Reusable Part 1: Bring Your Own Cup!

"There is no "away."-----Scott Anderson (my dad, on discarding trash)

I'll put my challenge up front: get a reusable travel cup with a lid, preferably steel. Carry it with you whenever you leave the house. Set yourself an ultimatum: if you don't have your reusable cup, you can't buy a to-go beverage from a coffee shop, gas station, or restaurant. That includes coffee, tea, hot chocolate, soda, or juice. Simple. It's a solid first step on the path of minimum waste.

On to the logic:

A while back, I put up a blog post about the need to curtail the use of disposable containers, such as flimsy plastic water bottles and paper or styrofoam coffee cups. It didn't exactly change the world, but my readership is still, um, growing. The containers that bug me the most are the ubiquitous white paper coffee cups. They are almost as annoying to me as those blue plastic bags with the smiley faces from 10 or so years ago that you'd see stuck on fences and in trees. I am not trying to vilify the coffee shops (or Wal Mart), but I am trying to get through to those folks who continue to accept single-use paper cups rather than bringing their own reusable, refillable mug. It's a simple issue to solve.

I plan to try to convince you that this issue is a problem from a couple different angles, environmental and financial.

Environmentally speaking, there are several steps in the life cycle of any item, and a paper cup is no exception. The cup, lid, and the cardboard "hand saver" sleeve must be manufactured from paper or plastic, and sent to your favorite coffee shop via truck, train, or ship. After you place your order with the barista, the cup--for the briefest part of its life--is put into use. You enjoy a piping hot cup of joe, hopefully taking the time to note all the wonderful textures and flavors in commercially roasted coffee (usually, a burnt flavor), and experience (or not) the slight paper, wax, and plastic undertone. After you empty your cup, it finds its way into the trash. Someone empties the trash into the dumpster, and a big, diesel-burning truck comes and picks up the dumpster and hauls it to a transfer station. The contents of the big truck are dumped in an even bigger trailer and hauled to a large, centralized landfill. Every weekday, all day, these trucks make the rounds around town, so keep that in mind when you throw stuff away. The upside to a paper cup is that it could possibly break down into building blocks for life, but only if it's exposed to soil & microbes. Burying things in a landfill, unfortunately, entombs them in a sterile cocoon that does NOT promote degradation, not that that makes any difference for the plastics in your cup--they will never break down regardless of their exposure to the elements.

What does that mean for you? Well, for each cup of coffee you buy and consume in a disposable cup with a sleeve and lid, you generate 3-4 pieces of eventual trash. Lest you think that "I am only one person and can't possibly have much impact with my one paper cup," please consider this thought experiment. There are roughly 12,000 people in my town. If 10% of them get a cup of coffee in a disposable cup every day, that is 1,200 cups that end up in the dumpster each day. We happen to have at least 4 places in town where you can get a cup of coffee to go, so I don't think my guess is too high. A small (12 ounce capacity) cup weighs about 0.5 ounces.

1200 cups x 0.5 oz/cup x 1 lb/16 oz = 37.5 pounds of cups per day. According to Google, 1200 Cups works out to about 10 cubic feet of volume, but I'm guessing the volume decreases by 75% or so when the cup is crushed, giving 1200 paper cups a volume of say 2.5 cubic feet. For reference, my 100-pound chocolate lab (Rusty the dog) takes up roughly 3 cubic feet. So, my rough calculation for my small town's daily cup-to-landfill total is 37.5 pounds/2.5 cubic feet.

Every day. Multiply that by a work week (5 days; 187.5 lbs/12.5 ft^3). Or a work-month (20 days; 750 lbs/50 ft^3). Take it as far as you want, but my point is it gets to be a lot of trash, just in cups. To truly illustrate it, buy a cup of coffee each day in a paper cup, but instead of throwing the cups away, stack them in a conspicuous place, like on your nightstand or in the passenger seat of your car. See how long it takes for an unsightly pile to accumulate. If you can, extrapolate that to your town, and then your county, and then your state, and start thinking about where we are going to put all those cups when we run out of landfill space.

Maybe you don't care about the environment. I pity you, your progeny, and all living beings, but unfortunately, I won't be able to sway you from that angle. Let's try money, since most folks have a fairly strong grasp of, and attachment to, that medium. At $2.00 or so, a cup of regular ol' coffee at Starbucks seems fairly expensive. I can get it down to $0.57, though, if I use my own cup (most coffee shops offer a discount for a "personal cup" or a "refill"). Let's say for the sake of argument that that discount is $1.

My favorite reusable travel cup was* the bestickered stainless steel beauty pictured above. It cost the relatively hefty sum of $22, and cost the planet some more in extraction of raw materials (metals for the cup and oil for the handle, lid, and base) and emissions from manufacture. Luckily for me, it was also a gift.**

Let's set the cost of the cup at $20 because, for this argument, I'm primarily concerned with the money that leaves my pocket (and I like round numbers). If I save $1 each time I fill 'er up, my reusable cup will pay for itself in about 20 cups of coffee. If I buy a cup of coffee every work day (which I don't!), the cup pays for itself in 20 days or so of refills. But then, I can also fill it up when I leave home with whatever beverage strikes my fancy (and whatever I have the raw materials to make). I can also take it camping. So, the reusable cup has added value besides replacing a paper cup.

I've laid out a logical argument against paper cups from environmental and fiscal points of view. My arguments echo sentiments that have been expressed for 50 years or more, so, why are paper cups so ubiquitous? I saw two at a small staff meeting last week (2 out of 12 people (16%) had paper cups with lids and hand preservers in front of them!). It could be because they are a simple, easy, no commitment solution to the conundrum of consuming a beverage. Have we reached the point where we are too lazy to keep track of our own reusable cups? Or, maybe a disposable cup is a status symbol, a way to say, "I can afford coffee from shop X so I don't have to care about consumerism." If you value that image, then keep and reuse your paper cup. No one will know you didn't just buy it! And at $1, it's pretty darn cheap, though I doubt it'll last much past a week of solid use. 

The ultimate solution to this cup problem--from both perspectives--is to not buy that beverage in the first place. You don't have to worry about any of the environmental or financial costs outlined above. Brew your coffee at home. Even at the extreme price of $15/pound for the free trade organic stuff, you can brew coffee far more cheaply yourself (on average, a pound of coffee lasts my wife and I a month, and I guess-timate we drink 90 cups/month (3 cups/day) giving a per cup cost of 16 cents. To take the "less disposable stuff" tack one step further, take and refill your own jar or container instead of getting a new paper or foil bag each time you get coffee (beans or ground). Even if you go through a pound a month, that's still $0.50 per day ($15/30 days), far cheaper than commercially brewed caffeinated tar.

Next up on my list of disposable containers to avoid: plastic bags.

Thanks for reading!

For another (albeit similar) take on this topic, check out http://wunderbudder.blogspot.com/2013/08/saving-world-one-cup-at-time.html.

*Unfortunately, I left this cup on a plane during a recent business trip, so it has disappeared into the depths of Southwest Airlines' lost & found. Dang it!

**I was sort of curious what the mark up on this cup was, so I did a quick search and found this one (and a bunch of other cheap, fascinating stuff for sale) for about $3.50; though it's not identical, it's similar enough to tell me that a brand-name logo is fairly expensive. I'd have to dig much deeper (and perhaps quit my job and become a freelance journalist with multiple trips to China) to get to the emissions and human cost side of things, but I'm guessing the profit sharing where my cup came from doesn't include factory workers in China.

My First Elk Hunt

This spring, After a 20+ year hunting hiatus, I decided to put in for an elk. For those of you unfamiliar with the vernacular, "put in" means to apply for the lottery drawing (with a $70 fee...) to the New Mexico Dept. of Game & Fish for a permit to go into the woods with a high-powered rifle, kill a large animal, and return home with a bunch of meat. I "put in," and my name was drawn for an area close to home, for a 5-day window in November.

Since this was my first real participation in the New Mexico hunting community, I watched in fascination (and took some notes) as the camo came out and people started talking about scouting, stalking, hunting, "sighting in" rifles (yes, I did this, too; see my post on the target stand), and whether or not they were going to camp out during their hunt. I got to postpone these decisions and activities a bit as my hunt was right before Thanksgiving, and my music schedule had a bit of a lull in October & November. I still had to prepare, though, and here was my sort of general checklist.

Sighting in rifle: check. I still need to work on "squeezing" the trigger so I don't jerk (I've been working on this since I first started shooting at 12 years old!), but my dad's .270 shot straight and sure, even out to 250+ yards.

Scouting: check. My friend, Eric, and I spent a couple weekends in the woods looking for elk sign (droppings, tracks, bedding/sleeping areas) and found a few likely spots.

Supplies: check. I had almost everything I needed from my pursuits as a backcountry enthusiast, and a friend who moved to Alaska several years back had given me a nice heavy-duty canvas camoflage coat. I went ahead and negated the camo, though, with a bright orange vest over the top (so other people could see me and not shoot me if I was inadvertently in the line of fire). I did find it interesting, though, that most of the folks I ran into hunting were camoflaged head to toe. When I was a kid, only archery hunters, duck hunters, and the military were so attired. Anyway, the only things I bought for this endeavor were a 3 gallon water jug, food, and gas for the truck.

Partners: check. My friend Dan joined me for 2 days and Eric joined me for one. I skipped 2 days because I was exhausted. My lovely wife offered to go one day, but Dan stepped in at the last minute.

The experience: I decided not to camp as my hunt was close to home. However, despite having hunted as a kid, this was a relatively new experience for me. I had never hunted for elk, only deer, and I really had to consider how I would get a 500 pound animal out of the woods if I shot it. I brought along a cheap kiddie sled, made some game bags out of an old sheet, read a lot, and watched a few YouTube videos on harvesting the meat from a dead animal. But more to the point, I was in charge of my hunt. When I was a kid, Dad drove, read the maps, chose the spots, maintained the guns, and loaded the ammo. Now I get to do those things, except the ammo, because I don't have the equipment (yet). Not that I mind, really. My 4Runner did awesome on some pretty rugged roads, and I got to see some great country on foot and from the truck. And my efforts in learning navigation through ski patrol paid off as I wandered through the woods mostly un-lost.

Unfortunately, all that effort and preparation were fruitless with respect to the ultimate goal of harvesting an elk. In fact, I only saw 2 elk, and that was after dark in our nearby national park while driving home (and they were, consequently, illegal to shoot). My wife also saw two elk, right at the edge of town, silhouetted against the skyline above the gas station, but they were also off-limits. I did, however, see 12 deer, 6 coyotes, 2 bald eagles, 3 turkeys, an owl, several hawks, and countless squirrels, rabbits, crows, and woodpeckers. I got to see places I hadn't seen before at times of day (dawn and dusk) that few people bother to experience. And I alternately froze and baked--on Monday, it snowed. On Wednesday, I was way too hot.

But why bother? In addition to experiencing all the aforementioned natural wonders, there's an intentional philosophy around it. My family and I have made the conscientious choice to avoid food from factory farms and their overuse of antibiotics (among other things), and we came to the conclusion that the most basic, simplest way to know the source of your food is to grow/raise/harvest/kill it yourself. Hence, this process of hunting.

The process of hunting also encourages fully experiencing the outdoors. It requires planning, stealth, observation skills, memory, and diplomacy (dealing with other people as they, too, have unfilled elk tags!). Being able to carefully and competently operate a 4x4 helps, too. The senses are heightened, and I found myself noticing things I might not have if I'd been driving faster than 5 mph, mountain biking, or cross-country skiing. All in all, I had a great time wandering around outside. I plan to put in again next year.

Thanks for reading!

24 is Sometimes Not Enough, or Why I Try to Blog

By 24, I don't mean my age. In fact, I turn 39 very soon, and I wouldn't go back to 24 unless I could know what I know now (kind of like the old song...). No, I'm talking hours. I'm struggling to find the time to do everything on my list. I need to get the swamp cooler ready for its hibernation--first frost is imminent. The rental house chimney needs a screen (a bird flew down the other day). The truck fan is on the fritz, and both it and the car need oil changes. On top of that list are other commitments, such as the family, eating food and drinking water, exercise, my chemistry day job and my side occupation as piano teacher and musician, and the "honey do" list (I just finished my wife's big work table, which I'll be posting about later, but I also have some book shelves and a vanity to finish for my daughter). The yarn store sold out of fishing flies, so I'm falling asleep at the tying vise most nights trying to fill orders. I don't know if I want more that 24 hours in a day, though, because I'd fill those up, too. There's always a new idea brewing, like the open mic night I'd like to start and the acoustic jam session and the piano group and the "manly" Christmas stockings I'd like to sell this year.

7 boxes down, 3 more to go. Then on to the grasshopper mimics, and the "flies I like best" mix. Like I said, there's always a new idea brewing.

So, given all that, the first thing to slip off my priority list was this blog. I like to keep it up, if for no other reason than it gives me a good chronicle of my thoughts and accomplishments. At any given time, I probably have about 4 blog posts that I'm working on (right now that number is up to 7). Some require research. Some require pictures. But there's always a bottleneck. I have great respect (and a bit of jealousy) for the folks who can work full-time and maintain their weekly (or more often!) blog posts. Shannon Hayes (weekly) and Ben Hewitt (more often) come to mind, as they are both farmers/radical homemakers. But they make a regular effort. Good writers have all said that honing the craft requires daily practice. That's true of every other craft or art or practice, too, I suppose. Music definitely falls into that category!

I've dabbled in writing off and on throughout my adult life, but the blog has led to my most regular and prolific output. The biggest upside to writing in this format is that the data is stored online, somewhere else, and I don't have to pack my laptop (or even a thumb drive) around with me to be productive. I just need a computer I can log into. Another benefit is that I can write about whatever I want to write about and post it here. That would probably change as soon as I sought to monetize the blog and expand my audience, but for now, I am content to have it be free and easy for all of us. I like the purely democratic nature of the internet, and, since I do other things to make my living, I want to keep my blog open-ended. Hopefully, if you are reading this, you think that I have had something interesting or even useful to say. I have a lot of interests, and I'm hoping that something on my blog appeals to someone else, too (you?). That someone else can forward it on to another person, and we can all share some piece of life together. I marvel at our connectedness.

Thanks for reading!

Your Corner of the World Is Paradise, Too!

Gig updates:
- September 13 w/D.K. & the Affordables, at Ashley Pond in Los Alamos, 2:30 pm
- September 13 w/D.K. & the Affordables, at the Cowgirl Restaurant in Santa Fe, 8:30 pm
- September 17 w/Craig Martin Experience, at Ashley Pond in Los Alamos, 5:30 pm
- September 20 w/Craig Martin Experience, wedding in Los Alamos

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Before we get to the meat of this post, I have a couple "admin" items. First, I post my blog updates on Facebook. If you aren't on Facebook or don't check it regularly, and you want to see when I post something new, sign up for email updates. All you have to do is enter your email address in the box on the right of the page and presto!--you'll know when I post. Second, feel free to leave comments at the bottom of each post, if you are so inclined. I welcome your feedback. Finally, feel free to forward my blog to anyone you might feel is interested. I write on a wide variety of topics that I'm sure will appeal to someone!

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Now, on to this week's thoughts:

A couple weekends ago, I reached a surprising state of near-bliss. I say surprising because the weekend started out a bit rough. My wife was sick starting the Wednesday before, which caused me to miss a gig Thursday night (it would have been an overnighter in Las Vegas, NM, the Mrs. was stuck to the couch in that virus-induced daze I'm sure we've all been through, and she needed help keeping kids on track). But, I got to spend some quality time with the kiddos. On Friday, I ran some errands, took a nice bike ride up in Los Alamos (Bayo Canyon, down & back up), and got a nice walk with the dog. Saturday saw a 2-hour ride on a trail I hadn't ridden in 10 years, which started and ended at the front door. I also got my son out on a trail ride. On, Sunday, we took a sweet hike down to the Rio Grande with the kids (their longest/toughest ever?). That was all while cleaning up/arranging my studio for piano lessons, finishing a shelf/homework center (more on this one later), shuttling kids, mentoring a friend in the use of power tools (no fingers lost!), working on my wife's studio work table (more on this later, too), processing some data from my actual day job, and building/setting up a lamp in my studio (look for this, too, I guess). Life is pretty good, and I had the thought that gee, I live in paradise!

I'm not writing all this to prove that I'm a busy-body with a wonderful life, but to contrast my rosy outlook today with that of several short years ago. When we moved to Los Alamos in 2003, we looked at it as a temporary stop on our life journey, a way to live and work in Northern New Mexico for a while while looking for other opportunities. But then we became involved in community--my wife taught for a while at a local elementary school, and she got to know other artists. I worked (and still work) at the Lab, ski patrolled, and played music. We did as much as we absolutely could outdoors. But we kept looking elsewhere. Car trip conversations would often begin, "you know, when we leave Los Alamos, we could go..." I've applied for jobs in Montana, Colorado, Wyoming, Oregon, and Idaho. We've fantasized about real estate in other parts of the country. We were starting to feel stuck in a place we didn't really want to be. The closest we came to actually leaving town, though, was this past spring. I applied for a job at Colorado Mesa University in their Biology Department as a lecturer, and we started packing and getting rid of stuff, putting the energy out into the universe that yes, we were ready for a change. Eventually, what we came to, though, is that we have it pretty good where we are and decided to stay put, town-wise. A month after making that decision, we found and moved to a different house, roughly 2 miles from the old house, and thus embarked on the next phase in our chosen locale. A week after moving in, I got the rejection letter from CMU, which confirmed our notion that staying put was the best decision.

And therein lies the point--we decided to make the best of it. We've always been pretty flexible, as long as we could have a few things--access to mountains and/or open spaces, other creative folks nearby, clean air and water, and a quiet neighborhood in which to call home. Beyond these desires and our creature necessities, we hold firm to the belief that everything else will fall into place. It might not be exactly as we thought it would be, but it will be OK. And so it is with our decision to remain in White Rock. We are glad we chose to stay put, but it took the experience of reframing to come to that place. We had to deviate from the notion that we were stuck--that our current locale was a temporary stop--and realize that we were involved in our community on multiple levels. Our home feels like home, and it is because we choose to make it so.

I hope that you are also glad that you decided to stay put, wherever "put" may be. I hope that you are making the best of your situation and living your life to its fullest. Everyplace has good and bad, every day has ups and downs. It's what you make of the mix that counts. If your situation is lacking, I hope you can find the strength and resolve to either see that you are indeed blessed in some way that you overlooked, or to make the changes necessary to realize your blessings. Taking some time each day to reflect on what is great about your life is part of the power of positive thinking.

In short, if you think that life is wonderful, then it is.

Thanks for reading, and stay positive!

Spry As An Old Dog

First, upcoming events, all with DK & the Affordables:
- Saturday Aug 16, Wedding at Pajarito Mountain
- Saturday Aug 23, Beer & Band at Pajarito Mountain
- Wednesday Aug 27, 6-8 pm, Santa Fe Bandstand on the Plaza
- Thursday Aug 28, Wedding gig in Las Vegas, NM (not NV--we aren't that cool yet!)
- Fall piano lessons start September 1
- Saturday Sept 13, Los Alamos Ashley Pond stage 2:30-4 (Science Fest), then the Cowgirl Bar & BBQ in Santa Fe from 9-midnight

The rest of the Affordables are also playing gigs on Aug 24 in Albuquerque and Sept 12 in Los Alamos, which I've bowed out of, but please go out and see 'em if you get a chance.

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Man's best friend on a ski trip in the Jemez Mountains a few years back. No, Rossignol did no pay me to put their name in this shot. But maybe they should! (I love those skis, BTW.)

A few weeks ago, I was walking with my dog, Rusty the Chocolate Lab, on the trails behind my house, and musing on the pet/human relationship. This musing came as a result of reading some John Gehrach (I just finished his book Standing in a River Waving a Stick which is of course about fly fishing). He was observing the relationships hunters have with their flushing/pointing/retrieving dogs. My dog and I are tight, too, and it stems from our time together training for search and rescue work.

Man's best friend, the much younger model, circa 2006, shown lounging in our freshly mulched backyard of sticks.

Rusty came with the house we bought in 2003. He'd been living with the previous owners of the house and was a year old when we got him. At a year old, he was pretty much a 70-pound puppy and barely knew how to sit on command. So, we went through basic obedience class. At the time, I was very involved in ski patrol, and was looking for some search & rescue (SAR) stuff to do in the summer. So, Rusty and I did agility training, wilderness tracking, and wilderness air-scent search training. The following winter, we tried avalanche rescue training.

One winter we trekked up to Monarch Ski Area in Colorado. Here you can see Rusty's hind end as he searches for someone buried in the snow. Avalanche SAR training and work is pretty tough. 

That was before I had kids, when I could spend an evening and a Saturday every week training a dog, when I could travel a weekend or 2 a month to train with some SAR guru or another (I did have the distinct pleasure to train with Elane Flower (who trained Sizzle, one of the best SAR dogs I've ever seen), Sue Purvis (SAR volunteer, excellent dog trainer, and all-around good person from Crested Butte), and Patty Burnett (who literally wrote a great book on avalanche dog training). I ended up with a well-trained, well-behaved dog. Rusty and I were a month or two away from trying for the New Mexico state certification for K9 SAR when my son was born 2 months early. That put an end to our K9 SAR career, which was for the best. I liked the idea of being a SAR dog handler, but the time commitment was getting to be a bit of a drag (and I had some music projects poised to take off!).

Rusty has been a great family dog. The kids love him, and Rusty helps keeps track of them since they are part of the "pack." Rusty ran, biked, hiked, backpacked, and skied with us. For a long time he could ski as hard as I could (A while back, I put up some pictures with Rusty skiing; you can see them here). But that's changing. He's getting to the age now (12!) where he is slowing down dramatically. A long walk leaves him pretty tired. The heat of summer requires early morning or late evening walks to beat the heat. He has a hard time jumping up into the back of the truck. But he still needs his daily exercise, just like the rest of us.

The old dog could still bound through the snow last Winter (Dec 2013), though at a slower pace than he did 5 years ago. Note the gray eyebrows and muzzle--he looks so distinguished. My gray hairs make me look "distinguished," too.

We ran into one of my wife's former co-workers (Debbie) and her black Lab (Noche) the other day on the "new" trails near our "new" house. Noche is one of Rusty's old dog buddies and is currently 13 years old. His hips are failing, he tore an ACL in a hind leg, and his muzzle and legs are all gray. Still, he was out for his 20-minute walk, same as every other day. As I watched the Rusty's and Noche's faces light up (and tails wag) when they saw each other, I realized that we all need a buddy, especially as we get older. I also realized that we all need to keep going, keep running, keep searching for that hidden rabbit, right up until we can't anymore. I also realized that 13 years old in "human" time is the equivalent of 91 or so "years" of dog time, give or take. I hope that if I live to 91 years old, that I'm as spry as these old dogs.

Thanks for reading!

Do You Take Your Music Seriously?

Writing this post actually brought on a nightmare.

In my dream, I had managed to land a gig at Pranzo, the classy Italian restaurant in Santa Fe. Except now, instead of an intimate setting on the terrace overlooking Santa Fe, it was a 100-seat performance space. I was supposed to play some solo jazz piano, and after my first couple songs, the audience remained unmoved. The booking agent and another prominent pianist from Santa Fe came up on stage, kind of like the managers and coaches of a baseball team when the pitcher can't throw a strike, and basically told me to up my game or leave the stage. Daaaaamn. Strangely enough (or maybe not; it was a dream after all), there were Legos on the piano, but when I started to build, they told me I couldn't play with those, either. It was not a happy dream.

Here I am, circa 2010 at Los Ojos in Jemez Springs, NM. do I look serious enough for you?

Anyway, on with the real story. A few weeks ago, while at a local restaurant with my family, I ran into a prominent Santa Fe pianist while we were waiting in the line for the restroom. He had made the trek from Santa Fe to Los Alamos to hear fantastic guitarist Tony Ceserano and the band he was playing with that night (Jazz Baziliero) at the Ashley Pond bandstand. We struck up a conversation in which I mentioned that I played piano in a couple bands. He asked me, "do you take your music seriously?", I think in context of his job as a booking agent for another local restaurant. He mentioned that he was always looking for new acts. I said, somewhat timidly, that yes, I take my music seriously, but I make my living doing other work. In the back of my mind, I was wrestling with the notion of handing him my business card (which, incidentally and somewhat ironically, I was out of). I was also feeling a bit insecure in my abilities--the only act I've seen at his venue was John & Barbara. John in this case is John Rangel, one of the best jazz pianists I've ever heard and seen, and he was accompanying a fantastic singer (Barbara). So naturally, I was thinking that if that is the caliber musician he was after, well, I have some serious practicing to do in order to grace his venue with my performances. At that point, our conversation was interrupted by the opening of the bathroom door, a quick "see you at the show!" and my turn in the restroom queue.

Since then, I've been wrestling with the question, "do you take your music seriously?" It is such a rich question! I take my music seriously enough to practice every day, to rehearse regularly, to play out on nights and weekends, to travel fairly long distances to gigs, to teach others. Heck, we purchased a new house in part to get more space to explore more music! How much of my life to I have to dedicate to music to be "serious?" Some of it? All of it? Do I have to suffer for my art to meet the criteria for taking it seriously? My days of jumping through hoops to meet the expectations of others has come to an end, so if that's what's required to be serious, then I'm not.

I guess I take music seriously enough to know what my limits are. Playing a solo jazz piano gig at a fine venue such as Pranzo is probably not in the cards for me right now, at least not without some practice and expansion of my repertoire--the last several years I've been pursuing ensemble work in rock and jazz. I'm awed and inspired by a variety of pianists nearby, including John Rangel, Andy Kingston, David Geiss, Fran Meier, Juanita Madland, Joe Cox, and Brant Leeper. I would hope to fall somewhere in the spectrum of decent players in Northern New Mexico because I do play quite a bit. But maybe I don't, and maybe I should be practicing right now instead of writing this blog post!

So, do I take my music seriously? As you can see, my answer is "Yes, but..." A "taking it seriously" answer might be "Yes, absolutely. I'm always up for another opportunity to share my music. Here's my business card. Send me an email and I'll get you my press kit." I'd be calling John Rangel to see about a lesson or two. I'd be enrolled in a music program. I'd pursue other music projects. I'd quit the day job.

In the end, answering the question, or at least the way I've limited it here, is a pointless pursuit (or "bogus" as put by one of my band-mates). I am pretty sure that my partner in conversation four paragraphs ago did not mean to limit this question, either. I have (and I'm sure he has) seen too many people ruin their lives for the sake of taking something too seriously. I've seen it in art, music, outdoor pursuits, science, and commerce/free enterprise. (I've also seen people blow things off, to their detriment, but that's another topic for another day.) We should strive to be well-rounded people. So, I guess I'll say that I take my music seriously, but only in the context of a living a full and interesting life.

And (chuckle, wry grin) I suppose I could clear all this up with a phone call or an email to the man who posed the question to me. Maybe I'll get that press kit together and send it along with my inquiry. But then I wouldn't have this essay to show for all my assumptions, insecurity, and musing. 

Thanks for reading!

Reframing Part 2: Pain Becomes Zen Becomes Gratitude

"Sometimes you have to eat the pickle." --Edward Espe Brown

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The documentary "Cook Your Life" follows Zen teacher Edward Espe Brown through one of his cooking classes. During the film, Mr. Brown recites a tale of his Zen teacher (complete version here). As a youngster, Suzuki Roshi was at a monastery with several other boys. They were served pickled Daikon radishes that were "off" slightly, an artifact of a mistake in the pickling process. The boys refused to eat them, but the pickles kept showing up at every meal for many days. One night, that was all they were served. Suzuki Roshi and the boys pretended to eat the pickles, but buried them in a deep hole in the garden. But, what do you know?! The pickles showed up on their plates again that night.

Of course, there's a moral: when faced with unpleasantness, we often try to deny, bury, drown, hide, or mask it. But it's still there, as it was with Suzuki's pickle. And you have to face it. Hence the quote at the top of this post.

My pickle has been chronic back pain, which I've dwelled (dwelt?) on plenty in this forum, so I'll spare you the details in this post. The question I keep coming back to is this: why can't I just get this fixed? Since 2008, I've consulted 3 family practice doctors, a physical therapist, an orthopedist, 4 chiropractors, a spine surgeon, and an acupuncturist. The surgeon recommended against surgery. The chiropractors made their adjustments. The physical therapists gave me exercises to do. The doctors gave me drugs. I've used various over-the-counter and prescription medications for pain and relaxing muscles (masking, drowning...), with various results (and yes, the prescriptions were made out to me, thanks for asking). I've stopped short of anything truly invasive such as injections or surgery, even though I had an MRI that showed a few bulging disks.

Fast forward to now. I'm re-visiting a book called Back Sense: a Revolutionary Approach to Halting the Cycle of Chronic Back Pain by Siegel, Urdang, and Johnson (here's their website). This book, along with 7 Steps to a Pain-Free Life by Robin McKenzie (of the "McKenzie Method"), were very enlightening, and challenged what I was hearing: spine surgery is the only definitive, final option for chronic back pain suffers. (My mother-in-law loaned them to me, which I really appreciated, but she wanted them back because their ideas worked for her, too.) Indeed, after I incorporated their ideas and techniques into my life, I have been totally pain-free for significant periods of time.

Back Sense claims that most back pain has a psychological cause. Stress causes tension in different places for different people. For some folks, stress shows up as tension in necks and shoulders. Some have gastrointestinal issues. Some get headaches. Others, like me, store stress in the hips and lower back. My personal theory is that stress settles in the previously injured body parts. So, it makes sense that my shoulder, hip, back, and ankle would hurt when I'm stressed because I've injured those spots before. And, pain and stress are a feedback loop--stress causes tension causes pain causes stress causes tension causes pain etc.

So, in an effort to loosen my back and body up, I'm trying to relax. The first step in this process is accepting that I have physical limitations and I need to change. I need to change my perceptions, my movements, my exercises, my habits. All difficult, but doable.

The second step is to visualize that these limitations are temporary. I've gotten better before, and I will again. In fact, as I write this, my pain today is less than yesterday, which was less than the day before, even without any pain killers. As long as I stay positive and keep moving, my pain will diminish.

The third step is to acknowledge what I do have--I'm generally healthy otherwise (other than cholesterol levels, which the Western doctors and I bang heads about--more on that later!); I can still walk and hike (I even ran a painful mile last Saturday with my kid!); I have a loving and beautiful family; I have several good friends; I'm sheltered, clothed, fed, and gainfully employed. This step is the most beneficial, and it seems that the universe has been supporting me here. This post by Ben Hewitt (a farmer tallies his holdings and realizes he'd be financially rich but spiritually broke if he sold it all), and the story of Travis Mills (introduced to me by Mike Rowe on Facebook) who, despite losing portions of all his limbs refuses to be labeled a victim (and regards himself as fortunate, lucky, and blessed), illustrate nicely the gratitude we should all have. Who am I to complain about a little back pain, in light of all my blessings?

One final Zen note from another of my inspirations:

Embrace feeling bad: By not wanting to feel bad, I make my bad feelings worse. By allowing myself to feel bad, and realizing we all feel bad sometimes, I give myself space to feel this way. I give myself permission. In fact, I embrace it as part of being human. Too many people want to feel happy all the time, positive 100% of the time, but that’s not reality. We all feel bad sometimes, and that’s OK. When you give yourself this space, and embrace the suck, you aren’t fighting with it. It happens, then it goes away, like a cloud. --Leo Babauta, Zen Habits Blogger

Thanks for reading!

A Short List of Lessons I've learned in my 30s

Several years ago, I took a creative writing class from local New Mexico author, Stan Crawford. I learned a lot, wrote a lot, and met several creative, talented, and inspiring people (Katy, I'm talking about you!). In the course of the class, he mentioned that I was good at making lists. I think he meant lists in text, like in the previous sentence, but, in that vein, and as I swiftly approach 40 (I turn 39 this September), here are some of the lessons I've learned while navigating my 30s, in no particular order and with no transitions between paragraphs, something my original writing mentor, John Rember, would balk at, I'm sure!

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Last summer, alcohol became an enemy rather than a friend as it gave me migraines. While I can now enjoy a glass of wine again without days of agony afterward, I have to say that getting drunk is over-rated. A hangover lasts for days instead of mere hours, even without a migraine.

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Medically speaking, I've had to learn to deal with some chronic pain. Also, I've learned that it takes longer to recover from injury. In the process of these discoveries, I've enlisted several doctors and specialists, including a single primary care physician (rather than an office). Furthermore, I have to pay attention to my health in ways I haven't had to before, and my medical file keeps getting thicker and thicker. I actually have to check some of the boxes on those medical questionnaires now.

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Having children has been enlightening. Children embody the extreme, as they have not spent decades stifling emotion. Everything is turned all the way up to 11--joy, sorrow, excitement, frustration, enlightenment, confusion. They also bring out these extreme emotions in me, even though I should know better. Kids have forced me to learn new stuff. That said, there are few things as wonderful as watching a child make a discovery or master a new skill.

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Going to work for a living can be a drag sometimes. But, having a good job with benefits is better than not having one. And, as skier Max Mancini said, "Work is the price you pay for money." Even though my job is largely intellectual, those shop skills I learned in wood shop and as an electric motor repairman get put to the test more often than you'd think. There's always something to repair or build.

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Despite what you might think from our information age, not everyone is an expert on every topic. There are certain realms of ideas that shouldn't mix--science, religion, and politics come to mind (read Charlie Pierce's book Idiot America for the full version). Science should be left to the scientists, religion should be left to the theologians and ministers, and politics should be left to the politicians. We should trust experts to help us sort through the nonsense. Everyone, however, should embrace common sense.

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Here are the dregs of my list that I didn't flesh out: Every year gets shorter. Sometimes I can't do anything about it, whatever it is. If it looks like it's too big or heavy to lift, then it probably is. A mid-day nap is a really nice way to spend 20-30 minutes. There are too many good books to read. It's never too late to learn something new. 

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Yeah, I know, all the folks who are older than 40 will look at this list and scoff, but everyone has to start somewhere. I'm sure this list will evolve into a book as I age. My seven year old could probably also come up with a list like this, but, of course, it would be shorter and simpler. He'd have things like "Learning to ride a bike is a key to freedom" or "nothing taxes your creativity like Legos." Maybe simplicity is what we should continue to strive for, even as we age past our first decade.

Thanks for reading, and have a great week!

Reframing Part 1: Lack Into Abundance

We tend to forget that happiness doesn't come as a result of getting something we don't have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have. --Frederick Keonig--

Talking about our problems is our greatest addiction. Break the habit. Talk about your joys. --Rita Schiano--

If you want a limitless, abundant, loving life, make sure that all you believe is limitless, abundant, compassionate, and loving. --Tara Meyer-Robson--

Gratitude is the open door to abundance. --Yogi Bhajan--

We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures that we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open. --Jawaharlal Nehru--

 
For a few years now, I've been thinking about a pervasive dichotomy that is present in our culture--the issues of abundance and lack. As you can see from the quotes above, I'm not the only one, nor is this reflection novel--others have been thinking about this issue for centuries! Several years ago, I was considering the age-old question, "Why don't I seem to have enough money?", and came across the philosophies present in Radical Homemaking (Shannon Hayes), The Good Life Lab (Wendy Tremayne), Your Money or Your Life (Vicki Robin), Saved (Ben Hewitt), and the website/blog "Mr. Money Mustache." I recommend you peruse these sources if you have ever asked the same question I did or felt a lack of money was somehow holding you back. Since we asked that question and did some homework, we paid off all debt except our mortgage, and we save a lot of money each month. We did this by forgoing luxuries. I work a second "job" as musician and music teacher, and teach the occasional fly tying class. My wife teaches classes in art and craft. We drive 10-15 year old cars, and I do most of my own basic service on them (one is overdue for an oil change as we speak). We haven't upgraded to Blu-Ray or plasma screens. We don't "stream" Netflix or Hulu. We borrow movies, books, and music from the library. We grow some of our own food, harvest about half of our own firewood (I hope to increase that in the future), build our own picture frames, and do a lot of the work on our house (paint, flooring, demolition, some electrical, and basic plumbing fixes). At the heart of it all was a change in our relationship to money. Instead of taking on more payments and debt than we could service and resenting having to go to work every day just to pay bills, we are in a spot where we are working to live, where our money serves our lifestyle and will do so for years to come. All of these changes led to a feeling of abundance. We have food on the table, clothes on our backs, and money in the bank. We have everything we need and then some. So, the age-old question I posed at the beginning of this paragraph ("Why don't I have enough money?") seems to only be age-old in the context of a materialistic society.

Where my family struggles is house space: our house is all of 1300 square feet in size and has served us well for almost 11 years. We started out as D.I.N.K.s--Double Income No Kids--and became a S.I.T.K.--Single Income Two Kids--family. My wife is a painter/sewer/crafter/homemaker and I'm a scientist/musician/music teacher/woodworker/fly tyer. These are hobbies that take up some space (well, I tend to leave the science at work, where I have ample lab space and proper equipment!). We lack studios, and I don't mean fancy space with the latest gadgets and decor, I just mean a room or even a shed where we can start a project and leave it set up. I currently use a hollowed-out upright piano for a music "studio," my table saw in the garage is a storage table for packing materials (and sometimes a glue-up bench), and my fly tying stuff gets packed up into a tool box after every time I tie (which is either on a TV tray on the couch or on the kitchen table). My wife's space is relegated to a 4x5 foot table in the corner of the dining room and a 2x4 foot table for a sewing machine (crammed right next to her craft table). So, we want more space because setting up and tearing down every time we want to start a project takes precious project time. My father's passing left us with a bit of money, so we decided to look for a bigger house.

The previous two paragraphs raise uneasy questions, however. If we have extra money to put into a new house, why are we not giving more of it away? What about folks who are hungry, or who don't even have a place to live? One ancient texts tell us this:

One gives freely, yet grows all the richer; another withholds what he should give, and only suffers want. Whoever brings blessing will be enriched, and one who waters will himself be watered.  (Proverbs 11:24-25)

while modern society tells us "He who dies with the most toys, wins!"

In the face of all we have, who are we to want even more? Shouldn't we be happy that we are gainfully employed, enjoy various employment benefits, and have all of our needs met? Yes we should, and we are. But we are also looking to move our lives forward, to evolve our art and music. In order to improve, we need to practice; in order to practice, we need space. I'd like to be able to teach music lessons at my own house or have a jam session without having to displace my family from our shared living space. My wife wants to be able to do the same with art.

Reframing is the name of the game; I do it every day (as do many others, I suppose). The air conditioning in my car needs to be fixed, yet the car still gets me to and from work and gets 45 mpg. I have some pain in my back, but I can still work, play the piano, walk, hike, fish, lift things around the house, ride a bike, and, on good days, run and ski. I can't do Karate, but I can watch my son do Jiu Jitsu and my daughter dance. I have to go to work, but at least I have a good career-track job that forces me to learn new, interesting things every day. I don't make as much money as some of my neighbors and coworkers, but I have all I need and my wife can focus her energy on running our household.

All that musing aside, we are in the process of buying a bigger house where we can offer our artistic teaching abilities to the community, where we can put up guests for longer than a few days without being on top of each other and stressing each other out, where we could even house an aging parent, if need be. But, we are looking to do this without taking on a huge mortgage. My inheritance allows us to do that, but it is a mixed blessing. As much as I am looking forward to a bit more space, I'd easily trade it all for a chance to talk to my dad again.

I'm optimistic that this will be a good move for us. I'm also optimistic that we'll be able to share our bounty more fruitfully with the community, and that my dad would be proud of what we have accomplished and what we've defined as goals. Stay tuned, for the home of "Big A's Art and Music Exchange" is moving soon!

Thanks for reading!

Ups and Downs

I've missed a few weeks, mostly due to other pressing needs (especially the day job), but also due to a vacation, getting the spring garden in, and general lack of interest in sitting down to type. But, I thought I should get back into the swing of things, hence this week's rambling post.
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First, upcoming events:

- May 10, gig with DK & the Affordables, Los Alamos Sheriff's Posse Lodge, 7-9 pm, Par-tay!
- May 16, gig with Craig Martin Experience, Fuller Lodge, private party
- May 17, fly tying class at Fuller Lodge Art Center, 10 am - 12 pm.
- May 24, piano recital featuring MY STUDENTS! White Rock United Methodist Church, 2 pm.
- June 7, Rockabilly on the Route with DK & the Affordables, Tucumcari, NM, 10 am
- June 7, DK & the Affordables back Justin Shandor, the "Ultimate Elvis," Tucumcari, NM, 10 pm
- June 27, gig with DK & the Affordables, Los Alamos Summer Concert Series, 7-10 pm. 
- Aug 27, gig with DK & the Affordables, Santa Fe Bandstand 6-9 pm.

I'm really excited for all of these events!

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Now for the ups and downs:

Life's full of 'em, of course. One of the biggest ups for me, recently, was watching my 7-year-old realize he could ride a bike. I bought him a bike for his 6th birthday, and he rode it quite a bit with training wheels. When I took the training wheels off and tried to teach him like a good dad should, he would have none of it. He ended up taking to a scooter, which was also fun to watch. We got him this 3-wheeled contraption (2 in front, 1 in back) that would steer much smoother than the ol' Razor scooters. He would scooter up to the top of our street--using the sidewalk like he was told--then carve turns back down the middle of the street (which he was NOT supposed to do). I couldn't believe how fluid he was. I of course had to chastise him for being in the road, but secretly I was saying, "Right on!" Anyway, the other evening after dinner, we took a family walk over to the parking lot of his elementary school (2 blocks from our house). It took a bit of convincing, but he got on the bike and started pedaling while I was holding his shoulders. After about 3 minutes he said, "Daddy, you can let go." And he was off. He is a 2-wheel riding machine now! I'm so happy for him because I remember how much joy and freedom I've gotten from riding a bike.

One of the "downs" right now involves missing my dad. He died in Feb 2013. Right after the funeral, I went with my Mom to see their insurance agent, John, and he said that even though it'd been 6 years since his dad died, he still expected him to answer the phone when he called. I don't expect Dad to pick up the phone, but I do come across stuff I think he'd appreciate and have to stop myself from calling or emailing him. It's a matter of reframing, though. While I miss my dad, I value and embrace all the wonderful stuff he taught me. I'm teaching a fly tying class in a couple weeks; I have fond memories of swapping patterns by email and tying together when we had the chance. He taught me a lot of what I know about tying and fishing (and about life, really). I drew for an elk hunt this year, which means I'll have to get out and scout, and actually shoot a rifle again. Time to dredge up all those memories, too! I'll be using one of Dad's favorite rifles, a Ruger .270 that he'd fitted in a composite stock, for that.

Tying flies in Pacific City, OR. Did I just mess up?

Another "down" is my recurring sciatica. As I type this, I'm sitting on a stool or standing, with my posture as good as I can get it, because sitting in a regular chair puts pressure on the pinched nerve. I had to resort to anti-inflammatories for a few days (even though, and perhaps because, I managed a 3 mile run mid-week). But, to reframe, at least I still have full function. I can walk normally and stand. In the past, I have suffered from the foot drop and strength loss in each leg. I went to the chiropractor, and as I write this I'm feeling much better, although last night I was in a lot of pain. I was definitely out of whack. I'm hoping to be running again soon, but I might dust off the mountain bike instead. I probably won't be back to Karate, though, as that has hurt my back a few times and I'm unwilling to put up with the pain, frustration, and downtime that being hurt causes. And I will miss a backcountry ski day in part because I don't want to be a liability in the big mountains. On the upside, the pinched nerves and tennis elbow in my arms has subsided, so playing the piano is much less of a chore than it has been.

We had a great vacation a couple weeks ago to the Oregon Coast. I have relatives out there--in Portland and Salem--and it was great to catch up and reconnect. As an added bonus, my mom, niece, and aunt (mom's sister) drove out to meet us in Salem (we were staying with my mom's other sister) so we got a couple nice days to catch up. The kids got to see a real city (Portland), as well as the ocean; living in a landlocked, desert state, it's sensory overload to see the ocean--that much water in one place! It all seems so exotic. My wife and I took a drive about 2 hours East of Salem, and climbed steadily to 4000 ft elevation, where there was still quite a bit of snow! It's amazing the relief between the ocean and the 10,000 ft volcanoes between Salem and Bend. That same afternoon, I did a few hours of fly fishing in at a big reservoir (Detroit Lake; difficult without a boat or float tube), and my Aunt Cleo gave me a nice casting lesson (which I needed!). Aunt Cleo was an adventurer, for sure. She and her brother/my uncle Pat fished and hunted all over Southern Idaho, and when she moved to Oregon, she fished and fished! It was great to have that bonding experience with her.

The kids, Aunt Cleo (blue shirt), and I (plaid) get our feet wet and cold in the Oregon surf.

Our motley crew poses at the base of Silver Falls near Salem, OR. Actually, the closest town is Sublimity, a promising sounding berg, don't you think?

Another mixed blessing is our current house hunt. Right now we are looking to swap houses. We learned a lot by owning, renovating, and living in a 1300 square foot house, mostly about how little stuff you really need, but also about what you should and shouldn't try to do yourself. We moved into that house from a 2000 square foot house, and, consequently, had to sell a lot of stuff. As we added a couple kids to the mix, more of our stuff found its way to Freecycle, Craigslist, eBay, or the curb. We are down to a minimal mix of stuff, But, I play and teach music and my wife paints and sews, so we need a studio space to keep pursuing those interests. Looking at houses is always exciting. Dropping a chunk of change, well, that's not always so fun.

I suppose life would be boring if emotions ran flat. My life has been a series of crazy ups and downs lately. But, I suppose yours has, too, and that I shouldn't complain too much. For me, the "downs" in life are often an opportunity to reframe my perception. My mantra has become "wholeness, wellness, happiness," especially as it relates to my lower back.

Appreciating greenery and flowing water, rare luxuries in the Desert Southwest.

Thank you for reading!

My Philosophy of Music Gear: More Do and Jutsu

First off, in my previous "Do and Jutsu" post a while back, I neglected to tell you how to pronounce the Japanese character, Do. I went back and added it in to that post, but in case you missed it, "Do" is pronouced "doe" as in the female deer (or zendo, judo, aikido, budo, etc.), not, "dew" as in morning condensation.
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Upcoming events:
- April 19, Craig Martin Experience, Blue Window Bistro, 7-9 pm
- May 3, Run the Caldera races (I plan to run the 1/2 marathon!)
- May 10, D.K. and the Affordables, Los Alamos Sheriff's Posse Lodge, 6 pm, party!
- May 16, Craig Martin Experience, Leadership Los Alamos Graduation Ceremony/Party
- May 24, Piano recital featuring MY STUDENTS!!!, 1 pm, White Rock United Methodist Church
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This week's musings:
The music gear that I travel and gig with has evolved significantly. (Heck, music gear has evolved!) When I was in high school, the school had bought a Yamaha Clavinova, complete with 4 tones and a heavy particleboard stand. Some early (but decent-sounding) Yamaha module was controlled by MIDI. Yes, we hauled it around, loading it into the emergency door on the back of the school bus. My parents bought me a Peavey KB-100 amp that I ran it through. In college, I used an arranger synth my folks bought me for Christmas one year, a beat-up Fender Rhodes stage piano, and that same KB-100. The Rhodes barely fit in my car, and we installed wheels on one end to roll it in and out of gigs (my then band mate Sean will remember that well, I'm sure). I sometimes played guitar, too, so that had to come with. Later in life, I stuck with the 2-tier keyboard system, but switched to a better synth up top and a more versatile digital piano on the bottom. And, somewhat regrettably, I sold the Rhodes.

Part of my rig, circa 2007, with DK & the Affordables. I still have the stand and the synth that's up top in this pic, but a lot of other stuff has changed.

 I also added a second KB-100 amp. I continued to drag guitar stuff along, too. If I put my keyboard stand on the roof rack, I could get all of my gear--2 keyboards, 2 amps, a bench or stool, a guitar or 2, and maybe another guitar amp--into my well-loved Nissan Sentra (it was a '92 with 270,000 miles). Hauling all that stuff around taxed the Sentra's already worn struts, and required a lot of trips to/from the car. During a break between bands, around 2009, I re-thought the whole system.

Good Lord, I used to haul around 2 of these beasts. That's a 15" speaker in there! My current Kustom amp is about 1/2 the physical size of this Peavey behemoth.

First, I vowed to never play keys and guitar in the same gig again. It just got too complex. It was especially a pain on a small stage.

Second, I wanted to get my rig down to one keyboard. I'd grown pretty comfortable playing the keyboard "split"--different tones/settings in different locations on the keyboard--during a stint with a church "praise" band, and thought that, with the right keyboard, I could make a single 88-key keyboard work in almost every situation I played in.

Third, I wanted to get back down to one amp. I had used 2 amps to get a "stereo" effect with my organ tones, but it was hard to hear that on stage, especially with an enthusiastic drummer, or a guitarist and his 40-watt amp. The KB-100s were also never quite lined up with my ears. I often just put the amps in different places on stage to cover the room, not necessarily to get the stereo effect I was hoping for. Failed experiment. I tried a couple of small PA systems and a powered speaker/mixer combo, but they were more trouble than they were worth for just keyboards (see my unifying point, below). I realized I was really just using an amp to hear myself on stage and to have local control of my tone, and running an amp's line out through a PA (or another powered speaker) would project more volume to the crowd while keeping the stage volume low. To top it off, the KB-100s were big and heavy. I ended up selling them both on consignment at Candyman Strings & Things and searching for something else.

Fourth, I wanted to improve my organ tones. I started with an effects pedal (Boss RT-20) that helped tremendously (using tones from my Roland synth), but the source tone still needed some help. That would involve buying a dedicated keyboard, running a MIDI module, or using some sort of software on a computer. I didn't have the money or the storage space at home for yet another keyboard, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be at the whims of a computer in a live gig. So, module it was. (That said, the Hammond emulation in the Garage Band iPad app isn't too shabby, except for the non-adjustable key click.)

The unifying reason for the change, though, was that I wanted to simplify.  I wanted to reduce my trips to and from the car down to TWO AT THE MOST (at least for my personal gear).  I wanted to reduce connections and plug-ins to minimize setup time. I wanted to minimize the amount of stuff I had to keep track of. And I had limited storage space at home. So, after a lot of selling, shopping, swapping, buying, and trading, I ended up with this set up for most keyboard gigs:

- Casio Privia PX-5S (keyboard). Best keyboard out there for $1000 or less (I paid $850 on sale!).
- Kustom KMA-65 (amp). Good amp for the money ($250-ish, though it got in on sale for ~$200).

The Kustom amp. The FV-500 volume pedal and M-Audio damper pedal are on my home-made pedal board.

- Voce MicroB (module). Oldie but a goody, killer Hammond organ tone. $100 eBay find.
- Boss RT-20 (effects). This is a rotary effect pedal. Another $100 eBay find.

I built the MicroB and the RT-20 into a box side-by-side. It's a Hammond organ AND Leslie in a box! The plastic on top of the MicroB is there to hold down my set list on outdoor gigs.

- Boss FV-500 (pedal to control rotary effect speed, or volume, whichever; $100).
- Boss FV-50 (pedal to control volume, $50). (Boss stuff is awesome.)
- M-Audio piano-style damper pedal ($30).
- Proel platform-style keyboard stand. I use the 2nd tier for a music rest, if I use it at all ($100).
- PDP drum throne to sit on ($85).
- DoD direct box. Line out from my amp goes through this, then to the board to reduce ground noise.

All of this stuff--pedals, organ stuff, cables, direct box, powerstrip--fits into a single backpack/briefcase.

For shorter, simpler, piano-focused gigs I often leave the Micro-B/RT-20 and the FV-50 pedal at home. For gigs where I have to carry my stuff a long way (like the memorial service I played at recently at Bandelier National Park), I also have a Roland RS-70 (nice little 61-key synth I bought used) that fits in a backpack case.

This gear is all stuff that works well, is durable and lightweight, didn't cost a fortune, and fits easily into a car. It's easy to set up and take down. If it were stolen or broken, I'd replace it, and it wouldn't cost me an arm and a leg to do so. I could easily compare and contrast this rig with other options, and give you more details as to why I picked what I did over all the other choices out there (contact me if you want more of that info!) but it's a digression. At the end of the day, I bought the best stuff I could find for the money that I had, in order to put together the simplest, yet most flexible, rig possible. Pretty straightforward.

In action with DK & the Affordables, with the Casio Privia PX-5S. I'm probably playing some kind of split setting here with organ in the left hand and piano in the right.

Someday, when I'm rich and famous, I'll tour with that Hammond B-3 and Leslie 122, maybe a Roland V-Piano or/and a Nord Stage or two, a rack of modules and effects, heck, throw in a 12' grand! Who knows, maybe I'll relent on my vow to never play both guitar and keys during a single gig and will travel with a bevy of those instruments, too. I won't have to fit it in a car anymore because I'll be traveling by bus with a truck and roadies and tuners and techs. But for now, I'm hauling my own gear in my own small car so it has to be manageable by me and affordable if I have to replace it. Money-wise, I'd much rather have to drop $999 to replace my PX-5S if it was damaged or stolen than $5000 for a V-Piano, as awesome as the V-Piano may be.

I saw a post on Facebook recently that summed it up nicely: A musician is a person that will load his or her expensive gear into a cheap car and drive 100 miles to play 4 hours for $50. It's nice use that $50 for food or rent or gasoline or beer (or saving!), instead of paying off credit card bills accrued from financing dream instruments. In my opinion, it's snobbery that makes people buy the most expensive gear, especially if they are not sponsored, "top-tier" musicians. That's a topic for another day, but be assured: I do have more to say!

A final thought: Sam Maloof, the late great chairmaker, started his illustrious woodworking career with a 3rd-hand, small-bladed (7") benchtop table saw (most woodworkers use 10" saws for increased cutting power). His advice: don't go into debt for your craft, and if you do good work, you'll be recognized and rewarded for it, regardless of the equipment you have at your disposal (taken from the excellent Taunton Press book, Setting Up Shop by Sandor Nagyslansky). Guitar maker Bob Taylor made a guitar from reclaimed pallet wood, demonstrating that it was the luthier's skill rather than choice exotic woods that made a quality guitar (see Guitar: a Complete Guide for the Player published by Quantum Books for a lot more great info on guitars). At any rate, the craftsman makes the tools he can afford and the materials he has on hand work for him. The musician should do the same, which is part of the "do" and "jutsu" of music.

Take care, and thanks for reading! 

On Completing a Long-Term Goal

I'm sure you've been waiting for my next input with baited breath. I apologize for the delay! Fact is, I've been swamped. It looks like the next couple weeks will give me a bit of a breather, though. I just completed a long-term goal that should help free up some time and mental energy, and it feels great to be done with it and to have had it go off as well as it did.

Some of you may have read my post on quitting ski patrol. While I stand by that decision, it didn't come lightly, and there was one obligation I needed to complete before I could quit: teaching Mountain Travel and Rescue Level 2 (MTR-2) in my region of the National Ski Patrol, and laying the groundwork for the future success of the program in our region.

That's me, bringing up the rear at last year's MTR-1 class I led down at Ski Apache near Ruidoso, NM. That smile hides the fact that I'm secretly jealous of Brian's (the guy in front of me in black) lightweight, streamlined pack. Lightweight backpacking might be a next endeavor. Stay tuned...

Why, you may ask, did I need to do this class? Why didn't I just make a clean break, right now? I can't tell you how tempted I was to just call it good, especially with my recent bouts of back pain. But the short answer is this: I said I would (as far back as 2008). The long answer is, well, longer. I had the unique combination of coursework, rescue, practical, and teaching experience to plan and execute. I was interested in doing it and I enjoy the subject matter. I had been planning this thing for roughly 5 years. Issues with my back postponed it twice (and nearly cancelled it this year, for a third time). There were a couple people who were interested in becoming MTR instructors and needed this specific class to realize that goal, and since I've applied to jobs that would take me out of the area, I needed to get it done for those folks.

By all accounts--from students and my fellow instructors--the class went really well. I plan another blog post to describe the course and show images, but this post is an attempt to come to terms with the joys and sorrows I'm feeling. I incorporated ideas from other classes I'd taken and added a couple ideas of my own, like staying in a yurt/hut/cabin, doing a good bit of ski touring, and a night-time search & rescue exercise. I wanted to challenge people but not destroy them. We streamlined the lectures to coincide with and fit into meal times in the yurt, and spend most of our time during the weekend in the field. I had a blast.

A couple students putting an improvised splint and improvised litter to use in this year's night-time search & rescue exercise. Tracy, the Queen of Good Sports, acted as "patient."

I'm particularly proud of this class. I've organized 5 of the MTR-1 classes, and been involved in teaching several more. But the MTR-2 class required much more logistical wrangling than the level 1 courses. The level 2 course required me to refresh some of my knowledge in order to teach it, and to dust off some of those climbing/rope handling skills I'd learned and forgotten. It's said that in order to truly learn something you should teach it to others, and it is from that point that I have approached everything I've taught.

While it was enjoyable, I'm glad it's over. I'm exhausted. I typically get family and alone-time during the weekend, which I need to recharge, but that didn't happen this weekend. I was surrounded by 7 other people who, while they are great folks, are not my family. During the week prior, I was finishing up the details for this class and wasn't really focused on anything else, including sleep. So, my body says I need some catch-up.

There are, of course, mixed emotions. I was planning this course as a last "hurrah" in my ski patrol career for a while. I've pretty much left the Pajarito Mtn. Ski Patrol, and my involvement in patrolling at all has been minimal for the past few years. Like all big organizations, National Ski Patrol has its bureaucracy and corruption, the details of which I won't go into here, but it's annoying enough to make we want to avoid it. That said, I have really enjoyed the Mountain Travel and Rescue curriculum in its breadth and flexibility. No other discipline in the National Ski Patrol education programs offers the same range of topics. The MTR classes cover everything from nutrition and clothing to avalanche safety and search and rescue. And I love teaching other folks (I'm looking to make a career change to teaching, in fact). The people I've met, taught, and learned from have kept me involved this long and make it really hard to stay committed to quitting. Still, it's time for me to focus on my own kids, getting them out on the slopes and in the hills, and give them the opportunity to enjoy the activities that my wife and I have loved so much through our lives. Who knows? In 10 years, we may all be patrolling together! I guess the bottom line is this: while I enjoy teaching these courses, my energy is needed elsewhere.

Here, I'm (in red) demonstrating one way to make an improvised litter from skis and a snow shovel, again at Ski Apache. Lizzie the Jack Russell Terrier and her owner (in blue) look on.

Take care, and thanks for reading.

How to Make Yourself Feel Great in 20 Minutes

Okay, so you're probably already skeptical of the dubious claim in the title. Heck, statements like that persuade people to try all kinds of destructive behavior. Pssssst, hey buddy, I've got this stuff...

...or, you're expecting a late-night info-mercial. For 3 easy payments of $39.95, I'll send you my special blend!

No, I'm not talking about any of that, nor am I trying to sell you something.

And get your mind out of the gutter!

I'm talking about...

...wait for it...

...taking a bath. TA DA!

This fellow is very contemplative as he bathes. I found this Daniel Caspera painting (Man in Tub) here, and you can find more of  Caspera's fine work here.

I haven't been a big fan of taking baths since I was probably 8 years old, preferring the efficiency of the shower instead. Except, that is, for that period between 8 and puberty when I was feral and just didn't bother with hygiene until forced (kind of like my kids, come to think of it). However, I  re-embraced the idea after a recent visit to my favorite chiropractor/healer. Dr. McIntyre spent 30 minutes adjusting every bone in my spine, then suggested that 1) I might be a bit sore the next day, and 2) I should stay hydrated, and 3) I should take a detox bath.

Anything "detox" smacks of new-age, Yoga, Pilates, tofu, Spandex, green smoothie, hybrid car, hippy nonsense to my Southern Idaho roots. Might as well try to sell a Ford to a Chevy Truck man, or try to get a "meat & potatoes" guy to eat a mixed greens salad with arugula and a dressing based on fancy vinegar. I think my chiropractor suggested this same mineral detox bath idea the last time I visited her, 2 years ago, and I was too stubborn to try it. But this time (just like last time!) I was indeed sore, and, rather than prolong the back pain--I was (am) on a fairly tight schedule with an upcoming ski patrol class, and life with pain just sucks--this detox bath sounded appealing if it meant I could move a bit more freely, and sooner rather than later. So, I took one. And I felt great afterward.

(This discussion reminds me of the old Volkswagen Passat ad from the early 2000's, where a woman gets on the radio and says, over ominous background music: "We were going skiing. It was snowing. We were in my Passat with 4Motion. We got there. And we parked," as in, well, duh).

Without further ado, here's the recipe.
- 2 cups baking soda
- 2 cups Epsom salts
- lavender essential oil (optional)
- a bathtub full of water as hot as you can stand without burning yourself

Here's an easy way to measure. 2 cups = 16 oz, so dump a 16 oz box of baking soda into the tub (with the water running), refill the box with Epsom salts (happens to come in larger bags), and dump that in. Fill the tub as full as you can, and slosh the water around to make sure the salts dissolve. I list the lavender essential oil as optional, but it would be a nice touch. I haven't used it yet because we don't have any in our apothecary right now.

Immerse your aching bones and soak until you're sweating; for me, that's 15-20 minutes. Sunday night I took a good book with me, which was a nice touch.

Need more proof? I did a 7-mile run Sunday morning (longest one in a while!) AND did a snow hike with the family Sunday afternoon. I was already sore when we got home from the hike, including an ache in the back. After getting the kids in bed, I did my soak. I was a bit tired Monday, but the soreness was gone.

I wish we had a bigger, deeper tub so I could soak all my bones at once. Or me & the Mrs. could, uh, detox together.

Maybe one of these beauties will grace our home someday. I am, of course, talking about the walk-in tub.

Take care, and thanks for reading!

------------------------------------------------------------------
In light of my anti-hippy rant earlier, I should tell you:
- I drive a Prius (but deep down I want another mid-90s Toyota 4x4, 22R-E engine, 5-speed)
- I attempt Yoga & Pilates every night before bed to keep my back supple and core strong
- I sometimes run in tights that have some percentage of Spandex in the weave
- I enjoy a good green smoothie (especially when made with my sister's VitaMix blender)
- Olive oil and Balsamic vinegar make my favorite salad dressing.
So, yes, you can bring an Idaho country boy into the 21st century. He may require some persuasion, but he'll eventually come around.

Do and Jutsu: the Way and Art of Music

Note: "Do" is pronounced "doe" as in the female deer, not "dew." 

A while back on this blog, I mused on my experiences in martial arts. I still love the systems of movement and thought that are involved in studying a fighting art. However, there are greater lessons--other than just how to fight another entity--to be learned. Two overarching philosophies that govern martial arts are Do and Jutsu (find a reasonable, and typical, discussion on the topic here). Recently they've returned to the fore of my consciousness, but with respect to music.

It is times like these / when I wish I understood / Japanese better.

To roughly define, the symbol "Do" is "the way" or the philosophy while "Jutsu" is "the method" or the art, science, or practice. In other words, Do is the the thought process while Jitsu is the activity. The Karate master Chosin Chibana (1885-1969) said succinctly that "Do without Jutsu is pointless." What martial artists muse (or should muse) on, though, is how we can apply the principles we learn in the study of fighting to our lives. I'm not just talking about how I might survive a knife attack in a seedy back alley, but how to conduct myself on a daily basis, how to face adversaries that are not necessarily violent or even human. As a corollary to Master Chibana, we could also state that you can't have Jutsu without Do (as Dave Lowry does in his excellent book The Karate Way). In other words, the mechanics are meaningless (and potentially dangerous) without a philosophy to temper it.

As I write this, it occurs to me that trying to describe the "difference" between Do and Jutsu is like trying to describe the difference between various shades of gray. It's also like trying to compare an apple and a pear when they're mixed together in a fruit salad. Martial arts practitioners often align themselves more with one than the other, but the concepts are inevitably intertwined in a fighting art. They are impossible to separate. And so it goes with music.

I've been teaching piano lessons now for about 3 years to folks of all ages. For kids, we of course start simple--a finger or two on each hand, then add more notes, then add symbols and dynamics and phrasing. As the music gets more complicated, we introduce "theory." In jazz music, the theory becomes a consuming pass time. We learn scales, chords, scale extensions, alternative voicings, chord substitutions, modes, and methods for improvisation. This practice, this theory, is the jutsu. Many people all over the world are very good at the practical matters of music, and it takes many hours of repetition and study to become so.

But we also learn to listen. We pay attention to the way the masters phrase their musical thoughts, and the scales, chords, or notes they use. We listen to each other, for spaces where we might throw in a little flourish, for our proper dynamic level to make the ensemble better. We try new things. We fail, we try again. We practice instead of watching TV or going out on a Friday night. We go to rehearsals. We pack expensive gear into the back of a cheap car and drive to a gig. We sometimes play for free. All of these activities are part of the Do, part of being connected to other human beings through an esoteric and spiritual process. It is no wonder to me that music is a part of church worship, regardless of denomination. Music takes thoughts and places them on a higher plane.

I love playing music outdoors. Here I am, in a photo taken by my wife, playing my Mom's guitar at my cousin's wedding in Idaho in 2005.

While the spiritual side of music is definitely present, I can't tell you how many people become technically proficient at an instrument--whether through piano lessons or school band or whatever--and don't stick with it. Maybe they enjoy it, but something else pushes it aside. I blame that on the de-emphasis of the emotional side of music. I have talked to so many people who said, "I used to play music, but I quit to do something else." Others tell me, "I wish I'd never quit." Why did they? I would argue that they didn't embrace the "Do." They were told music is a hobby, not a viable career option. It wasn't "cool." I don't know all the reasons. I do know that these thoughts have gone through my head, and, as a result, I'm not a career musician (I'm a chemist, if you don't already know). I played in a college jazz band for 4 years, accompanied a vocal jazz group for 2 years, and have played in various other "extra-curricular" groups since I was in high school. I currently play in 2 bands and teach lessons to students of all ages. Despite pushing through graduate school and pursuing a career in science, I've never quit playing as it allows me to attempt to express what I'm feeling and sometimes burn off a little steam if I need to. Devoted musical pursuit isn't for everyone, sure. But I'd say that, in many cases, people learn the technical proficiency on an instrument but fail to embrace the emotional or conversational aspects of the art. If you have an emotional connection, you will stick with it. You will practice the Justu and embrace the Do.

Another outdoor gig, this time at Fuller Lodge in 2013. I'm pretty sure local "man about town" Skip Wecksung took this one.

And what is music-Do? It is exploring the expressiveness of music. It is allowing us to feel comfort that is sometimes unattainable by our interactions with people. It is conveying emotions without words. It is transcending cultural and language barriers. It is practicing past the point of hitting the right notes. It is the quest for the long line, or the most profound passage. It is the greater enlightenment that occurs when everything falls into place, when you are past thinking and on to feeling, when your fingers play the notes without your brain. It is also love. If you have embraced something in your life that you look forward to every day, that, even when working through a difficult piece, you enjoy the journey, if the joy of playing comes through with the technical proficiency, then Do is practiced.

Thanks for reading!