
SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT: I tie flies quite a bit, and I'm reasonably good at it. If there's a fly or a set of flies you're dying to try and don't want to drive to Santa Fe to buy, give me a shout. I'll do custom orders. I'm also planning a tying class or two for early spring, say March-ish, again in White Rock.
My wife and I just pulled the trigger on a new sewing machine, something we've been saving for for quite a while. The most important feature we were looking for: sewing in a straight line with minimal input (our ol' Pfaff has a broken feed dog). We're looking forward to yards and yards of stitch-making fun. I can't believe how automatic these new machines are; even threading the needle is an automated task, done at the push of a button. Right now I'm in the middle of replacing the zipper on my favorite lightweight jacket, which has been relegated to a drawer for 2 years with a busted zipper, and it's time to resurrect it. I spent an hour with the seam ripper a few nights ago, and I have to say, the folks that sew for Cloudveil do a very good and thorough job! Maybe that expensive outdoor clothing is worth the price.
The old Pfaff managed to turn out my Christmas stocking, which I made from the sleeves of my Carhartt jacket-to-vest conversion. It is hung by the fireplace with care (or carabiner...). The "man stocking" may be a gift for next year's Christmas season, sized big enough for tools, firearms, a 6-pack, etc. We'll see. Maybe I'll make some in camo, too.
I'm working on a sword for my son for Christmas. I'm going to use an old axe handle my Dad had lying around in his odds and ends. I had been making swords for all the boys (my son's friends and their brothers) for their birthdays, but sort of slacked off when it came to my own. That and I ran out of the good 5/8" plywood. He said he wanted the "ninja" sword anyway, which makes stock selection easier because there's no elaborate hand guard. Stay tuned for that as well, but I'm hoping to crank it out over the weekend.
Speaking of dads and sons, I've been going through my dad's tools and hunting stuff on my trips back to Idaho, most recently over the week surrounding Thanksgiving. His big old desk still sits in his basement "den," and going through that has been a trip down memory lane. I remember being 5 or 6 and sitting there at the little pull-out writing board, playing with my Matchbox cars or Legos or building with nuts and bolts and magnets while he tied flies or reloaded shells. I learned to tie flies on that pull-out table. I also remember sitting on his lap and pulling the handles and moving the levers on his shotgun shell reloading equipment--first the primer, then the powder, then the wad, then the shot, and finally the crimp. Over and over. I'm honestly amazed at the variety of things he did as an adult, from hunting and fishing to golf and clubmaking to skiing, from landscaping his property to maintaining his vehicles. Maybe that's where I got my varied interests and do-it-myself tendencies! In going through his possessions, I've not only encountered personal nostalgia, but also a history lesson from the 60s through the present--old cardboard cigar boxes, tools, silverware, knives, guns and the ancillary equipment (cleaning, smithing, etc.), vintage books, and some older hunting clothes. I'm also amazed at how much of that stuff I personally remember, and how things have shifted. For example, my memory of the heft of one of his pocket knives doesn't match with my current reality. That desk, however, is still gigantic, and I look forward to someday having a place in my home for it. Our little 1200 square foot abode just doesn't have room for it now, unfortunately.
My goal for Christmas is to have my upright piano project done, or at least usable. Two or three more good hours and I'll be there. The new casters are on and all that's left is an upper shelf. Hopefully a showcase of the piano project will fill my next post.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
The idea of the Altoids tin fly box is not new, but this is a slightly classier version. I rendered a bitmap from a photograph (or, in non-tech-speak, I drew the stencil) in Inkscape (a good freeware graphics program), cut it out on a laser cutter, applied it in enamel (black fingernail polish) with a stenciling brush, and coated the lid with a spray-on acrylic clear-coat to protect the image. The ripple foam was a "boat patch" that I purchased a while back and cut down to fit the tins. It came pre-glued with rubber cement and sticks nicely. The boxes came from Specialty Bottle, though I'll probably recycle tins for future boxes and charge a bit less. I have these kits for sale at Warm Hearts Yarn in White Rock with a selection of flies (tied by me) for local waters. At this point I should also plug Bill Orr and Karen Denison's book, Fly Patterns of Northern New Mexico as the source of the fly patterns in this collection. Look for it at your local bookstore, or heck, find Bill at the Los Alamos Farmer's Market next summer (that's where I bought my copy!).
SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT: I tie flies quite a bit, and I'm reasonably good at it. If there's a fly or a set of flies you're dying to try and don't want to drive to Santa Fe to buy, give me a shout. I'll do custom orders. I'm also planning a tying class or two for early spring, say March-ish, again in White Rock.
My wife and I just pulled the trigger on a new sewing machine, something we've been saving for for quite a while. The most important feature we were looking for: sewing in a straight line with minimal input (our ol' Pfaff has a broken feed dog). We're looking forward to yards and yards of stitch-making fun. I can't believe how automatic these new machines are; even threading the needle is an automated task, done at the push of a button. Right now I'm in the middle of replacing the zipper on my favorite lightweight jacket, which has been relegated to a drawer for 2 years with a busted zipper, and it's time to resurrect it. I spent an hour with the seam ripper a few nights ago, and I have to say, the folks that sew for Cloudveil do a very good and thorough job! Maybe that expensive outdoor clothing is worth the price.
The old Pfaff managed to turn out my Christmas stocking, which I made from the sleeves of my Carhartt jacket-to-vest conversion. It is hung by the fireplace with care (or carabiner...). The "man stocking" may be a gift for next year's Christmas season, sized big enough for tools, firearms, a 6-pack, etc. We'll see. Maybe I'll make some in camo, too.
I'm working on a sword for my son for Christmas. I'm going to use an old axe handle my Dad had lying around in his odds and ends. I had been making swords for all the boys (my son's friends and their brothers) for their birthdays, but sort of slacked off when it came to my own. That and I ran out of the good 5/8" plywood. He said he wanted the "ninja" sword anyway, which makes stock selection easier because there's no elaborate hand guard. Stay tuned for that as well, but I'm hoping to crank it out over the weekend.
Speaking of dads and sons, I've been going through my dad's tools and hunting stuff on my trips back to Idaho, most recently over the week surrounding Thanksgiving. His big old desk still sits in his basement "den," and going through that has been a trip down memory lane. I remember being 5 or 6 and sitting there at the little pull-out writing board, playing with my Matchbox cars or Legos or building with nuts and bolts and magnets while he tied flies or reloaded shells. I learned to tie flies on that pull-out table. I also remember sitting on his lap and pulling the handles and moving the levers on his shotgun shell reloading equipment--first the primer, then the powder, then the wad, then the shot, and finally the crimp. Over and over. I'm honestly amazed at the variety of things he did as an adult, from hunting and fishing to golf and clubmaking to skiing, from landscaping his property to maintaining his vehicles. Maybe that's where I got my varied interests and do-it-myself tendencies! In going through his possessions, I've not only encountered personal nostalgia, but also a history lesson from the 60s through the present--old cardboard cigar boxes, tools, silverware, knives, guns and the ancillary equipment (cleaning, smithing, etc.), vintage books, and some older hunting clothes. I'm also amazed at how much of that stuff I personally remember, and how things have shifted. For example, my memory of the heft of one of his pocket knives doesn't match with my current reality. That desk, however, is still gigantic, and I look forward to someday having a place in my home for it. Our little 1200 square foot abode just doesn't have room for it now, unfortunately.
My goal for Christmas is to have my upright piano project done, or at least usable. Two or three more good hours and I'll be there. The new casters are on and all that's left is an upper shelf. Hopefully a showcase of the piano project will fill my next post.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
Monday, December 9, 2013
First Tracks
For me, a skier since I was 5 years old, first tracks meant getting out the door at some ungodly hour to brave challenging road conditions (traffic or snowpack or both!), and/or find a mountain and start moving. The goal was to be the first person on the mountain, either riding the lift up or hiking up to ski down. I've skied--downhill, cross-country, and backcountry--in 7 states and Canada. Blizzards, snow-packed roads, jack-knived semis, and traffic jams were
my frequent companions. I have poor circulation in my feet from standing around in the snow during too many
avalanche classes. But I've logged many miles in the mountains in
pursuit of something else, something beyond, and yes, the bragging
rights that come with being the first one there (or maybe even the only one!) and doing things that
few others will or can do.
When I lived in Colorado's Front Range, ski traffic was a horrendous ordeal: it caused more fear in me than the impressive Rocky mountains, and contributed to the desire to move. Avoiding traffic motivated creative schedules (up at 5 am to beat the traffic then leave the mountains by early afternoon), added expense (meals out, lodging, etc.), off-the-beaten-path destinations, or spending the night in the car. Here's a morning after a chilly night on Tennessee Pass, CO in my wife's old Subaru: We got up, had our oatmeal, and toured around the pass, but we were back on I-70 by early afternoon to, you guessed it, beat the traffic.
Then we moved to Los Alamos, where Pajarito Mountain is 20 minutes from town. First tracks are closer, but, in some ways, more difficult to get because the outdoor community in Los Alamos is extremely motivated. There's always someone who got up earlier, went further, and climbed higher.
While I've slowed down a little, I don't plan to quit the mountain lifestyle any time soon. Here, Rusty the dog and I are getting first ski tracks on a beautiful Spring day near Wolf Creek Pass (photo by Ryan Hess)
in the Nambe Chutes near Santa Fe on another, cloudier, Spring day (photo by Scott Hsu)
and on Wheeler Peak, New Mexico's high point (sans Rusty; photo by Scott Hsu).
Come to think of it, though, those pics were all taken about 10 years ago. A lot's changed since then.
Like having kids. Here we are in our local Jemez Mountains, getting a different kind of first tracks (yes, that's me pulling a kid in a sled on my lightweight Nordic gear; photo by my lovely wife):
As you can see, my accepted meaning of first tracks has relaxed a little. I was musing on this little revelation the other day while out walking with Rusty the dog. Even at 8:30 in the morning, we were the first ones out on the local trails behind our house. I could hear the crunch of the snow, feel the crisp, cold morning air, and see the tracks that the crows and coyotes had left during the previous night's snowfall as they, too, were looking for something. Rusty and I got first tracks that morning, and it didn't involve traffic or treacherous roads or a long hike. Rather, it required an openness to what was: the fact that we were the first ones out on the trail, getting some exercise, and enjoying a little fresh air and solitude.
Maybe that's just the persistence of time, the willingness to compromise on what we will endure for bragging rights. Now I'm as apt to brag that we can get the kids to bed by 8 pm, or that I got a chilly but beautiful moonlit walk, as I am about anything else. That said, Pajarito Mountain is currently blanketed in snow, and I'll be digging the skis out for their season prep sometime this week. Hopefully Sundance run stays un-tracked for another few days, but I doubt it will.
As a parting shot, here's a picture I took that I think captures the essence and spirit of "first tracks."
After a light snow a couple years ago, the boy put on his winter clothes, went to the garage, grabbed his cross country skis, headed out to the back yard, and toured through the garden. Adventure, it turns out, is where you find it.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
When I lived in Colorado's Front Range, ski traffic was a horrendous ordeal: it caused more fear in me than the impressive Rocky mountains, and contributed to the desire to move. Avoiding traffic motivated creative schedules (up at 5 am to beat the traffic then leave the mountains by early afternoon), added expense (meals out, lodging, etc.), off-the-beaten-path destinations, or spending the night in the car. Here's a morning after a chilly night on Tennessee Pass, CO in my wife's old Subaru: We got up, had our oatmeal, and toured around the pass, but we were back on I-70 by early afternoon to, you guessed it, beat the traffic.
Then we moved to Los Alamos, where Pajarito Mountain is 20 minutes from town. First tracks are closer, but, in some ways, more difficult to get because the outdoor community in Los Alamos is extremely motivated. There's always someone who got up earlier, went further, and climbed higher.
While I've slowed down a little, I don't plan to quit the mountain lifestyle any time soon. Here, Rusty the dog and I are getting first ski tracks on a beautiful Spring day near Wolf Creek Pass (photo by Ryan Hess)
in the Nambe Chutes near Santa Fe on another, cloudier, Spring day (photo by Scott Hsu)
and on Wheeler Peak, New Mexico's high point (sans Rusty; photo by Scott Hsu).
Come to think of it, though, those pics were all taken about 10 years ago. A lot's changed since then.
Like having kids. Here we are in our local Jemez Mountains, getting a different kind of first tracks (yes, that's me pulling a kid in a sled on my lightweight Nordic gear; photo by my lovely wife):
As you can see, my accepted meaning of first tracks has relaxed a little. I was musing on this little revelation the other day while out walking with Rusty the dog. Even at 8:30 in the morning, we were the first ones out on the local trails behind our house. I could hear the crunch of the snow, feel the crisp, cold morning air, and see the tracks that the crows and coyotes had left during the previous night's snowfall as they, too, were looking for something. Rusty and I got first tracks that morning, and it didn't involve traffic or treacherous roads or a long hike. Rather, it required an openness to what was: the fact that we were the first ones out on the trail, getting some exercise, and enjoying a little fresh air and solitude.
Maybe that's just the persistence of time, the willingness to compromise on what we will endure for bragging rights. Now I'm as apt to brag that we can get the kids to bed by 8 pm, or that I got a chilly but beautiful moonlit walk, as I am about anything else. That said, Pajarito Mountain is currently blanketed in snow, and I'll be digging the skis out for their season prep sometime this week. Hopefully Sundance run stays un-tracked for another few days, but I doubt it will.
As a parting shot, here's a picture I took that I think captures the essence and spirit of "first tracks."
After a light snow a couple years ago, the boy put on his winter clothes, went to the garage, grabbed his cross country skis, headed out to the back yard, and toured through the garden. Adventure, it turns out, is where you find it.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Quitting, Part 4: Drinkin'
Before I get started on the quitting part, here are my musical engagements for the next few weeks.
- Dec 6, 9 pm-midnight, Junction Restaurant/Bar in Santa Fe (Affordables)
- Dec 7, wedding in Santa Fe (solo!!!)
- Dec 14, Los Alamos Family Council event (Craig Martin Experience)
------------------------------------------------------------
Now onto the quitting.
This post was a tough one to write. I don't have any "drank too much and lost my job" or "ran my car into a tree" stories. The fact is, I've never been much of a drinker, and my partying days are long past. Because there are no sordid details, some might consider this a boring story. It will certainly never make mainstream news! But, the fact is, I quit drinking, and I did so because it diminished my quality of life another way: it triggered migraines.
It started this past summer, or rather, I noticed it this past summer. Maybe it was there all along and I was able to ignore it before. At any rate, these headaches, combined with a stomach thing that lasted for about a month, left me feeling crappy for much of this past summer. The migraines would start with a dizzy spell (I never got the "classic" visual symptoms) and go downhill from there, often requiring total sensory deprivation to provide any relief. Ibuprofen doesn't touch my migraines, even at the maximum recommended dose (by my doctor, which is higher than the directions on the bottle). Excedrin was the remedy of choice, but acetaminophen rides a fine line between effectiveness and liver damage, so I was hesitant to use it much. The migraine thing finally got so bad I started to look for lifestyle changes I could make. My dad used to get migraines, too, and his were triggered by peanuts, of all things. Everything I read about migraines suggested a trigger of some kind. After a summer of this sh*t--ruined days of dizziness and pain--I finally hit on the trigger. It was a combination of alcohol and changing light conditions, such as playing in a dimly lit bar with flashing lights, or driving at night after a beer or two (even after several hours from beer to car).
The night that started this line of thought was late in the summer when Northern New Mexico (and much of the Central & Southern Rockies, really) was being hit with record-shattering rain and thunderstorms. The Affordables had a late night gig at a local bar, and I was into my second (and, as it turned out, last) beer when the lightning started. The bar has windows all around, and the flashing against the dark while trying to concentrate on playing and reading music started the headache. By the time the show was over and we were packed up, I was not looking forward to the drive home and I knew I wasn't going to have a great next day. By the time I got home, I was shivering, headache-y, and nauseous. At first I thought it was food poisoning, but when I get food poisoning it's usually obvious from the, um, flow. This was something else.
As a scientist, I of course had to experiment (cartoon from www.sodahead.com).
So, I had my usual (one!) beer at my weekly jazz band practice a couple weeks later, and noticed that the next day was really rough, with a dizzy, sick-feeling headache dominating my senses. A hangover after one beer?! Never happened before. I noticed this a couple more times (refer to above cartoon-- the scientist, remember?), and came to the conclusion that I was going to have to quit drinking to really get at the heart of this.
I'm not sure if you've ever been "on the wagon," but it was really difficult for me--a long-term social drinker--to say no to a drink. I love bourbon. I enjoy beer and wine. Recently I was playing a gig with the Affordables for a local Beer Co-op, and, you guessed it, there was an ample supply. The classic "devil on one shoulder, angel on the other" scene ensued.
"Come on, just one beer. It's Halloween!" the devil said.
"You'll regret it in the morning!" the angel said.
"Oh, but it's Marble [a good brewery out of Albuquerque]! And an IPA."
"But you [like other social drinkers] can't have just one!"
"Everyone else is having one. Look how much fun they're having!"
"You still have to drive home."
And on and on.
In the end, the thought of being dizzy and unable to hang out with my family in any meaningful way the next day was reason enough to stick with water and seltzer. And, even though I didn't get to bed until 1:30 AM that morning, I was still able to get up at 6:30 and function. I'm trying as hard as I can to paint this in a positive light. Not drinking saves me money and probably makes me a better musician. But it still feels unfair. Bar gigs are a great opportunity to drink because the bar owners usually buy the band a round or two. And there is nothing like a cold beer on a hot afternoon. But, with every day that passes, the "why me?" feeling fades. It becomes easier and easier to say "club soda with a lime" or "ginger ale" rather than "Marble IPA." That happy-hour-on-Friday desire to drink is even fading. And there are far fewer calories in a club soda than a beer.
----------------------------------------------------
Thanks for enduring my tales of woe and righteous indignation. Hopefully you enjoyed what you read, and that I inspired you to let go of some of your unnecessary obligations or baggage, or make some changes that improve your life in another way. Of course, I'm not advocating that you leave the loving embrace of your family and friends, nor am I suggesting you quit your passions and jobs. But, if change comes your way, be open to it. It just might open doors and possibilities you never considered.
-----------------------------------------------------
My next posts will get back to art, craft, and music, I swear!
Thanks for reading, and have a great week.
- Dec 6, 9 pm-midnight, Junction Restaurant/Bar in Santa Fe (Affordables)
- Dec 7, wedding in Santa Fe (solo!!!)
- Dec 14, Los Alamos Family Council event (Craig Martin Experience)
------------------------------------------------------------
Now onto the quitting.
This post was a tough one to write. I don't have any "drank too much and lost my job" or "ran my car into a tree" stories. The fact is, I've never been much of a drinker, and my partying days are long past. Because there are no sordid details, some might consider this a boring story. It will certainly never make mainstream news! But, the fact is, I quit drinking, and I did so because it diminished my quality of life another way: it triggered migraines.
It started this past summer, or rather, I noticed it this past summer. Maybe it was there all along and I was able to ignore it before. At any rate, these headaches, combined with a stomach thing that lasted for about a month, left me feeling crappy for much of this past summer. The migraines would start with a dizzy spell (I never got the "classic" visual symptoms) and go downhill from there, often requiring total sensory deprivation to provide any relief. Ibuprofen doesn't touch my migraines, even at the maximum recommended dose (by my doctor, which is higher than the directions on the bottle). Excedrin was the remedy of choice, but acetaminophen rides a fine line between effectiveness and liver damage, so I was hesitant to use it much. The migraine thing finally got so bad I started to look for lifestyle changes I could make. My dad used to get migraines, too, and his were triggered by peanuts, of all things. Everything I read about migraines suggested a trigger of some kind. After a summer of this sh*t--ruined days of dizziness and pain--I finally hit on the trigger. It was a combination of alcohol and changing light conditions, such as playing in a dimly lit bar with flashing lights, or driving at night after a beer or two (even after several hours from beer to car).
The night that started this line of thought was late in the summer when Northern New Mexico (and much of the Central & Southern Rockies, really) was being hit with record-shattering rain and thunderstorms. The Affordables had a late night gig at a local bar, and I was into my second (and, as it turned out, last) beer when the lightning started. The bar has windows all around, and the flashing against the dark while trying to concentrate on playing and reading music started the headache. By the time the show was over and we were packed up, I was not looking forward to the drive home and I knew I wasn't going to have a great next day. By the time I got home, I was shivering, headache-y, and nauseous. At first I thought it was food poisoning, but when I get food poisoning it's usually obvious from the, um, flow. This was something else.
As a scientist, I of course had to experiment (cartoon from www.sodahead.com).
So, I had my usual (one!) beer at my weekly jazz band practice a couple weeks later, and noticed that the next day was really rough, with a dizzy, sick-feeling headache dominating my senses. A hangover after one beer?! Never happened before. I noticed this a couple more times (refer to above cartoon-- the scientist, remember?), and came to the conclusion that I was going to have to quit drinking to really get at the heart of this.
I'm not sure if you've ever been "on the wagon," but it was really difficult for me--a long-term social drinker--to say no to a drink. I love bourbon. I enjoy beer and wine. Recently I was playing a gig with the Affordables for a local Beer Co-op, and, you guessed it, there was an ample supply. The classic "devil on one shoulder, angel on the other" scene ensued.
"Come on, just one beer. It's Halloween!" the devil said.
"You'll regret it in the morning!" the angel said.
"Oh, but it's Marble [a good brewery out of Albuquerque]! And an IPA."
"But you [like other social drinkers] can't have just one!"
"Everyone else is having one. Look how much fun they're having!"
"You still have to drive home."
And on and on.
In the end, the thought of being dizzy and unable to hang out with my family in any meaningful way the next day was reason enough to stick with water and seltzer. And, even though I didn't get to bed until 1:30 AM that morning, I was still able to get up at 6:30 and function. I'm trying as hard as I can to paint this in a positive light. Not drinking saves me money and probably makes me a better musician. But it still feels unfair. Bar gigs are a great opportunity to drink because the bar owners usually buy the band a round or two. And there is nothing like a cold beer on a hot afternoon. But, with every day that passes, the "why me?" feeling fades. It becomes easier and easier to say "club soda with a lime" or "ginger ale" rather than "Marble IPA." That happy-hour-on-Friday desire to drink is even fading. And there are far fewer calories in a club soda than a beer.
----------------------------------------------------
Thanks for enduring my tales of woe and righteous indignation. Hopefully you enjoyed what you read, and that I inspired you to let go of some of your unnecessary obligations or baggage, or make some changes that improve your life in another way. Of course, I'm not advocating that you leave the loving embrace of your family and friends, nor am I suggesting you quit your passions and jobs. But, if change comes your way, be open to it. It just might open doors and possibilities you never considered.
-----------------------------------------------------
My next posts will get back to art, craft, and music, I swear!
Thanks for reading, and have a great week.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Quitting, Part 3: Grad School
Looking back on it, I'm not sure I was science grad school material. After 16 years of constant schooling (K-college), I maybe should have taken a break. The dull repetition of sitting in lecture/discussion, taking tests, and jumping through hoops was taking it's toll. I was ready to have a job and enter society, and thought (hoped?) graduate school was just a short stop along the way. I was planning to go and breeze through classes and then get to the hands-on research, but I had deluded myself. It was hard. (I know! Well, duh, right? ;-) ) I didn't have enough hours in the day to study and do all the other stuff I wanted to do, like ski, climb, hike, play the piano, and spend time with friends. Synthetic chemistry wasn't as interesting as I thought it would be, though maybe still interesting enough to pursue a career doing it. But I think the real reason I went was because I was unsure what else to do besides continue to go to school. That and they were paying me to go, a relatively novel concept as far as I was concerned. Fear of the unknown kept me there; I'll be more specific soon.
As my research started, I noticed that the grad students did not all come with the same levels of preparation. Some had done much more research than I had (even though I did a summer internship at the University of Wyoming and some undergrad research at the College of Idaho), and some had even come to CSU the summer before to pick an advisor and project. I showed up at 8 am on the Monday after the end of classes, ready to start my work. I realized fairly quickly that my group mates had 1) been there since 6:30 am, 2) come in on the Saturday and Sunday before rather than going climbing, hiking, mountain biking or drinking (which is what I did), 3) had projects that they'd been thinking about for months (I think I had barely picked a project at that point), 4) didn't try out for the CSU jazz ensemble (I ended up as the back-up piano player, and I learned a lot that one semester!), and 5) were generally in our research advisor's good graces (which I was not, and it would take 18 months for me to get there). I don't know if they were all just that ambitious or if they got better advice than I did, or if I missed some memo that said "show up early for the best projects and to not look like a loser." Appearances mattered, apparently. My first two thoughts that morning were "what the hell?" and "holy sh*t!"
In short, I had some issues that were mine to solve. To this day, I have a bit of a chip on my shoulder about quitting grad school and what it's meant for me, career-wise. I'll never know if I'd be happier or better off as "Dr. Anderson" (though I do enjoy it when vendors and job applicants call me Dr. Anderson without knowing that I don't have a Ph.D.), but I've had a fulfilling, interesting, and productive life and career so far. What more could I ask for?
But this is a Blog, so (insert snicker here) you also get to read my opinions and some observations I've made about education and industry against the backdrop of a 14-year chemistry career. If you don't care about higher education in America, skip to the last paragraph. But I implore you to think about what education prepares a person to do. (As a father of young kids, I think about this topic A LOT.)
Graduate school--despite many peoples' best intentions--is part of a system, the system of taking smart people and turning them into parts of an Industrial Complex, albeit skewed toward leadership roles. The idea (circa 1997) was this: go to college, go to grad school, do a post-doc, get a job in industry or pharma and you'll be set. If you get a Ph.D. you'll get a job as a professor or mid-level employee, and work your way up to become a manager. One unstated caveat was this: employers really mean "finish your Ph.D. and a postdoc or 2, and then we'll talk." Another caveat (more relevant here): not getting a Ph.D. means that you have to take orders from other people, and that you'll never get to be "the boss." There was a general disdain for non-Ph.Ds. within the chemistry graduate school culture. The folks who "opt out" of grad school were "sell-outs" or "chicken" or "too dumb to hack it" or "settling for the booby prize." Some folks were all of those things, sure, but I would say that most people are NONE of those things when they choose to opt out of a given system. The only "pass" you'd get from the Ph.D.-bound peanut gallery for getting an MS was if you were leaving Chemistry to go do something else, like Law.
After all that strange psychology, and after I did indeed earn a Master's Degree in Chemistry from Colorado State University, I have to ask the question: why is getting a Master's Degree instead of a Ph.D. considered "chickening out" or "quitting" or "settling for the booby prize?" Is it because we place such a high standard on having a terminal degree? College endowments are often based on what percentage of their faculty have terminal degrees in their field. Most 4-year colleges and universities don't hire folks with Master's Degrees to teach. Never mind that earning a Ph.D. does not necessarily make you a good teacher. It might make you good at problem solving in your particular field of expertise, good at applying chemical tools. But there were no courses in grad school about education, or a variety of other topics we regularly encounter: troubleshooting electronics, glassblowing, tube fitting, getting along with other people, ethics, or scientific writing (though there are writing requirements in proposals and theses). These are all skills I've learned on the job. My "shop skills" (the ability and desire to actually pick up a wrench or screwdriver and fix something) came from my summer employment at a submersible pump and electric motor company during my college years, not from my graduate education. The teaching skills came from, well, teaching.
I'm not the only one who has noticed this narrow approach, either. A well-written report was drafted and submitted to the president of the American Chemical Society, which outlined many of the shortcomings of chemical graduate education. They point out that our current system of graduate education was set up just after World War II, you know, 70 years ago. Here's the understatement of the day: a lot has changed since then. We are not narrowly focused in our jobs and career paths anymore. Regarding science, the interesting, meaningful, and high-impact research happens at interfaces; for example, biodetection, the field I work in, sits at the interfaces between optics, surface chemistry, molecular biology, and engineering with a dash of theoretical biology and theoretical physics thrown in.
I wonder, too, if the number of folks who stick it out in graduate school truly reflects the desire of those folks to pursue scientific careers. Does peer pressure simply make graduate students "stick it out?" "Everyone else is doing it" seemed like the reason a lot of folks stayed in graduate school, at least when I was there. It took a lot of time, thought, and preparation to screw up the courage to tell my advisor I wanted to quit grad school and go get a job. Fortunately, he beat me to initiating that conversation because he noticed that I wasn't that crazy about it. (I should also point out that I met my wife at that time, so I was a bit distracted, and it showed. What can I say? Love is a many splendored thing!) I was ready to be done with school, ready to get a job, and ready spend as much time as I could outdoors. (I should also point out that I left a couple of good friends when I left graduate school, one of whom I still see now and then. I missed them immediately, and think on them often.)
What did I get with my MS in Chemistry?
- decent income & good benefits
- regular hours
- AND, MOST IMPORTANTLY, TIME to do other things (outdoor activities, music, woodworking, renovating a home, etc.)
Other things, like respect from my co-workers, I still had to earn.
Since I graduated with MS in 1999, the job market has had ups and downs, twists and turns. There are fewer industry jobs than there used to be, and certainly far fewer jobs than qualified candidates. The job market is such that, not only do you have to know someone, you have to "connect" with them before you can even get an interview. With that glut of scientific experts in mind, I think back to some of the advice I received when considering the Master's: "stick it out" and "an MS has limited potential" and "only extenuating circumstances make smart people leave Ph.D. programs" and so on. This bias is pervasive; even in my current job, during a performance appraisal, one of my bosses wrote "family issues forced Aaron to get his MS rather than finishing the PhD," to which I had to reply to him, personally, "NO! this choice was all mine. Nothing "forced" me to do anything." I worked hard to get where I am. To the well-meaning advice givers, I would argue that I've had a successful career, even becoming a Research Scientist at the Los Alamos National Laboratory. So, in this instance, and using our typical metrics for success, quitting graduate school early and earning a Master's degree was a good career move for me. I didn't need a terminal degree to prove myself smart and successful.
The last point I'd like to make is the "leadership" potential of Ph.D. vs MS, at least as far as I've observed. It's true that in most companies, the leaders have Ph.D.s. Out of the 5-6 supervisors I've had since 1999, I've only worked for one person who didn't have a Ph.D. The last company I worked at spelled out what level you could expect to achieve with a certain degree and a certain level of experience, and the glass ceiling for non-Ph.D.s was pretty obvious. Rather than resent it, I appreciated their honesty. But any bench chemist, regardless of degree, is doing work that someone else wants done to make someone else rich, pure and simple. To say that just because you didn't get a doctorate you'll be someone's lackey is a bit short-sighted. Everyone who works for any company is someone's lackey. We all have a supervisor, who reports to another supervisor, who reports to the CEO or director, who reports to some sort of investor (or tax payer). So everyone who is working for a company is working for "the man." I hope that we can all find interesting, fulfilling jobs to offset this bitter truth.
I also hope that if you're in graduate school, you're not demoralized; if you are headed to graduate school, I don't mean to dash your dreams; if you have a Ph.D., you don't think I automatically hate or disrespect you. On the contrary. I admire the tenacity and focus required to work 12+ hour days for 5+ years for <$25K/yr and little respect, with hopes for a career that may or may not pan out. The world still needs innovative problem solvers to lead us as we continue to face scientific, social, and economic challenges on an ever-increasing scale. Like I've told my own student interns: all of the easy problems have already been solved. And honestly, I've considered, more than once, going back for my doctorate. For now, it's not in the cards, and I guess this little essay is part of the process of letting go of that immediate possibility. But who knows! I once met a man who went back for his Ph.D. in NMR spectroscopy in his 50s. It happens.
Regardless of your educational and career path, I implore you to think carefully about your motivation, and keep an open mind about changes and choices. Keep in mind, also, that outside-the-box thinking required to solve difficult, emerging problems will probably require outside-the-box education, perhaps even outside-the-box companies with novel business models. I am sure the one-size-fits-all, macro-scale paradigm that society has adopted will not work. The report I cited earlier, in its 60+ pages, agrees with me.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
As my research started, I noticed that the grad students did not all come with the same levels of preparation. Some had done much more research than I had (even though I did a summer internship at the University of Wyoming and some undergrad research at the College of Idaho), and some had even come to CSU the summer before to pick an advisor and project. I showed up at 8 am on the Monday after the end of classes, ready to start my work. I realized fairly quickly that my group mates had 1) been there since 6:30 am, 2) come in on the Saturday and Sunday before rather than going climbing, hiking, mountain biking or drinking (which is what I did), 3) had projects that they'd been thinking about for months (I think I had barely picked a project at that point), 4) didn't try out for the CSU jazz ensemble (I ended up as the back-up piano player, and I learned a lot that one semester!), and 5) were generally in our research advisor's good graces (which I was not, and it would take 18 months for me to get there). I don't know if they were all just that ambitious or if they got better advice than I did, or if I missed some memo that said "show up early for the best projects and to not look like a loser." Appearances mattered, apparently. My first two thoughts that morning were "what the hell?" and "holy sh*t!"
In short, I had some issues that were mine to solve. To this day, I have a bit of a chip on my shoulder about quitting grad school and what it's meant for me, career-wise. I'll never know if I'd be happier or better off as "Dr. Anderson" (though I do enjoy it when vendors and job applicants call me Dr. Anderson without knowing that I don't have a Ph.D.), but I've had a fulfilling, interesting, and productive life and career so far. What more could I ask for?
But this is a Blog, so (insert snicker here) you also get to read my opinions and some observations I've made about education and industry against the backdrop of a 14-year chemistry career. If you don't care about higher education in America, skip to the last paragraph. But I implore you to think about what education prepares a person to do. (As a father of young kids, I think about this topic A LOT.)
Graduate school--despite many peoples' best intentions--is part of a system, the system of taking smart people and turning them into parts of an Industrial Complex, albeit skewed toward leadership roles. The idea (circa 1997) was this: go to college, go to grad school, do a post-doc, get a job in industry or pharma and you'll be set. If you get a Ph.D. you'll get a job as a professor or mid-level employee, and work your way up to become a manager. One unstated caveat was this: employers really mean "finish your Ph.D. and a postdoc or 2, and then we'll talk." Another caveat (more relevant here): not getting a Ph.D. means that you have to take orders from other people, and that you'll never get to be "the boss." There was a general disdain for non-Ph.Ds. within the chemistry graduate school culture. The folks who "opt out" of grad school were "sell-outs" or "chicken" or "too dumb to hack it" or "settling for the booby prize." Some folks were all of those things, sure, but I would say that most people are NONE of those things when they choose to opt out of a given system. The only "pass" you'd get from the Ph.D.-bound peanut gallery for getting an MS was if you were leaving Chemistry to go do something else, like Law.
After all that strange psychology, and after I did indeed earn a Master's Degree in Chemistry from Colorado State University, I have to ask the question: why is getting a Master's Degree instead of a Ph.D. considered "chickening out" or "quitting" or "settling for the booby prize?" Is it because we place such a high standard on having a terminal degree? College endowments are often based on what percentage of their faculty have terminal degrees in their field. Most 4-year colleges and universities don't hire folks with Master's Degrees to teach. Never mind that earning a Ph.D. does not necessarily make you a good teacher. It might make you good at problem solving in your particular field of expertise, good at applying chemical tools. But there were no courses in grad school about education, or a variety of other topics we regularly encounter: troubleshooting electronics, glassblowing, tube fitting, getting along with other people, ethics, or scientific writing (though there are writing requirements in proposals and theses). These are all skills I've learned on the job. My "shop skills" (the ability and desire to actually pick up a wrench or screwdriver and fix something) came from my summer employment at a submersible pump and electric motor company during my college years, not from my graduate education. The teaching skills came from, well, teaching.
I'm not the only one who has noticed this narrow approach, either. A well-written report was drafted and submitted to the president of the American Chemical Society, which outlined many of the shortcomings of chemical graduate education. They point out that our current system of graduate education was set up just after World War II, you know, 70 years ago. Here's the understatement of the day: a lot has changed since then. We are not narrowly focused in our jobs and career paths anymore. Regarding science, the interesting, meaningful, and high-impact research happens at interfaces; for example, biodetection, the field I work in, sits at the interfaces between optics, surface chemistry, molecular biology, and engineering with a dash of theoretical biology and theoretical physics thrown in.
I wonder, too, if the number of folks who stick it out in graduate school truly reflects the desire of those folks to pursue scientific careers. Does peer pressure simply make graduate students "stick it out?" "Everyone else is doing it" seemed like the reason a lot of folks stayed in graduate school, at least when I was there. It took a lot of time, thought, and preparation to screw up the courage to tell my advisor I wanted to quit grad school and go get a job. Fortunately, he beat me to initiating that conversation because he noticed that I wasn't that crazy about it. (I should also point out that I met my wife at that time, so I was a bit distracted, and it showed. What can I say? Love is a many splendored thing!) I was ready to be done with school, ready to get a job, and ready spend as much time as I could outdoors. (I should also point out that I left a couple of good friends when I left graduate school, one of whom I still see now and then. I missed them immediately, and think on them often.)
What did I get with my MS in Chemistry?
- decent income & good benefits
- regular hours
- AND, MOST IMPORTANTLY, TIME to do other things (outdoor activities, music, woodworking, renovating a home, etc.)
Other things, like respect from my co-workers, I still had to earn.
Since I graduated with MS in 1999, the job market has had ups and downs, twists and turns. There are fewer industry jobs than there used to be, and certainly far fewer jobs than qualified candidates. The job market is such that, not only do you have to know someone, you have to "connect" with them before you can even get an interview. With that glut of scientific experts in mind, I think back to some of the advice I received when considering the Master's: "stick it out" and "an MS has limited potential" and "only extenuating circumstances make smart people leave Ph.D. programs" and so on. This bias is pervasive; even in my current job, during a performance appraisal, one of my bosses wrote "family issues forced Aaron to get his MS rather than finishing the PhD," to which I had to reply to him, personally, "NO! this choice was all mine. Nothing "forced" me to do anything." I worked hard to get where I am. To the well-meaning advice givers, I would argue that I've had a successful career, even becoming a Research Scientist at the Los Alamos National Laboratory. So, in this instance, and using our typical metrics for success, quitting graduate school early and earning a Master's degree was a good career move for me. I didn't need a terminal degree to prove myself smart and successful.
The last point I'd like to make is the "leadership" potential of Ph.D. vs MS, at least as far as I've observed. It's true that in most companies, the leaders have Ph.D.s. Out of the 5-6 supervisors I've had since 1999, I've only worked for one person who didn't have a Ph.D. The last company I worked at spelled out what level you could expect to achieve with a certain degree and a certain level of experience, and the glass ceiling for non-Ph.D.s was pretty obvious. Rather than resent it, I appreciated their honesty. But any bench chemist, regardless of degree, is doing work that someone else wants done to make someone else rich, pure and simple. To say that just because you didn't get a doctorate you'll be someone's lackey is a bit short-sighted. Everyone who works for any company is someone's lackey. We all have a supervisor, who reports to another supervisor, who reports to the CEO or director, who reports to some sort of investor (or tax payer). So everyone who is working for a company is working for "the man." I hope that we can all find interesting, fulfilling jobs to offset this bitter truth.
I also hope that if you're in graduate school, you're not demoralized; if you are headed to graduate school, I don't mean to dash your dreams; if you have a Ph.D., you don't think I automatically hate or disrespect you. On the contrary. I admire the tenacity and focus required to work 12+ hour days for 5+ years for <$25K/yr and little respect, with hopes for a career that may or may not pan out. The world still needs innovative problem solvers to lead us as we continue to face scientific, social, and economic challenges on an ever-increasing scale. Like I've told my own student interns: all of the easy problems have already been solved. And honestly, I've considered, more than once, going back for my doctorate. For now, it's not in the cards, and I guess this little essay is part of the process of letting go of that immediate possibility. But who knows! I once met a man who went back for his Ph.D. in NMR spectroscopy in his 50s. It happens.
Regardless of your educational and career path, I implore you to think carefully about your motivation, and keep an open mind about changes and choices. Keep in mind, also, that outside-the-box thinking required to solve difficult, emerging problems will probably require outside-the-box education, perhaps even outside-the-box companies with novel business models. I am sure the one-size-fits-all, macro-scale paradigm that society has adopted will not work. The report I cited earlier, in its 60+ pages, agrees with me.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Quitting, Part 2: Ski Patrol
This essay is second in my "Quitting" series, but it's the one I wrote first (back in October). For me, fall has always been the time to start thinking about winter. It was the time to check out Warren Miller's latest offering. Winter meant skiing. And for the past decade, skiing meant ski patrolling. That's me, pointing at the snow under the guise of teaching an avalanche class:
During my 10 year ski patrol career, I became an instructor in every National Ski Patrol discipline (First aid, Transportation, Avalanche, and Mountaineering), took on the role of regional representative for the Mountaineering program, and received a National Appointment for my efforts and accomplishments. By all metrics, I was into patrolling. I even half-considered quitting my day job at one point to become a pro patroller. I spent $100s on gear (and sold $100s worth), went to seminars, and traveled a lot to classes and to teach. I loved the idea of helping people out while following one of my true passions--skiing.
But a lot of factors conspired to change all of that.
The "new" wore off. The years of limited snowpack when Pajarito Mountain didn't open dampened my zeal. Adding kids and side job as musician and piano teacher ate up too much energy and time. The hustle of the industry became too grating. The straw that did my patrol career in, though, was a back injury that manifested itself two years ago. Actually, this injury was probably a result of a significant fall ten years earlier that left me in the hospital for a day, but the symptoms finally caught up with me in 2011 and the herniated disk pressing on the nerve root between L4 and L5 left me in pain and unable to lift (dorsiflex) my left foot or even curl my toes upward. Sitting for long periods of time was a problem (the position of sitting on a chairlift with your feet unsupported, incidentally, is one of the worst for your lower back). In addition to spending time in recovery and physical therapy, I took the season off from patrolling, mostly because I didn’t trust my back not to give out during a toboggan run in the process of attempting to save someone’s life. It was nearly a soul-crushing experience to be unable to do the things I loved, including picking up my then 2-year-old daughter without wincing in pain.
I actually, unexpectedly, enjoyed the season off, so much so that I took the next year off as well and elected “Alumni” status. I managed 5 days of skiing last winter, none of them lift-served, a fact that most die-hard snowsports enthusiasts probably don’t consider bragging rights. I taught one Mountain Travel & Rescue class. This year, I didn’t even (and don't plan to) refresh my OEC (first aid) skills (I'll do CPR through work). While I miss the free season pass and Patagonia pro deal, and had a hard time letting go of the effort I’d put into my accomplishments as a patroller, there are a lot of things I don’t miss.
First on the list: downhill skiing has become really expensive. Skis, boots, poles, bindings, clothing, gear, food, lift tickets, 4wd vehicles, and gas for a family to go skiing adds up fast. A day of skiing for my family at our little local area would cost roughly $150 just for lift tickets; a season pass costs $300 each for adults. When it was just me skiing or just me and my wife, it was manageable (though I ate a lot of Ramen noodles and cheap microwave burritos); now there are two more folks in my house to outfit. While it's true that patrollers pay less money for their time skiing--a fact that almost made me not quit--there’s a lot of effort and time commitment involved for that privilege. Some of that work just isn't fun for me any more, things like "courtesy rides" and talking people down slopes they have no business being on and policing closures.
Next: skiing has changed to something I don't enjoy as much. It's not folks herringbone-ing up a slope in their knickers and sweaters to catch a few powder turns, or one or two double chair lifts going up a remote mountain hours from any definitive medical care. It's not just mountaineers going skiing because they love it. Now it’s big business. It’s millions of dollars of infrastructure and investment, it's gondolas and trams and high-speed detachable six-seat chair lifts, it's condos and golf courses, it's grooming and snowmaking and a whole host of other expensive conveniences. It is often development on public land for the financial gain of a few (Pajarito Mtn. is a notable exception). It is stocks and bonds and money.
And machinery. In-bounds, it’s a constant hum and buzz. Next time you go skiing at your local ski area, take a look around at everything that requires power. The lifts, snowcats, snowmobiles, base-area buildings and cafeterias, and buses and shuttles all require electricity or fossil fuels. Snowmaking, a necessary part of having a ski area open in Colorado or New Mexico in November (with the exceptions, I suppose, of Silverton and Wolf Creek), requires electricity and water. Unless your local ski area has installed or insisted on sustainable energy options, there’s a good chance it runs on coal, a fossil fuel that has dire implications for climate change, public health, and environmental impact when it's mined and burned. Here we should also acknowledge the use of transportation fuels: a typical Denver-ite will drive his or her SUV or sport sedan 1-3 hours each way for a day (6 hours?) of skiing. Hopefully the SUV driver has a car full of friends to decrease his or her carbon footprint. But that’s just the skiing public. Trucks haul food and other goods for consumption, area employees drive to/from work, and on and on. Consider your carbon footprint carefully with your outdoor activities, especially lift-served skiing. The ski industry as it exists today runs largely on fossil fuels, despite its green-washing efforts.
As I approach middle-age, my time spent outdoors is needed to get away from noise and the trappings of modern society--cars, motors, electricity, and controlled environments. And maybe it always has--as a teenager I mountain biked alone, a lot, in the desert hills and mountains North of Gooding, ID. I rarely saw a soul and came to crave those doses of solitude. Now that I'm a parent, I’d rather take my kids hiking, snowshoeing, or cross-country skiing deep in the woods, away from machinery,
than spend my day listening to the chug-chug-chug of the lifts, the roar of the snowmobile, and the traffic (and rap music the high school and college kids insist on blasting) in the parking lot. Or I’d rather skin up some tree-covered ridgeline for a great view and some solid aerobic exercise, where all I can hear is the whisper (or roar) of the wind in the trees and the crunch and “shussh” of the snow under my skis,
where the pace is slow enough that I can notice, stop, and appreciate things like these bird tracks.
The crux of it for me, though--and this really should have been enough justification for calling it quits--is that time spent patrolling meant time away from my family. The summer OEC instruction and fall refresher cycles were just not how I want to spend my evenings and weekends anymore. My wife was my best, most reliable, and most fun ski buddy for many years--in fact, she was a patroller for a couple seasons--but after we had kids, if we wanted to ski in-area, we had to ski separately, wait for grandparents to come visit, or hire a babysitter. I missed hanging out with my wife on weekends!
And with kids, it’s a no-brainer. It’ll be almost a decade from now before my kids are even eligible to patrol, so there’s a good chance that waiting for them to reach high school before I spend time with them on the weekends will backfire, that they'll be strangers. Being gone most weekend days is just not a viable choice. My kids seem to change almost every day, and I miss them enough during the week when I’m at work and they’re in school.
Maybe someday I’ll go back to patrolling, if my obligations and interests change again. Granted, if you really want to learn to ski well, there’s no method that’s more efficient than spending many, many days working on your turns in-bounds with the lift to whisk you back to the top of the mountain after each run, and I don't see myself leaving the sport altogether. I’m thankful that I had the opportunity in my 20s to have 40+day seasons, that my dad combed ski swaps for deals for my sister and me when we were young, and that we had small, inexpensive ski areas close to home when I was a kid. But I’m also glad I met my wife who enjoys cross-country skiing so we could avoid the contrived modern ski area. If you want to ski in-bounds, save your money, and weigh the “hidden” costs. After a while, you may come around to the point of view I outlined above.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
During my 10 year ski patrol career, I became an instructor in every National Ski Patrol discipline (First aid, Transportation, Avalanche, and Mountaineering), took on the role of regional representative for the Mountaineering program, and received a National Appointment for my efforts and accomplishments. By all metrics, I was into patrolling. I even half-considered quitting my day job at one point to become a pro patroller. I spent $100s on gear (and sold $100s worth), went to seminars, and traveled a lot to classes and to teach. I loved the idea of helping people out while following one of my true passions--skiing.
But a lot of factors conspired to change all of that.
The "new" wore off. The years of limited snowpack when Pajarito Mountain didn't open dampened my zeal. Adding kids and side job as musician and piano teacher ate up too much energy and time. The hustle of the industry became too grating. The straw that did my patrol career in, though, was a back injury that manifested itself two years ago. Actually, this injury was probably a result of a significant fall ten years earlier that left me in the hospital for a day, but the symptoms finally caught up with me in 2011 and the herniated disk pressing on the nerve root between L4 and L5 left me in pain and unable to lift (dorsiflex) my left foot or even curl my toes upward. Sitting for long periods of time was a problem (the position of sitting on a chairlift with your feet unsupported, incidentally, is one of the worst for your lower back). In addition to spending time in recovery and physical therapy, I took the season off from patrolling, mostly because I didn’t trust my back not to give out during a toboggan run in the process of attempting to save someone’s life. It was nearly a soul-crushing experience to be unable to do the things I loved, including picking up my then 2-year-old daughter without wincing in pain.
I actually, unexpectedly, enjoyed the season off, so much so that I took the next year off as well and elected “Alumni” status. I managed 5 days of skiing last winter, none of them lift-served, a fact that most die-hard snowsports enthusiasts probably don’t consider bragging rights. I taught one Mountain Travel & Rescue class. This year, I didn’t even (and don't plan to) refresh my OEC (first aid) skills (I'll do CPR through work). While I miss the free season pass and Patagonia pro deal, and had a hard time letting go of the effort I’d put into my accomplishments as a patroller, there are a lot of things I don’t miss.
First on the list: downhill skiing has become really expensive. Skis, boots, poles, bindings, clothing, gear, food, lift tickets, 4wd vehicles, and gas for a family to go skiing adds up fast. A day of skiing for my family at our little local area would cost roughly $150 just for lift tickets; a season pass costs $300 each for adults. When it was just me skiing or just me and my wife, it was manageable (though I ate a lot of Ramen noodles and cheap microwave burritos); now there are two more folks in my house to outfit. While it's true that patrollers pay less money for their time skiing--a fact that almost made me not quit--there’s a lot of effort and time commitment involved for that privilege. Some of that work just isn't fun for me any more, things like "courtesy rides" and talking people down slopes they have no business being on and policing closures.
Next: skiing has changed to something I don't enjoy as much. It's not folks herringbone-ing up a slope in their knickers and sweaters to catch a few powder turns, or one or two double chair lifts going up a remote mountain hours from any definitive medical care. It's not just mountaineers going skiing because they love it. Now it’s big business. It’s millions of dollars of infrastructure and investment, it's gondolas and trams and high-speed detachable six-seat chair lifts, it's condos and golf courses, it's grooming and snowmaking and a whole host of other expensive conveniences. It is often development on public land for the financial gain of a few (Pajarito Mtn. is a notable exception). It is stocks and bonds and money.
And machinery. In-bounds, it’s a constant hum and buzz. Next time you go skiing at your local ski area, take a look around at everything that requires power. The lifts, snowcats, snowmobiles, base-area buildings and cafeterias, and buses and shuttles all require electricity or fossil fuels. Snowmaking, a necessary part of having a ski area open in Colorado or New Mexico in November (with the exceptions, I suppose, of Silverton and Wolf Creek), requires electricity and water. Unless your local ski area has installed or insisted on sustainable energy options, there’s a good chance it runs on coal, a fossil fuel that has dire implications for climate change, public health, and environmental impact when it's mined and burned. Here we should also acknowledge the use of transportation fuels: a typical Denver-ite will drive his or her SUV or sport sedan 1-3 hours each way for a day (6 hours?) of skiing. Hopefully the SUV driver has a car full of friends to decrease his or her carbon footprint. But that’s just the skiing public. Trucks haul food and other goods for consumption, area employees drive to/from work, and on and on. Consider your carbon footprint carefully with your outdoor activities, especially lift-served skiing. The ski industry as it exists today runs largely on fossil fuels, despite its green-washing efforts.
As I approach middle-age, my time spent outdoors is needed to get away from noise and the trappings of modern society--cars, motors, electricity, and controlled environments. And maybe it always has--as a teenager I mountain biked alone, a lot, in the desert hills and mountains North of Gooding, ID. I rarely saw a soul and came to crave those doses of solitude. Now that I'm a parent, I’d rather take my kids hiking, snowshoeing, or cross-country skiing deep in the woods, away from machinery,
than spend my day listening to the chug-chug-chug of the lifts, the roar of the snowmobile, and the traffic (and rap music the high school and college kids insist on blasting) in the parking lot. Or I’d rather skin up some tree-covered ridgeline for a great view and some solid aerobic exercise, where all I can hear is the whisper (or roar) of the wind in the trees and the crunch and “shussh” of the snow under my skis,
where the pace is slow enough that I can notice, stop, and appreciate things like these bird tracks.
The crux of it for me, though--and this really should have been enough justification for calling it quits--is that time spent patrolling meant time away from my family. The summer OEC instruction and fall refresher cycles were just not how I want to spend my evenings and weekends anymore. My wife was my best, most reliable, and most fun ski buddy for many years--in fact, she was a patroller for a couple seasons--but after we had kids, if we wanted to ski in-area, we had to ski separately, wait for grandparents to come visit, or hire a babysitter. I missed hanging out with my wife on weekends!
And with kids, it’s a no-brainer. It’ll be almost a decade from now before my kids are even eligible to patrol, so there’s a good chance that waiting for them to reach high school before I spend time with them on the weekends will backfire, that they'll be strangers. Being gone most weekend days is just not a viable choice. My kids seem to change almost every day, and I miss them enough during the week when I’m at work and they’re in school.
Maybe someday I’ll go back to patrolling, if my obligations and interests change again. Granted, if you really want to learn to ski well, there’s no method that’s more efficient than spending many, many days working on your turns in-bounds with the lift to whisk you back to the top of the mountain after each run, and I don't see myself leaving the sport altogether. I’m thankful that I had the opportunity in my 20s to have 40+day seasons, that my dad combed ski swaps for deals for my sister and me when we were young, and that we had small, inexpensive ski areas close to home when I was a kid. But I’m also glad I met my wife who enjoys cross-country skiing so we could avoid the contrived modern ski area. If you want to ski in-bounds, save your money, and weigh the “hidden” costs. After a while, you may come around to the point of view I outlined above.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Quitting Part 1: No More Disposable Crap!
I had a few of these quitting articles started, and was wondering which one I'd lead off with, when I heard on the radio that Santa Fe banned disposable plastic shopping bags. I think it's a step in the right direction of getting rid of disposable, plastic crap. Even this counterpoint can't dissuade me from this point of view. I am so tired of plastic bags in trees, lining fences, and flapping through the breeze. The only things I've re-used plastic shopping bags for are picking up dog poo on the street and as a trash receptacle, and that's only because the county where I live REQUIRES you to put your trash in a bag before you put it in the dumpster. If it wasn't a rule or law, and I didn't mind poo on my hands, I would probably rid myself of plastic bags once and for all.
There are a variety of reasons to stop consuming disposable goods, ranging from the environmental concerns to long-term health issues. And at the end of this post, I'll suggest some solutions, at least with your food and beverage choices, to keep from getting (or buying) unnecessary stuff and throwing it away.
But to start, I'll describe a typical modern scene. At a recent event I went to, breakfast burritos were served, wrapped in 3 layers of foil. I picked up my foil-covered burrito, filled my steel cup with coffee, and watched. People picked up their foil-wrapped burritos, put them on paper plates, picked up 2-3 paper napkins each, filled up paper cups with coffee, covered the cups with plastic lids, and proceeded to eat their burritos with plastic utensils. All of it, even the foil (recylable!) went in the trash. No one said word one about it.
How did we end up becoming so comfortable with disposable goods? Why do people insist on walking around town with their paper coffee cups from Starbucks, when a good steel or even plastic cup can be purchased AT STARBUCK'S for $10-20? That paper cup, cardboard sleeve, and plastic lid all end up in the trash, more often than not, even though the cardboard sleeve at least is recyclable. Well, here is one clue from Life Magazine:
What about plastic bottles (picture from a cool photo-essay in the Atlantic)? No, that's not a dead body, but whatever "Siesta" is in Chinese, because sorting through the world's imported plastic bottles is hard work:
And here is one consequence (picture from another site), which is floating piles of crap in the ocean:
And here is another, more poignant, consequence of our waste-filled lives: dead animals. That's a dead Albatross chick, which died on the remote Pacific island of Midway from ingesting a bunch of bottle caps and such, in case you were wondering:
And from the NOAA's less alarmist take: "Regardless of the exact size, mass, and location of these areas of concentration, man-made litter and debris do not belong in our oceans or waterways."
"But," you say indignantly, "I live in a landlocked state! Surely the stuff I throw in the trash goes to a landfill and will never end up in a waterway."
To that I say, have you ever stood near a landfill on a windy day and watched what happens to the trash that can be carried in the wind? Have you ever walked down a city street and seen how much trash lines the gutters? Have you ever walked up or down a drainage, wash, or arroyo (like the one behind my house) and viewed the disposable refuse? The bottles and caps and trash go down the drainage, into the river, and to the ocean. That stuff will never go away in our lifetimes. In fact, as a result of one sampling effort, it was found that there is more plastic debris than plankton in the ocean (by mass, not by numbers of particles), a boggling concept. And the plastics degrade into smaller and smaller particles that can be eaten by ocean organisms, thus entering the food chain. The plasticizers and monomers are dissolved in the water as well.
"But," you say cynically, "Why should I care? What difference can one person make? It doesn't matter if I recycle or consume less, Bob or Joe don't care and don't recycle."
To that I say, everyone makes a difference every day. If one person makes a difference, and tells his or her friends, or gives reusable gifts (I bought my bandmates steel cups so we didn't have to drink our backstage bourbon out of disposable plastic Solo cups), that influences people then chances are, logic will prevail. We don't have to do big things to make a change in the world. We just have to catalyze changes. If I didn't learn anything else from Chemistry, I learned that in a catalytic chemical reaction, the catalyst is added in much smaller amounts (typically less than 0.1% of the atoms are catalyst) than the rest of the materials, yet the catalyst is what enables the molecular transformation of the bulk material. I'm hoping this article will be such a catalyst for folks who are either uninformed or indifferent.
So, off the high horse, and on to something practical: what are some changes you can make to consume and dispose of less disposable crap?
- Use durable goods. Get and use a steel coffee cup ($10-20). Use a re-usable water bottle ($5-10). Take re-usable plates and cups to picnics and out camping (we bought ours at a yard sale for a couple bucks). Use cloth napkins. Use old rags, holey t-shirts, etc. instead of paper towels. Use a handkerchief instead of Kleenex for your boogers. Take your own cloth bags to the store (not just the grocery store, but hardware store, clothing store, etc.) or re-use your plastic bags. Cook on cast iron. While quality products cost more, you'll save money in the long run because you won't have to replace them nearly as often.
- Buy less stuff. Think long and hard about your purchases--not just if it's a good deal, but also if it will last and what it's fate will be when you're done with it. The Holidays (not just Thanksgiving & Christmas) encourage us to consume stuff we don't need. Avoid the big-box chains at any time of year because, chances are, you'll come out with more than you intended to buy. Make cards and gifts. Make Halloween costumes (my son was a convincing Jedi knight with a hand-me-down Karate gi, a $2 thrift store belt, a lightsaber we made out of a part of a broken shovel handle, and a robe my wife made). Don't go grocery shopping while hungry. Here's another take: If you have a roof over your head, drink clean water, eat enough food, can clothe yourself, and have access to decent medical care, you have everything you need. Everything else is a luxury. Electronics are especially problematic,
unless you just don't care about other, less privileged people.
- Buy second-hand. In a previous post, I went through dressing well on a budget and how to alter that not-quite-perfect $4 shirt. I'm learning about altering and mending pants and jackets. Bottom line: buying used requires fewer resources and less energy. I've never owned, or plan to own, a new car. I have bought and sold quite a bit of used music gear and outdoor gear. Half of my wardrobe is from thrift stores, and I patch and repair much of my clothing. I have mostly old and re-purposed furniture. I live in a house that was built in 1968. Bottom line: buying new stuff is about image, not need.
- Buy local. I'm glad to say that there has been a lot of press in my town about buying local, and there are a lot of good reasons to do so. More money stays in the community, for starters, and you help out your neighbors and friends instead of a nameless, faceless corporation. If you can shop a place that is both a local business AND local manufacturer, then it's a win-win due to the cost of shipping goods. It saves you gas money. I know a lot of people who drive 30 miles to Wal-Mart or Target to save money, but they don't consider the fuel (or environmental) costs.
- Recycle. If the thing you want comes in a container that can't be recycled, well, don't buy it. Write to the manufacturer regarding your concerns. Chances are, you'll find that they're heartless corporations and you could do better locally, OR by buying in bulk. We buy bulk and put these products into our own reused bags or jars. Glass is infinitely recyclable, if there's willpower (i.e., a market). I don't know what to say to people who still don't recycle. It's available curbside in my County, for Christ's sake. Colorado has been recycling for 30 years, Oregon for even longer. Where there's a will, there's a way. Recent case-in-point: I was at a party recently and there was no provision to recycle cans, even though they were serving beverages in cans. I ended up taking a bag of empty cans home and put them in my own recycle bin.
- Think long and hard about throwing stuff away. Look at everything you buy with the perspective that it has a finite lifetime. Dispose of things properly--our county transfer station has containers for used motor oil, household chemicals, paint, electronics, metal, and yard waste (brush, grass clippings, leaves, etc.). There is a very short list of stuff that should go to the landfill. And know where your trash goes. If you live on a coast, make sure they're not still dumping it out in the ocean. If they are, write to your policy makers. To get an idea of how much stuff you throw away, save it for a week. We went through a recent experiment in our house where we saved plastic bottle caps for an art project, and ended up with more caps than we could comfortably store on the shelves above the dryer. Hmm...
- Fix your stuff. I patch my clothing until it falls apart. Take care of your car. With a little effort and research, you can probably fix your toaster, or coffee maker. We fixed a broken vaporizer simply by cleaning the electrodes. My wife replaced the shattered screen on her iPad. In my mind, there's no reason to replace something (or throw it away!) if it still works or you can fix it. Google it. Chances are, someone else had the same problem and came up with a solution. If not, put a little effort into it, and there's your $Million idea.
The most specific books we've read on the subject of lowering human impact (on the planet and on each other!!!) are:
- The Zero Waste Home by Bea Johnson. Instead of simply reduce, reuse, recycle, her mantra is "REFUSE, REFUSE, REFUSE, then reduce, reuse, rot, recycle." She keeps a blog.
- The Good Life Lab by Wendy Tremayne. She and her partner (Mikey Sklar) have embarked on an experiment where they buy very few new goods and instead rely of things they can grow or find in the industrial waste stream (things like burning restaurant grease in their cars, building shops out of shipping containers, and shopping exclusively at thrift stores and yard sales). Their schtick is to become creators, not consumers. They blog as well.
These practices that we have made as part of our lives have reduced our waste stream volume significantly. We are at the point where we maybe fill our curbside trashcan once every couple months, and that's if we've harvested a lot of noxious weeds and don't want them in the community compost. We have actually considered cancelling our trash service, but keep it for the curbside recycling pick-up.
I hope this is either old hat for you, or that it is food for thought. Let me know if you want to discuss this further, or if you have any other ideas. We are always looking for new things to try on our journey to zero waste.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
There are a variety of reasons to stop consuming disposable goods, ranging from the environmental concerns to long-term health issues. And at the end of this post, I'll suggest some solutions, at least with your food and beverage choices, to keep from getting (or buying) unnecessary stuff and throwing it away.
But to start, I'll describe a typical modern scene. At a recent event I went to, breakfast burritos were served, wrapped in 3 layers of foil. I picked up my foil-covered burrito, filled my steel cup with coffee, and watched. People picked up their foil-wrapped burritos, put them on paper plates, picked up 2-3 paper napkins each, filled up paper cups with coffee, covered the cups with plastic lids, and proceeded to eat their burritos with plastic utensils. All of it, even the foil (recylable!) went in the trash. No one said word one about it.
How did we end up becoming so comfortable with disposable goods? Why do people insist on walking around town with their paper coffee cups from Starbucks, when a good steel or even plastic cup can be purchased AT STARBUCK'S for $10-20? That paper cup, cardboard sleeve, and plastic lid all end up in the trash, more often than not, even though the cardboard sleeve at least is recyclable. Well, here is one clue from Life Magazine:
What about plastic bottles (picture from a cool photo-essay in the Atlantic)? No, that's not a dead body, but whatever "Siesta" is in Chinese, because sorting through the world's imported plastic bottles is hard work:
And here is one consequence (picture from another site), which is floating piles of crap in the ocean:
And here is another, more poignant, consequence of our waste-filled lives: dead animals. That's a dead Albatross chick, which died on the remote Pacific island of Midway from ingesting a bunch of bottle caps and such, in case you were wondering:
And from the NOAA's less alarmist take: "Regardless of the exact size, mass, and location of these areas of concentration, man-made litter and debris do not belong in our oceans or waterways."
"But," you say indignantly, "I live in a landlocked state! Surely the stuff I throw in the trash goes to a landfill and will never end up in a waterway."
To that I say, have you ever stood near a landfill on a windy day and watched what happens to the trash that can be carried in the wind? Have you ever walked down a city street and seen how much trash lines the gutters? Have you ever walked up or down a drainage, wash, or arroyo (like the one behind my house) and viewed the disposable refuse? The bottles and caps and trash go down the drainage, into the river, and to the ocean. That stuff will never go away in our lifetimes. In fact, as a result of one sampling effort, it was found that there is more plastic debris than plankton in the ocean (by mass, not by numbers of particles), a boggling concept. And the plastics degrade into smaller and smaller particles that can be eaten by ocean organisms, thus entering the food chain. The plasticizers and monomers are dissolved in the water as well.
"But," you say cynically, "Why should I care? What difference can one person make? It doesn't matter if I recycle or consume less, Bob or Joe don't care and don't recycle."
To that I say, everyone makes a difference every day. If one person makes a difference, and tells his or her friends, or gives reusable gifts (I bought my bandmates steel cups so we didn't have to drink our backstage bourbon out of disposable plastic Solo cups), that influences people then chances are, logic will prevail. We don't have to do big things to make a change in the world. We just have to catalyze changes. If I didn't learn anything else from Chemistry, I learned that in a catalytic chemical reaction, the catalyst is added in much smaller amounts (typically less than 0.1% of the atoms are catalyst) than the rest of the materials, yet the catalyst is what enables the molecular transformation of the bulk material. I'm hoping this article will be such a catalyst for folks who are either uninformed or indifferent.
So, off the high horse, and on to something practical: what are some changes you can make to consume and dispose of less disposable crap?
- Use durable goods. Get and use a steel coffee cup ($10-20). Use a re-usable water bottle ($5-10). Take re-usable plates and cups to picnics and out camping (we bought ours at a yard sale for a couple bucks). Use cloth napkins. Use old rags, holey t-shirts, etc. instead of paper towels. Use a handkerchief instead of Kleenex for your boogers. Take your own cloth bags to the store (not just the grocery store, but hardware store, clothing store, etc.) or re-use your plastic bags. Cook on cast iron. While quality products cost more, you'll save money in the long run because you won't have to replace them nearly as often.
- Buy less stuff. Think long and hard about your purchases--not just if it's a good deal, but also if it will last and what it's fate will be when you're done with it. The Holidays (not just Thanksgiving & Christmas) encourage us to consume stuff we don't need. Avoid the big-box chains at any time of year because, chances are, you'll come out with more than you intended to buy. Make cards and gifts. Make Halloween costumes (my son was a convincing Jedi knight with a hand-me-down Karate gi, a $2 thrift store belt, a lightsaber we made out of a part of a broken shovel handle, and a robe my wife made). Don't go grocery shopping while hungry. Here's another take: If you have a roof over your head, drink clean water, eat enough food, can clothe yourself, and have access to decent medical care, you have everything you need. Everything else is a luxury. Electronics are especially problematic,
unless you just don't care about other, less privileged people.
- Buy second-hand. In a previous post, I went through dressing well on a budget and how to alter that not-quite-perfect $4 shirt. I'm learning about altering and mending pants and jackets. Bottom line: buying used requires fewer resources and less energy. I've never owned, or plan to own, a new car. I have bought and sold quite a bit of used music gear and outdoor gear. Half of my wardrobe is from thrift stores, and I patch and repair much of my clothing. I have mostly old and re-purposed furniture. I live in a house that was built in 1968. Bottom line: buying new stuff is about image, not need.
- Buy local. I'm glad to say that there has been a lot of press in my town about buying local, and there are a lot of good reasons to do so. More money stays in the community, for starters, and you help out your neighbors and friends instead of a nameless, faceless corporation. If you can shop a place that is both a local business AND local manufacturer, then it's a win-win due to the cost of shipping goods. It saves you gas money. I know a lot of people who drive 30 miles to Wal-Mart or Target to save money, but they don't consider the fuel (or environmental) costs.
- Recycle. If the thing you want comes in a container that can't be recycled, well, don't buy it. Write to the manufacturer regarding your concerns. Chances are, you'll find that they're heartless corporations and you could do better locally, OR by buying in bulk. We buy bulk and put these products into our own reused bags or jars. Glass is infinitely recyclable, if there's willpower (i.e., a market). I don't know what to say to people who still don't recycle. It's available curbside in my County, for Christ's sake. Colorado has been recycling for 30 years, Oregon for even longer. Where there's a will, there's a way. Recent case-in-point: I was at a party recently and there was no provision to recycle cans, even though they were serving beverages in cans. I ended up taking a bag of empty cans home and put them in my own recycle bin.
- Think long and hard about throwing stuff away. Look at everything you buy with the perspective that it has a finite lifetime. Dispose of things properly--our county transfer station has containers for used motor oil, household chemicals, paint, electronics, metal, and yard waste (brush, grass clippings, leaves, etc.). There is a very short list of stuff that should go to the landfill. And know where your trash goes. If you live on a coast, make sure they're not still dumping it out in the ocean. If they are, write to your policy makers. To get an idea of how much stuff you throw away, save it for a week. We went through a recent experiment in our house where we saved plastic bottle caps for an art project, and ended up with more caps than we could comfortably store on the shelves above the dryer. Hmm...
- Fix your stuff. I patch my clothing until it falls apart. Take care of your car. With a little effort and research, you can probably fix your toaster, or coffee maker. We fixed a broken vaporizer simply by cleaning the electrodes. My wife replaced the shattered screen on her iPad. In my mind, there's no reason to replace something (or throw it away!) if it still works or you can fix it. Google it. Chances are, someone else had the same problem and came up with a solution. If not, put a little effort into it, and there's your $Million idea.
The most specific books we've read on the subject of lowering human impact (on the planet and on each other!!!) are:
- The Zero Waste Home by Bea Johnson. Instead of simply reduce, reuse, recycle, her mantra is "REFUSE, REFUSE, REFUSE, then reduce, reuse, rot, recycle." She keeps a blog.
- The Good Life Lab by Wendy Tremayne. She and her partner (Mikey Sklar) have embarked on an experiment where they buy very few new goods and instead rely of things they can grow or find in the industrial waste stream (things like burning restaurant grease in their cars, building shops out of shipping containers, and shopping exclusively at thrift stores and yard sales). Their schtick is to become creators, not consumers. They blog as well.
These practices that we have made as part of our lives have reduced our waste stream volume significantly. We are at the point where we maybe fill our curbside trashcan once every couple months, and that's if we've harvested a lot of noxious weeds and don't want them in the community compost. We have actually considered cancelling our trash service, but keep it for the curbside recycling pick-up.
I hope this is either old hat for you, or that it is food for thought. Let me know if you want to discuss this further, or if you have any other ideas. We are always looking for new things to try on our journey to zero waste.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week!
Monday, November 4, 2013
Quitting Intro: Sometimes It's OK to Throw in the Towel
I listened to a recent Freakonomics podcast where quitting was the topic of discussion. If you are unfamiliar with Freakonomics, their schtick is to look at the "hidden side of everything" from an economist's point of view. Overall, I'd say their shows are fascinating. Now, I'm not an economist; in fact, I have never taken an economics class other than Consumer Economics in High School which showed me how to balance a checkbook and shop for a car. But this podcast got me to thinking about some of the things I have quit over the years:
- High School basketball, after sitting the bench for 2 years
- High School track, my junior year, after realizing I am not a fast runner
- horseback riding, when I realized the expense and time required
- rock climbing (expensive and time-consuming; though I may pick that back up, depending on what the kids want to do)
- the Pre-Medicine program in college (how petty can people really be?!)
- going to church regularly (in favor of daily meditation)
- the Ph.D. program at Colorado State (sick of school)
- riding my bike to work (leaning over the handlebars is hard on the back, plus too many close calls with crazy drivers)
- training a search & rescue dog (too many folks who elevate dogs to "people" status)
and more recently
- ski patrol (rather spend time with my family on my days off)
- drinking alcohol (I was not drunk at work, or DWI, or abusing people, or anything like that, but so far I feel much better overall without alcohol intermittently in my system; definitely look for more on that topic later)
If you're not a regular Freakonomics listener, I highly recommend it. The quitting show in particular caught my ear mainly because quitting often leads to positive change. It definitely has for me--there's a lot of mental clutter you have to stumble over/wade through when you are doing things you don't enjoy or find productive, especially when those things are at the expense of activities you'd rather be doing. In the spirit of the Holiday season, I thought I'd tell you some of my quitting stories and why I'm glad (thankful?) that I made those changes. In the coming weeks, I'll document 3 or 4 of the things that I was deeply involved in, but ended up quitting for one reason or another (sometimes for multiple reasons) and which I don't miss that much (other than the "idea" of it). So, stay tuned!
Check out the Zen Habits Blog for a more "spiritual" look at quitting (and sacrifice).
Other "Big A" news:
The thumbtack profile I started two weeks ago has already netted me a wedding gig on Dec 7. So, that's cool!
The Affordables are playing Nov 16 for a private party in Jemez Springs, NM.
The Craig Martin Experience is playing a fundraiser on Dec 14. There we will debut some Christmas arrangements.
I'm almost done with the bottom half of my digital upright (for book & media storage). What a project! But, if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right, right? I think it'll be great when it's done.
That's it for today. Have a great week!
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
This Week's Odd's & Ends, Including a Very Brief, Very Rare Foray into Politics
During the last week, I've fought the family cold (nearing victory, finally!); worked on my migraine management strategies (migraines SUCK!); taught my wife some chemistry (and a new word: stoichiometry) as she delved into soap-making; tied some more flies and earrings, including my new "hair crawdad;"
procrastinated my car maintenance jobs; made a prototype "Altoids tin fly-box" for the Christmas season; prepared for a furlough (which didn't materialize at LANL); and did some work on my piano project. The upright got a new bottom shelf (for books and such) with an access panel for "digitizing" the pedals,
and, after a little engineering and fabrication, the bottom cover will become a "flap" like on those cool barrister/attorney bookshelves (the brackets that I attached to the flap (pictured) were made from some of the SOLID MAPLE piano guts).
Tonight I cut all the parts for the sides and made the pins for the flap to ride on (ground the heads off some of the big screws that came out of this thing). As soon as I get all that together, I'm at a stopping spot on the upright because I REALLY need to get that car work done.
The gig schedule is filling up! I can't believe we already have shows lined up into May. (Everything below is in Los Alamos, NM unless otherwise noted.)
- Oct 31, Halloween Party with the Los Alamos Beer Co-op (Affordables)
- Nov 2, Pajarito Brewpub & Grill (Affordables)
- Nov 16, Los Ojos Bar in Jemez Springs, NM (Affordables)
- Dec 14, Los Alamos Family Council Fundraiser (Craig Martin Experience)
- Jan 25, Pajarito Mtn. Ski Area (Craig Martin Experience)
- Feb 8, Blue Window Bistro/K2 Women's Weekend Fundraiser (Craig Martin Experience)
- May 10, Family Strengths Network benefit TBD (Affordables)
I set up a profile on a site called Thumbtack, which allows me to lay out my philosophies and share reviews others have made of my musicianship and teaching skills. So if you're interested in hiring a musician (piano or guitar) for a gig or for lessons, please consider me. Check out my Thumbtack profile here. I have some openings for lessons (piano or guitar, half or full hour) on Thursday evenings (5-6 pm in Los Alamos) or Fridays (2-3:45, and 4:45- 6 in White Rock). If you can't make those times work, but still want to take lessons, let's talk anyway. After the New Year, I plan to offer lessons at other times as well, but at my home.
That's the fun stuff. Now, not so fun--
I've been thinking about politics the past few weeks, what with all the hubbub surrounding "Obamacare" and the government shutdown. I'll spare you the details of all my thoughts until they're a bit more solid, but a conclusion I've come to is that our political system, regardless of your political affiliation, promotes dependence on something, either industry (Republicans) or government (Democrats). Not a one of those fellas and gals is truly interested in our "freedom," but rather in making more money and having more power and influence. And that, in the land of the free/home of the brave, is a truly frightening thought. Smokescreens are blown up to divide us and distract us from what I see as a central issue of our dependence on the systems we should resent. We send our kids to school to be trained to work from the neck down and don't ask questions. These systems are eroding the health of our bodies, our souls, the environment, our nation, and our society. It's past time for change.
And now, off the soapbox. Hopefully folks aren't out to burn me at the stake now. Anyway...
Have a great week!
procrastinated my car maintenance jobs; made a prototype "Altoids tin fly-box" for the Christmas season; prepared for a furlough (which didn't materialize at LANL); and did some work on my piano project. The upright got a new bottom shelf (for books and such) with an access panel for "digitizing" the pedals,
and, after a little engineering and fabrication, the bottom cover will become a "flap" like on those cool barrister/attorney bookshelves (the brackets that I attached to the flap (pictured) were made from some of the SOLID MAPLE piano guts).
Tonight I cut all the parts for the sides and made the pins for the flap to ride on (ground the heads off some of the big screws that came out of this thing). As soon as I get all that together, I'm at a stopping spot on the upright because I REALLY need to get that car work done.
The gig schedule is filling up! I can't believe we already have shows lined up into May. (Everything below is in Los Alamos, NM unless otherwise noted.)
- Oct 31, Halloween Party with the Los Alamos Beer Co-op (Affordables)
- Nov 2, Pajarito Brewpub & Grill (Affordables)
- Nov 16, Los Ojos Bar in Jemez Springs, NM (Affordables)
- Dec 14, Los Alamos Family Council Fundraiser (Craig Martin Experience)
- Jan 25, Pajarito Mtn. Ski Area (Craig Martin Experience)
- Feb 8, Blue Window Bistro/K2 Women's Weekend Fundraiser (Craig Martin Experience)
- May 10, Family Strengths Network benefit TBD (Affordables)
I set up a profile on a site called Thumbtack, which allows me to lay out my philosophies and share reviews others have made of my musicianship and teaching skills. So if you're interested in hiring a musician (piano or guitar) for a gig or for lessons, please consider me. Check out my Thumbtack profile here. I have some openings for lessons (piano or guitar, half or full hour) on Thursday evenings (5-6 pm in Los Alamos) or Fridays (2-3:45, and 4:45- 6 in White Rock). If you can't make those times work, but still want to take lessons, let's talk anyway. After the New Year, I plan to offer lessons at other times as well, but at my home.
That's the fun stuff. Now, not so fun--
I've been thinking about politics the past few weeks, what with all the hubbub surrounding "Obamacare" and the government shutdown. I'll spare you the details of all my thoughts until they're a bit more solid, but a conclusion I've come to is that our political system, regardless of your political affiliation, promotes dependence on something, either industry (Republicans) or government (Democrats). Not a one of those fellas and gals is truly interested in our "freedom," but rather in making more money and having more power and influence. And that, in the land of the free/home of the brave, is a truly frightening thought. Smokescreens are blown up to divide us and distract us from what I see as a central issue of our dependence on the systems we should resent. We send our kids to school to be trained to work from the neck down and don't ask questions. These systems are eroding the health of our bodies, our souls, the environment, our nation, and our society. It's past time for change.
And now, off the soapbox. Hopefully folks aren't out to burn me at the stake now. Anyway...
Have a great week!
Monday, October 14, 2013
The Carhartt Vest Project
Years ago, my K-9 search & rescue training partner Glenn moved to Alaska. He liquidated a lot of his stuff to me including a bunch of camo clothing, an old armoire (which I repurposed into an entertainment center), and a Carhartt jacket. I used the jacket off and on in the winter to change the oil and stuff like that, but the sleeves were too short (I must be part ape because this is a common problem for me). Also, I wanted a more rugged vest that I could wear to chop wood and do other such jobs in the shoulder seasons. So, I took the sleeves off the jacket and serged the edges of the lining
finished the raw edges of the lining with the widest bias tape I could find
and stitched it all back together. Voila!
I should note that roughly a year passed between taking the sleeves off and finishing the thing, but hey, it's done now. And it works much better for me as a vest than it did as a jacket.
Have a great week!
finished the raw edges of the lining with the widest bias tape I could find
and stitched it all back together. Voila!
I should note that roughly a year passed between taking the sleeves off and finishing the thing, but hey, it's done now. And it works much better for me as a vest than it did as a jacket.
Have a great week!
Monday, October 7, 2013
The Digital Upright Piano Project--Tear Down
I've wanted a place to set up a music studio at home for a while, but our small house doesn't allow us dedicated studio rooms (me for music, my wife for art). A couple years ago we bought my wife a nice, tall drop leaf table to work at, and it sits in a corner of the dining room, waiting for her daily dose of inspiration to hit. Since she lives by the adage "A clean desk is the sign of a lazy artist", I've neglected to include a picture of her workspace here. However, upon seeing how productive my wife's workstation helped her to be inspired me to make this stand/shelf thing out of stuff I had lying around the garage.
It works well for practice and has space for a few odds and ends, like headphones, a few cords, and some music. What became glaringly apparent, though, were the lack-luster aesthetics, and the inefficiency of having my electronics in a closet, sheet music and books in my bedroom, and keyboard in the main room. Plus, my new keyboard (not shown in the pic) doesn't quite fit. I've been wanting to delve into recording for a while, but was constantly setting up and tearing down my "studio." I wanted to co-locate as much of that as possible but keep the small footprint. I'd seen plans and ideas for building a custom case to look like an upright piano, but I thought, why not just gut an old piano that isn't worth tuning/fixing/restoring? It already has a "shelf" for the keyboard, and I can add shelves above and below for books, speakers, laptop, and whatever else I want to store. With the "flaps" and panels on the front, I can hide stuff away when I'm not accessing the interior of the piano (the "studio"). The 2-3" thick sides will bear as much weight as I want to put in it, and, if I was building from scratch, I wouldn't bother with the finer detailing present on older pianos. I'm up-cycling something someone else doesn't want, preventing it from becoming firewood or land-fill. But the best reason I can think of is this: with this re-purposing project, I'll have a more interesting story to tell and will end up with a cooler looking piece of furniture.
The first step to this project was finding a FREE upright piano. That was more difficult than I thought it would be--people were reluctant to part with even their non-playable heirlooms when I told them I was basically in the piano dismantling business and their "antiques" would end up forever altered, not restored. [(it never ceases to amaze me the strings people attach to "free" stuff or "gifts," but I digress.)] After a few months of searching, I found a decent looking 44" upright on Freecycle with some nice woodwork. I paid Expert Piano out of Albuquerque to have it moved, which turned out to be money well spent. Those guys were certainly better (and stronger) lifters than my friends and I, as TWO of these pros were able to dead-lift this beast (500? 600 lbs?) up a couple feet to set it on a dolly and roll it right into their van. It took them a little over an hour to move the piano across White Rock (and move a second piano between neighbors--the woman who gave me this piano also acquired a nice Baldwin from her next door neighbor, and we split some of the travel costs). It probably would have taken me and 3 friends most of the afternoon! Here's the piano, after they rolled it into the garage and I removed the access panels.
I removed the "guts" by unscrewing screws and carefully removing pieces of the case to get at the keybed, action/hammer assembly, pedal mechanisms, and finally the cast iron harp (I googled "dismantling a piano" and got a lot of great information; you should do the same if you're interested in this kind of project). 100 years of dust bunnies were gobbled up with the shop vac, but the only "treasures" I found were a penny, a couple paperclips, and a broken pencil. With the harp exposed, I removed the strings and the tuning pegs (all 228 of them, one at a time...), which enabled me to get at the large number (25? 30?) of 5/16" lag screws that held the harp to the sound board. Only two were stubborn enough to require drilling and a bolt extractor. I started at the bottom and worked my way up to the top, until finally, the harp was free. I took the key shelf out then walked the harp assembly over to my workbench, where it currently stands (it's heavy enough that I can't lift it safely by myself). The soundboard (3/8" solid fir/pine/spruce?) was cut out with a circular saw and the edges were pried away; I'll salvage as much as I can but I beat it up pretty good getting it out of there. Here's the empty case where once stood a piano. It's taken me about 6 good hours to get to this point.
For now, I have to take a break from this piano project for some car work--timing belt, water pump, spark plugs, radiator fluid, air filter, and oil/filter change on our 4Runner in preparation for a road trip in November. We are running out of nice fall days!
In a future post I'll show the finished project and how I got there, but it'll involve installing new casters, re-installing the bottom, sanding and finishing parts of the inside, installing adjustable shelving above and below the keyboard, and finding/installing speakers for the digital piano. As an aside, my wife and I are already starting a list for art projects using the leftover pieces (IVORY and EBONY keys, hammers, steel pins, ancillary woodwork, etc.).
Have a great week!
It works well for practice and has space for a few odds and ends, like headphones, a few cords, and some music. What became glaringly apparent, though, were the lack-luster aesthetics, and the inefficiency of having my electronics in a closet, sheet music and books in my bedroom, and keyboard in the main room. Plus, my new keyboard (not shown in the pic) doesn't quite fit. I've been wanting to delve into recording for a while, but was constantly setting up and tearing down my "studio." I wanted to co-locate as much of that as possible but keep the small footprint. I'd seen plans and ideas for building a custom case to look like an upright piano, but I thought, why not just gut an old piano that isn't worth tuning/fixing/restoring? It already has a "shelf" for the keyboard, and I can add shelves above and below for books, speakers, laptop, and whatever else I want to store. With the "flaps" and panels on the front, I can hide stuff away when I'm not accessing the interior of the piano (the "studio"). The 2-3" thick sides will bear as much weight as I want to put in it, and, if I was building from scratch, I wouldn't bother with the finer detailing present on older pianos. I'm up-cycling something someone else doesn't want, preventing it from becoming firewood or land-fill. But the best reason I can think of is this: with this re-purposing project, I'll have a more interesting story to tell and will end up with a cooler looking piece of furniture.
The first step to this project was finding a FREE upright piano. That was more difficult than I thought it would be--people were reluctant to part with even their non-playable heirlooms when I told them I was basically in the piano dismantling business and their "antiques" would end up forever altered, not restored. [(it never ceases to amaze me the strings people attach to "free" stuff or "gifts," but I digress.)] After a few months of searching, I found a decent looking 44" upright on Freecycle with some nice woodwork. I paid Expert Piano out of Albuquerque to have it moved, which turned out to be money well spent. Those guys were certainly better (and stronger) lifters than my friends and I, as TWO of these pros were able to dead-lift this beast (500? 600 lbs?) up a couple feet to set it on a dolly and roll it right into their van. It took them a little over an hour to move the piano across White Rock (and move a second piano between neighbors--the woman who gave me this piano also acquired a nice Baldwin from her next door neighbor, and we split some of the travel costs). It probably would have taken me and 3 friends most of the afternoon! Here's the piano, after they rolled it into the garage and I removed the access panels.
I removed the "guts" by unscrewing screws and carefully removing pieces of the case to get at the keybed, action/hammer assembly, pedal mechanisms, and finally the cast iron harp (I googled "dismantling a piano" and got a lot of great information; you should do the same if you're interested in this kind of project). 100 years of dust bunnies were gobbled up with the shop vac, but the only "treasures" I found were a penny, a couple paperclips, and a broken pencil. With the harp exposed, I removed the strings and the tuning pegs (all 228 of them, one at a time...), which enabled me to get at the large number (25? 30?) of 5/16" lag screws that held the harp to the sound board. Only two were stubborn enough to require drilling and a bolt extractor. I started at the bottom and worked my way up to the top, until finally, the harp was free. I took the key shelf out then walked the harp assembly over to my workbench, where it currently stands (it's heavy enough that I can't lift it safely by myself). The soundboard (3/8" solid fir/pine/spruce?) was cut out with a circular saw and the edges were pried away; I'll salvage as much as I can but I beat it up pretty good getting it out of there. Here's the empty case where once stood a piano. It's taken me about 6 good hours to get to this point.
For now, I have to take a break from this piano project for some car work--timing belt, water pump, spark plugs, radiator fluid, air filter, and oil/filter change on our 4Runner in preparation for a road trip in November. We are running out of nice fall days!
In a future post I'll show the finished project and how I got there, but it'll involve installing new casters, re-installing the bottom, sanding and finishing parts of the inside, installing adjustable shelving above and below the keyboard, and finding/installing speakers for the digital piano. As an aside, my wife and I are already starting a list for art projects using the leftover pieces (IVORY and EBONY keys, hammers, steel pins, ancillary woodwork, etc.).
Have a great week!
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
The Legend of the Perennial White Belt
No, this isn't a script for the latest martial arts blockbuster starring Jet Li. This is the story of my humble martial arts journey, from white belt to black belt and back again. It's a break from the music and art discussion that has dominated this blog so far, and yet another facet of my being.
I earned my first white belt in a Jukido dojo in Gooding, ID
when I was 10 years old. I loved everything about the art—the flow, the
camaraderie, the discipline. Jukido is similar to Jiu-jitsu with less emphasis on ground techniques and competition and more emphasis on practical self-defense. I earned a brown belt in Jukido sometime in high
school. Things were going smoothly in my progression to Shodan. When I entered
my Senior year of high school, Idaho’s Magic Valley, where I lived, was
undergoing a Kokondo revolution, but not in a way that was good for Kokondo.
Many of the instructors, including my sensei, were leaving the Kokondo system
to study and teach Sanjiuriu Jujitsu instead. Many of the principles and
techniques were the same, so I was able to earn a black belt in that art by the
time I graduated high school. I practiced with my black belt for maybe 6 months
before I went to college and abandoned it completely. The closest Sanjiuriu
dojo was 15 miles away, classes were at night when I needed to study what I was
paying good money to learn, I didn’t have a car, and public transportation did
not exist. Thus ended my study of Sanjiuriu, and my shiny new black belt was
relegated to the bottom of a drawer (it’s still there). Here's a picture from 1994 where I'm trying to remember what move comes next in that kata (Pinan Nidan?). Look at all that hair!
From 1993 through 1998 (while in college & grad school), I studied Judo, earning another white belt with ease. Eventually,
that white belt turned brown, too. Judo is “the way of gentleness,” but don’t
be fooled—it is an intense workout every session. In the Denver, CO area (where I lived from 1997-1999), Judo is taken very seriously. Many Colorado
Judo-ka regularly travel to Colorado Springs to train at the Olympic Training
Center. One positive aspect of Judo is that it trains grappling techniques, both
standing and on the ground, at full intensity. By the time I graduated from Colorado State in 1999, I was
in the best shape of my life as I was training 2-4 nights per week in the dojo
and hiking, climbing, or skiing on the weekends (in addition, of course, to my
academic studies). Judo’s shortcomings lie in the fact that true self-defense
techniques against punches, kicks, and weapons are not overtly taught until a
student earns his or her black belt (though many would argue that most martial arts students
do not start their true martial arts journeys until reaching Shodan). And in
the end, Judo is largely about competition in tournaments, within a weight
class. As most of us know, our opponents are rarely the same size as we are. One
tournament I entered was an exception—we were ranked by our “Judo experience,”
regardless of size, and I was beaten by a guy that easily outweighed me by 100 pounds because he was able to get hold of me and pick me up. So size does matter, when everyone is playing by the same rules.
After Fort Collins, I didn't do martial arts for a while. I drove to/from my job (getting a start on my career), climbed, mountain biked, and skied. I got married. I moved, three times--from Fort Collins to Boulder, from Boulder to Longmont, from Longmont to Los Alamos, NM. I had kids. I earned a third white belt in Shojin Ryu Jiu jitsu (which I really only did for a couple months). But recently, my martial arts journey has come full-circle.
A few months ago (after another hiatus...) I found a Kokondo dojo within a few blocks from my house. I took my 6-year-old son a couple times to see if he would be interested in learning. He was not. I didn’t push him, because it really didn’t appeal to him, and after all, I didn’t start my martial arts journey until I was 10. However, while I was visiting the dojo, Sensei Ridlon talked me into restarting my Kokondo studies (it didn't take much convincing). And so, after a 20-year journey, I was back to Kokondo—as a white belt. If you’ve been counting, you’ll recognize this as my fourth white belt. I could not in good conscience show up wearing any other color (even my Jukido Brown Belt from 20 years ago!) as I didn’t remember much of anything, Kokondo-wise, from my teenage years. Also, I spent most of my youth and teens learning Jukido techniques, and this is a Karate class (with a lot of kata). I’m having a blast, though, relearning techniques I’ve forgotten, training with people I’ve never trained with, and learning as much kata as I can stuff into my brain. Hopefully I can continue this Kokondo journey and be wearing a more colorful belt with pride once again.
After Fort Collins, I didn't do martial arts for a while. I drove to/from my job (getting a start on my career), climbed, mountain biked, and skied. I got married. I moved, three times--from Fort Collins to Boulder, from Boulder to Longmont, from Longmont to Los Alamos, NM. I had kids. I earned a third white belt in Shojin Ryu Jiu jitsu (which I really only did for a couple months). But recently, my martial arts journey has come full-circle.
A few months ago (after another hiatus...) I found a Kokondo dojo within a few blocks from my house. I took my 6-year-old son a couple times to see if he would be interested in learning. He was not. I didn’t push him, because it really didn’t appeal to him, and after all, I didn’t start my martial arts journey until I was 10. However, while I was visiting the dojo, Sensei Ridlon talked me into restarting my Kokondo studies (it didn't take much convincing). And so, after a 20-year journey, I was back to Kokondo—as a white belt. If you’ve been counting, you’ll recognize this as my fourth white belt. I could not in good conscience show up wearing any other color (even my Jukido Brown Belt from 20 years ago!) as I didn’t remember much of anything, Kokondo-wise, from my teenage years. Also, I spent most of my youth and teens learning Jukido techniques, and this is a Karate class (with a lot of kata). I’m having a blast, though, relearning techniques I’ve forgotten, training with people I’ve never trained with, and learning as much kata as I can stuff into my brain. Hopefully I can continue this Kokondo journey and be wearing a more colorful belt with pride once again.
Yet, isn’t starting anew the plight of the lifelong learner?
Isn’t life’s journey a series of beginnings and endings? Should we not continue
to seek new and important thoughts, ideas, and challenges? Should we not be
open to the new opportunities that lie at our doorsteps? If we are not open to
new thoughts, we cannot learn new things. We cannot grow. We need to keep the
fires of curiosity alive. I’m proud of my four white belts as they reflect my
desire to learn and explore new ideas and techniques, a willingness to embrace
the opportunities that have appeared before my eyes. I hope you take this tale
not as evidence for a lack of dedication to a single specific discipline, but
as a notion to “go with the flow”—be open to change. To paraphrase Douglas Adams,
although you may not go where you intended, you will end up where you need to
be. Even if, just as in many of
our kata forms, it is back where you started.
********************************************************************************
Postscript: A few things have changed since I started this essay. My son recently started Brazilian Jiu jitsu, which he enjoys. Last night's practice looked like it was a blast, as he had a big grin on his face the entire time. As for me, after several months of practice and remedial work, I was reinstated as brown belt in Kokondo. In between berating me for forgetting everything from 20+ years ago, Sensei Ridlon has me teaching students how to fall and throw. It's been a blast, and I'm glad that martial arts are part of my life once again.
Have a great week!
Postscript: A few things have changed since I started this essay. My son recently started Brazilian Jiu jitsu, which he enjoys. Last night's practice looked like it was a blast, as he had a big grin on his face the entire time. As for me, after several months of practice and remedial work, I was reinstated as brown belt in Kokondo. In between berating me for forgetting everything from 20+ years ago, Sensei Ridlon has me teaching students how to fall and throw. It's been a blast, and I'm glad that martial arts are part of my life once again.
Have a great week!
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