Disclaimer: Religion is about to be discussed.
Whether you believe in God, a god, or gods, or none of the above you know what I'm about to say is going to strike true. Maybe not all of it, but something - even a piece of minutia - will strike you as something you remember.
Do you know what its like to have a prayer answered? Its like having your first kiss with you first love. Having your mother kiss a scraped knee after a fall, then running out trying to find out whos "it". Hearing someone outside the family for the first time say "I love you". It is an adrenaline rush, finding 20 bucks in a pair of jeans you put away last winter and forgot about. It is a feeling that knocks you down even when you're laying down. Every single pure bliss emotion you can think of...It's that feeling. And truth be told they don't come every day. Which is both a shame and a good thing. The dichotomy of which makes me laugh. If answered prayers came everyday belief would be full of addicts looking for that rush. Which would flood congregations, synagagues, mosques, cathedrals, basements with believers. Which is a good question for debate I think.
Let me back up. Two nights ago I spent an hour car ride and another hour after that talking to God. Both as a human and as an equal. I got the woman I've been seeing ticked off because of the conversation I was having that wasn't with her. The conversation ranged from the politic to the angry to the pleading to the begging back to the adoration that a bliever owes to their God.
Lately - past four years, and before - my faith/belief has been tried daily. I am not a perfect person, and thank God for that. You know what happened to the last one? Romans didn't have Crazy Glue or Velcro. I am proud to be fallible. Not happy about it, but I am proud of it. How else are we to learn from our mistakes and prove the pundits and naysayers wrong? There is no other way to live - in my mind- other than to own your mistakes and learn from and then not repeat them!
A very wise man once told me a long time ago that the way to become wise is to challenge oneself to learn something new everyday. This is a phrase everyone in every culture has heard. I would like to add an ammendment to it however. Add it not only to your knowledge but use it and share it!
I am not a trained educator - unless you cound 18 years surrounded by educators, and in an education field as a job a trained educator - however I am a coach, I interact with the public, I write here... How can I in good conscience say that I am not an educator? Every single person is! Everyone we meet we can impart a portion of knowldege on.
Example: A friend and I were having a debate last week; which has more sway over the populace: culture or religion? It was a free exchange of ideas, and while our views tend to be similar, there are still huge differences, and We can argue either side when pressed. His main argument stemmed from the idea that the chicken came before the egg. Which is what the debate boiled down to in the end anyway. But the question still stands and can be argued by anthropologists around the world. Can a culture be defined as such with out a belief system? If so, does that belief system then in turn make the culture better or influence in it any other way?
What about the Catholic Church? They have had their collective hand in culture for about a millennium. What about Hinduism or Islam or Judaism which are as old or older than most Christian and Judeo-Christian belief structures.
It is a debate that is centuries old and will continue with most subsets that either A. care B. smoke pot C. have more education D. pontificate.
Through my conversation both in the truck and then on the porch I didn't gain much insight. At least not until I came in that night, made a drink and started looking for a book to read while enjoying my beverage on the rocks. Looting through my couple dozen of boxes of books I came across the book I was searching for along with another book. I was confused why I sorted my confirmation bible into a book of historical and classical fiction literature.
Before I went back downstairs to the living room I opened up the Bible and read two of the three passages I have bookmarked. "Every word of God is flawless; He is a shield to those who take refuge in Him."
"But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of, because you know those from whom you learned it, and how from infancy you have known the Holy Scriptures which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus."
Reading those two passages answered quite a bit of what my conversation entailed and revolved around. They helped guide me to a clarity of mind and purpose that I haven't felt for a long time. Boiled down...they answered my prayer.
Let me tell ya, it feels great.
Buck
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Ouch
The past two weekends have been filled with stress. Not gonna lie.
We started up some clinics at the club working primarily on skill fade and getting rid of horrible habits whilst "instill[ing] the foundation for future performance excellence". Very tall order considering we had four hours and 50 plus girls with four coaches. Oh, and we were dealing with 12, 13, and 14 year old girls.
Most of the faces I recognized with a bunch of new girls which is promising for them and their teams. We drew a crowd from Johnston, Urbandale, Ankeny, Waukee, Clive, and a couple of girls from Nebraska (at least that's what their shirts said). The first half hour to forty five minutes consisted of only block drills which are mind numbingly boring. Not only for the coaches, but also for the players.
- A block drill is something that everybody knows. You have a partner. The partner tosses you the ball. You pass the ball back to your partner.... Drills of that nature.
However, block drills do have their place in the scheme of things. Foundations, you have to start from foundations. Ex. "This is a passing platform. When you are in the ready position your hands meet, elbows are locked, thumbs are pointing down. When I say go, the passer will start in the ready position, your partner will overhand toss a ball to you. You will forearm pass the ball to the target who will bounce a ball to the tosser. Do 8 then switch. Tosser becomes passer passer becomes target target becomes tosser. Spread out throughout the gym, but you cannot toss over a net. Go." From that foundation you can start branching out to overhead passes, out of core passing, downball defense, short defense...all sorts of things. This does not change however that you have downtime, you have players not getting reps, and the players - who have an attention span worse than a puppy at a circus- get bored.
Block drills do have a huge point in their favor from the coach's perspective. Coaches can correct, modify, encourage, and focus on the skill set being practiced. The draw back is that most coaches, - myself, one of my mentors in the club, my former coaches from any sport- will stop the player to do any of the above. Worst thing possible is taking the player out of the drill. It slows the drill down, they lose focus which was hard to get in the first place, the other players involved in the drill become even more bored, it singles the player out to the other players...the list can go on. If coaches are attempting to modify mid drill nothing will be accomplished, but if they don't incorrect habits form. It is a very very thin line to walk.
After we got through passing and attacking block drills we started going to random drills.
- Random drills are not improvised drills, instead they are spontaneous drills. Game-like drills. Forcing the players to read the situation, know what they are supposed to do, and above all adapt. C says that any sport is a micro-cosym of life. If you mess up you have less than three seconds to put it behind you and get your head back in the game. Maybe that's why successfully athletes have good coping skills...I like to think so. Make the drills life-like. Keep score, have a player enter a ball into play over the net, transition, rotate, switch, cover...any of those brought into a drill will make it a quicker drill which means more reps for the players, they bring in conditioning, reading, court awareness...all sorts of goodies.
There is a huge drawback to random drills. At least from my perspective which is still in it's infancy: Skill loss. As players tire from a long practice or the fact that they're young, they lose focus. With that loss of focus brings about a whole new problem. All that time that you spent doing the block drills was wasted. Those incorrect techniques come slamming back into the player's mind. From there it is a direct line to the muscles which don't care if the ball wasn't passed properly. The ball was passed.
- Let me make a point here. Muscles do NOT have brain cells. Therefore muscles canNOT have muscle memory. Impossible. Your brain fries neural networks, a certain way of firing synapses and nerves to make your muscles move. Those become ingrained with time and repetition. Your brain has the ability for motor-memory. Your muscles do not.
Another drawback to random drills is that the coach has to have a very good eye. What I mean by that is that the coach needs to know the skills forwards backwards sideways and if possible barrel-rolled. That way you can spot the discrepancy. And know all the player's names. At the clinics, during block drills I could come up with the name quick enough. During random drills I started shouting shirt colors. K and I were working on movement on the court - switching out if you messed up, or if you were standing still not doing anything - with the 12 and 13 year olds (the majority of whom he had in club or on his school team so he had the names down cold.) C came in hearing me bark out shirt colors and K translating. I thought he was gonna die laughing so hard.
Anyway. My focus for the upcoming season is tricky. With two teams I have to have different goals. The 13's I'm going to try to focus on staying outside my comfort zone, or make a new comfort zone, by using random drills after dynamic warm ups. With the 15's my personal goal is to bring fun, and a love of the game and instill that in the girls. Going into sophomore year the competition for spots gets tougher and if they don't have fun and love the sport they won't try as hard to get a spot. The secondary goal with both teams is to bring warm-up games to the forefront. A team gets the court for themselves for 2-5 minutes - depending on the tournament and what match- Why do we as volleyball coaches think that time must be spent on hitting lines? That isn't game-like; when does a setter get a perfect pass for a perfect set to a hitter standing around waiting. Nobody warms up in that situation. Warm-ups are to prepare the players for the game ahead; physically and mentally. Why not use a game for that? Short-court, ladders, north-south, fish on, back attack, four on four, kill the setter... There are options here!
I'm working on a paper for the club. Not because it was assigned but because I feel that there are issues for new coaches that need to be addressed. Maybe a glossary and an atlas would be better suited but I don't draw well. The benefit our club has over some others is that we utilize current college players. They bring a great understanding to the game, but most have never coached before. Most other clubs in the area have coaches that are very far removed from the sport other than playing sand court in the summer as a way to relive the glory days. I'm not saying one is right and the other wrong, but...with the youth of our coaching staff comes a...I don't actually know the proper word for it. A timidness I suppose. Sure we know drills, we know the sport inside and out. But we haven't developed the eye for knowing what all 12 people are doing in that 900 square feet all at the same time. I don't think that is something that can be taught or learned or cultivated. I also don't think that you're either born with that ability or you aren't. I lean more towards the side that says young coaches need to immerse themselves even more fully into the sport. Watch tape, go to conferences, go to seminars, pick other coach's brains, talk to your players, talk to other players from other teams, read, but most of all...practice which equates to try. The worst that can happen is you fail. So what?
You can't win them all.
-Buck
We started up some clinics at the club working primarily on skill fade and getting rid of horrible habits whilst "instill[ing] the foundation for future performance excellence". Very tall order considering we had four hours and 50 plus girls with four coaches. Oh, and we were dealing with 12, 13, and 14 year old girls.
Most of the faces I recognized with a bunch of new girls which is promising for them and their teams. We drew a crowd from Johnston, Urbandale, Ankeny, Waukee, Clive, and a couple of girls from Nebraska (at least that's what their shirts said). The first half hour to forty five minutes consisted of only block drills which are mind numbingly boring. Not only for the coaches, but also for the players.
- A block drill is something that everybody knows. You have a partner. The partner tosses you the ball. You pass the ball back to your partner.... Drills of that nature.
However, block drills do have their place in the scheme of things. Foundations, you have to start from foundations. Ex. "This is a passing platform. When you are in the ready position your hands meet, elbows are locked, thumbs are pointing down. When I say go, the passer will start in the ready position, your partner will overhand toss a ball to you. You will forearm pass the ball to the target who will bounce a ball to the tosser. Do 8 then switch. Tosser becomes passer passer becomes target target becomes tosser. Spread out throughout the gym, but you cannot toss over a net. Go." From that foundation you can start branching out to overhead passes, out of core passing, downball defense, short defense...all sorts of things. This does not change however that you have downtime, you have players not getting reps, and the players - who have an attention span worse than a puppy at a circus- get bored.
Block drills do have a huge point in their favor from the coach's perspective. Coaches can correct, modify, encourage, and focus on the skill set being practiced. The draw back is that most coaches, - myself, one of my mentors in the club, my former coaches from any sport- will stop the player to do any of the above. Worst thing possible is taking the player out of the drill. It slows the drill down, they lose focus which was hard to get in the first place, the other players involved in the drill become even more bored, it singles the player out to the other players...the list can go on. If coaches are attempting to modify mid drill nothing will be accomplished, but if they don't incorrect habits form. It is a very very thin line to walk.
After we got through passing and attacking block drills we started going to random drills.
- Random drills are not improvised drills, instead they are spontaneous drills. Game-like drills. Forcing the players to read the situation, know what they are supposed to do, and above all adapt. C says that any sport is a micro-cosym of life. If you mess up you have less than three seconds to put it behind you and get your head back in the game. Maybe that's why successfully athletes have good coping skills...I like to think so. Make the drills life-like. Keep score, have a player enter a ball into play over the net, transition, rotate, switch, cover...any of those brought into a drill will make it a quicker drill which means more reps for the players, they bring in conditioning, reading, court awareness...all sorts of goodies.
There is a huge drawback to random drills. At least from my perspective which is still in it's infancy: Skill loss. As players tire from a long practice or the fact that they're young, they lose focus. With that loss of focus brings about a whole new problem. All that time that you spent doing the block drills was wasted. Those incorrect techniques come slamming back into the player's mind. From there it is a direct line to the muscles which don't care if the ball wasn't passed properly. The ball was passed.
- Let me make a point here. Muscles do NOT have brain cells. Therefore muscles canNOT have muscle memory. Impossible. Your brain fries neural networks, a certain way of firing synapses and nerves to make your muscles move. Those become ingrained with time and repetition. Your brain has the ability for motor-memory. Your muscles do not.
Another drawback to random drills is that the coach has to have a very good eye. What I mean by that is that the coach needs to know the skills forwards backwards sideways and if possible barrel-rolled. That way you can spot the discrepancy. And know all the player's names. At the clinics, during block drills I could come up with the name quick enough. During random drills I started shouting shirt colors. K and I were working on movement on the court - switching out if you messed up, or if you were standing still not doing anything - with the 12 and 13 year olds (the majority of whom he had in club or on his school team so he had the names down cold.) C came in hearing me bark out shirt colors and K translating. I thought he was gonna die laughing so hard.
Anyway. My focus for the upcoming season is tricky. With two teams I have to have different goals. The 13's I'm going to try to focus on staying outside my comfort zone, or make a new comfort zone, by using random drills after dynamic warm ups. With the 15's my personal goal is to bring fun, and a love of the game and instill that in the girls. Going into sophomore year the competition for spots gets tougher and if they don't have fun and love the sport they won't try as hard to get a spot. The secondary goal with both teams is to bring warm-up games to the forefront. A team gets the court for themselves for 2-5 minutes - depending on the tournament and what match- Why do we as volleyball coaches think that time must be spent on hitting lines? That isn't game-like; when does a setter get a perfect pass for a perfect set to a hitter standing around waiting. Nobody warms up in that situation. Warm-ups are to prepare the players for the game ahead; physically and mentally. Why not use a game for that? Short-court, ladders, north-south, fish on, back attack, four on four, kill the setter... There are options here!
I'm working on a paper for the club. Not because it was assigned but because I feel that there are issues for new coaches that need to be addressed. Maybe a glossary and an atlas would be better suited but I don't draw well. The benefit our club has over some others is that we utilize current college players. They bring a great understanding to the game, but most have never coached before. Most other clubs in the area have coaches that are very far removed from the sport other than playing sand court in the summer as a way to relive the glory days. I'm not saying one is right and the other wrong, but...with the youth of our coaching staff comes a...I don't actually know the proper word for it. A timidness I suppose. Sure we know drills, we know the sport inside and out. But we haven't developed the eye for knowing what all 12 people are doing in that 900 square feet all at the same time. I don't think that is something that can be taught or learned or cultivated. I also don't think that you're either born with that ability or you aren't. I lean more towards the side that says young coaches need to immerse themselves even more fully into the sport. Watch tape, go to conferences, go to seminars, pick other coach's brains, talk to your players, talk to other players from other teams, read, but most of all...practice which equates to try. The worst that can happen is you fail. So what?
You can't win them all.
-Buck
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Whirlwind
So this past month has been what one might call...crazy. Some really great things happened, some really not so great things happened. Such is life eh?
First and foremost, congrats must go out to my sister and new brother-in-law on their marriage. I could not be happier for them, and hopefully they will always be happy.
I'm glad that they had their wedding out in Iowa because the way my work schedule shook out I would have been hard pressed to get anywhere else just having the wedding day off. It was great seeing family and friends again, especially when everyone was so obviously happy and having a good time.
P.S. The food? Amazing. The maid of honor and I had a fun little aside about the proper way to eat mashed taters, and my dislike for cooked carrots.
I feel bad that I missed portions of the reception, and I feel bad for the way I presented my gift to the couple. But, from my stand point, I didn't really have a whole lot of options.
Other than the wedding and festivities, things have been plodding along as they seem to always do. We showcased an olde time wedding at work last weekend which went over very well, except for the part where I was the only person out of 12 actually making sure the farm was running. I understand that we're "educators", but this "educator" also had to pick up a lot of slack to make sure that the event got pulled off without a hitch. Or having oxen running around like two year olds.
In about a month I traverse back to the land of Illinois to refferree a volleyball tourney. Something that I've been doing for years it seems now. It is always a good time and every year I know fewer and fewer people there. Which is both fun, but also a bit intimidating. Yes, I know the sport, yes, I know the rules. But, the sport has changed, and it seems parents of the LSA have not. Most don't like my philosophy of reffing which is, "They're kids. Let 'em play." It will be the first tournament of the year and coaches are more worried about setting up line ups and figuring things out that work for their team and against certain opponents. Let them play.
Real coaching starts tomorrow. I am both excited about this, but also a bit on edge. 'S not that I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm a bit more familiar with the people I'm working with and for. But, it is a new year, a new group of kids, new parents. And that right there is the kicker. I had my parents trained last year. Now I have to break in not one new group of parents. I have to break in two. One group I'm not worried about. The other team where I am a co-coach for the only reason that the parents are horrible...I'm not really looking forward to that.
There is a laundry list of things to be in a huff about but nothing is going to change, and this is assuradly not the forum for it. Therefore, we'll let it slide.
That's about all I've got.
Buck
First and foremost, congrats must go out to my sister and new brother-in-law on their marriage. I could not be happier for them, and hopefully they will always be happy.
I'm glad that they had their wedding out in Iowa because the way my work schedule shook out I would have been hard pressed to get anywhere else just having the wedding day off. It was great seeing family and friends again, especially when everyone was so obviously happy and having a good time.
P.S. The food? Amazing. The maid of honor and I had a fun little aside about the proper way to eat mashed taters, and my dislike for cooked carrots.
I feel bad that I missed portions of the reception, and I feel bad for the way I presented my gift to the couple. But, from my stand point, I didn't really have a whole lot of options.
Other than the wedding and festivities, things have been plodding along as they seem to always do. We showcased an olde time wedding at work last weekend which went over very well, except for the part where I was the only person out of 12 actually making sure the farm was running. I understand that we're "educators", but this "educator" also had to pick up a lot of slack to make sure that the event got pulled off without a hitch. Or having oxen running around like two year olds.
In about a month I traverse back to the land of Illinois to refferree a volleyball tourney. Something that I've been doing for years it seems now. It is always a good time and every year I know fewer and fewer people there. Which is both fun, but also a bit intimidating. Yes, I know the sport, yes, I know the rules. But, the sport has changed, and it seems parents of the LSA have not. Most don't like my philosophy of reffing which is, "They're kids. Let 'em play." It will be the first tournament of the year and coaches are more worried about setting up line ups and figuring things out that work for their team and against certain opponents. Let them play.
Real coaching starts tomorrow. I am both excited about this, but also a bit on edge. 'S not that I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm a bit more familiar with the people I'm working with and for. But, it is a new year, a new group of kids, new parents. And that right there is the kicker. I had my parents trained last year. Now I have to break in not one new group of parents. I have to break in two. One group I'm not worried about. The other team where I am a co-coach for the only reason that the parents are horrible...I'm not really looking forward to that.
There is a laundry list of things to be in a huff about but nothing is going to change, and this is assuradly not the forum for it. Therefore, we'll let it slide.
That's about all I've got.
Buck
Friday, July 16, 2010
Piano legends.
I have no idea how many of you have heard of Marc Andre Hamelin. If you haven't, you need to listen to him. Looking through the music that I have been given to browse through for my sister's wedding I keep coming back to Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2. My piano teacher gave me the music - the actual for piano arranged by Franz Liszt music- as a gag end of the 14 or so odd years of learning from him gift. Over the last five years I keep looking at it, and thinking: If I were really good I could play this.
A little background on the piece. If I remember what I learned in my beginning Piano by Thompson books (the red ones) Liszt was heavily influenced by his heritage while writing...19 Rhapsodies. His heritage being predominately Hungarian/Rom/~ Gypsy. I know that this particular Rhapsody can make or break a performer, highly technical while at the same time allowing the performer to express themselves in a wide array of styles. Number 2 uses the Gypsy scale more than any of the other piece Liszt wrote. It is also originally for piano, then was later adapted for orchestra. That means that the technicalities of the piece become easier as opposed to harder when "fleshing the piece out" - Instead of condensing an orchestra into one instrument, you water down the piece throughout the orchestra.-
We have all heard this piece. It is a classic in Tom and Jerry. Tom is playing the piano, and Jerry drives him nuts as usual inside the piano. At the end Jerry takes the bow for playing such a hard piece and poor Tom is left ragged and his tuxedo is in shambles.
I can't help but think of a carousel whenever I heard the second and third movements.
For those of you who still have no idea what I'm talking about, here is a video from youtube of Marc Andre Hamelin playing this piece at and concert in Japan. Listen and watch this piece twice. First time through don't even watch the video just listen to it. Listen to how discordant the melodies and harmonies are. Try to pick out your favorite bits. Listen for how little he uses any pedal or modulation of the voice of the piece. Can you pick out all of the separate movements and how they play on each other? Does one part of the piece remind you of another part?
The second time you listen and watch the piece actually watch the performer play. Watch his reactions and emotions to the music. For heaven's sake watch how fast he can move his fingers!
Anyway...
If that doesn't blow your mind, or if you just don't appreciate music try some comedy. Victor Borge plays the same piece with the Muppet Rowlf. You could check that one out too.
Buck
A little background on the piece. If I remember what I learned in my beginning Piano by Thompson books (the red ones) Liszt was heavily influenced by his heritage while writing...19 Rhapsodies. His heritage being predominately Hungarian/Rom/~ Gypsy. I know that this particular Rhapsody can make or break a performer, highly technical while at the same time allowing the performer to express themselves in a wide array of styles. Number 2 uses the Gypsy scale more than any of the other piece Liszt wrote. It is also originally for piano, then was later adapted for orchestra. That means that the technicalities of the piece become easier as opposed to harder when "fleshing the piece out" - Instead of condensing an orchestra into one instrument, you water down the piece throughout the orchestra.-
We have all heard this piece. It is a classic in Tom and Jerry. Tom is playing the piano, and Jerry drives him nuts as usual inside the piano. At the end Jerry takes the bow for playing such a hard piece and poor Tom is left ragged and his tuxedo is in shambles.
I can't help but think of a carousel whenever I heard the second and third movements.
For those of you who still have no idea what I'm talking about, here is a video from youtube of Marc Andre Hamelin playing this piece at and concert in Japan. Listen and watch this piece twice. First time through don't even watch the video just listen to it. Listen to how discordant the melodies and harmonies are. Try to pick out your favorite bits. Listen for how little he uses any pedal or modulation of the voice of the piece. Can you pick out all of the separate movements and how they play on each other? Does one part of the piece remind you of another part?
The second time you listen and watch the piece actually watch the performer play. Watch his reactions and emotions to the music. For heaven's sake watch how fast he can move his fingers!
Anyway...
If that doesn't blow your mind, or if you just don't appreciate music try some comedy. Victor Borge plays the same piece with the Muppet Rowlf. You could check that one out too.
Buck
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Oats
As the first weekend in August is nearing with a drastic pace at the farm we are left with two options. 1. Grit our teeth tighten the belt and raise the battle cry of "GIT SOME!" Or, we can pray for rain and sabotage equipment.
The first weekend in August will be very busy at the farm. We have a treshing machine coming out and hopefully, I'll be able to sneek anyone that wants to see some really cool oldie-timie steam powered belt driven threshing a chance to see that. However, in order to be prepared for said event that means that the oats need to be cut and bound, then shocked, then hauled so that we might "thrash them there wheat." For future refrence if a word has an "e" in it, do not pronounce the word with an "a". Anyway. Farmer T needed some help getting the paddle binder set up so me being me, wandered on over thinking I'd get either a chance to drive two teams of horses at the same time, or operate some machinery I've never seen used before.
Alas, such was not the case. We decided to pick the hottest day of the year so far which ment that we couldn't safely use the horses. Also there were only two guys. Farmer T said that we needed at least one more, and the ladies who were working were "occupied". (Without a doubt we will hear that the ladies should be able to do that kind of work too...) So, instead of binding right away, we set up the binder with a steel tractor tounge, took the eveners off and brought up the "red horse" the Farmall M. It should go without saying, I didn't even let Farmer T finish the question of, "You want to..." I was already up on the seat, putting in the clutch and then had to pause. I was unaware that the collections side of the farm had retrofitted the M so that it ran on 12 volts. Not 6. It has an electric ignition. Farmer T just pointed that out and I fired her up and we were cruising.
We made a couple of passes until the carriage of the binder broke, so we paused to fix that. Then the shield fell off and we had to re-run the twine. Then one of the paddles wasn't cut to the right length, and we were too far from the barn to get a saw so we broke it down to size with some pliers. So...our first four passes took about 2 hours. After that we were cruising. Low gear low throttle cause I had no idea how quick the horses would be able to pull it. Then E drove out to the field and wanted to operate the binder and Farmer T hopped up on the axle while I was driving. He told me to punch it up to third and full throttle. I looked at him to make sure he was serious but I'm still not sure. I popped the clutch a bit to quick and we almost lost E off of her seat. Which is a hard thing to do considering it has a back on it.
Anyway, it was my first time this season back on a tractor and Farmer T put the itch back into me. So, since then after hours, I check the gas, hop up, start her up and just cruise around for an hour or so enjoying the quiet of the farm. I got pulled over tonight by one of the maintenance guys who shook his head at me and scolded me for driving a red tractor. I laughed and said that the only green tractor he'll see me on is an Oliver. He looked kind of puzzled for a minute, but maybe he just had gas. Told me to lock up the shop and to remember to turn off the gas. I waved said sure, and rode fifth gear into the sunset.
Also, got the suit for Big Sister's wedding. Waiting to get that sheet music in the store.
Buck
The first weekend in August will be very busy at the farm. We have a treshing machine coming out and hopefully, I'll be able to sneek anyone that wants to see some really cool oldie-timie steam powered belt driven threshing a chance to see that. However, in order to be prepared for said event that means that the oats need to be cut and bound, then shocked, then hauled so that we might "thrash them there wheat." For future refrence if a word has an "e" in it, do not pronounce the word with an "a". Anyway. Farmer T needed some help getting the paddle binder set up so me being me, wandered on over thinking I'd get either a chance to drive two teams of horses at the same time, or operate some machinery I've never seen used before.
Alas, such was not the case. We decided to pick the hottest day of the year so far which ment that we couldn't safely use the horses. Also there were only two guys. Farmer T said that we needed at least one more, and the ladies who were working were "occupied". (Without a doubt we will hear that the ladies should be able to do that kind of work too...) So, instead of binding right away, we set up the binder with a steel tractor tounge, took the eveners off and brought up the "red horse" the Farmall M. It should go without saying, I didn't even let Farmer T finish the question of, "You want to..." I was already up on the seat, putting in the clutch and then had to pause. I was unaware that the collections side of the farm had retrofitted the M so that it ran on 12 volts. Not 6. It has an electric ignition. Farmer T just pointed that out and I fired her up and we were cruising.
We made a couple of passes until the carriage of the binder broke, so we paused to fix that. Then the shield fell off and we had to re-run the twine. Then one of the paddles wasn't cut to the right length, and we were too far from the barn to get a saw so we broke it down to size with some pliers. So...our first four passes took about 2 hours. After that we were cruising. Low gear low throttle cause I had no idea how quick the horses would be able to pull it. Then E drove out to the field and wanted to operate the binder and Farmer T hopped up on the axle while I was driving. He told me to punch it up to third and full throttle. I looked at him to make sure he was serious but I'm still not sure. I popped the clutch a bit to quick and we almost lost E off of her seat. Which is a hard thing to do considering it has a back on it.
Anyway, it was my first time this season back on a tractor and Farmer T put the itch back into me. So, since then after hours, I check the gas, hop up, start her up and just cruise around for an hour or so enjoying the quiet of the farm. I got pulled over tonight by one of the maintenance guys who shook his head at me and scolded me for driving a red tractor. I laughed and said that the only green tractor he'll see me on is an Oliver. He looked kind of puzzled for a minute, but maybe he just had gas. Told me to lock up the shop and to remember to turn off the gas. I waved said sure, and rode fifth gear into the sunset.
Also, got the suit for Big Sister's wedding. Waiting to get that sheet music in the store.
Buck
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Falco
It feels like a very long time since I've had a sit down heart-to-heart with myself for the entire world to see. Let's take a ride.
June was...well it was crazy. There really isn't another way to put it. We got back from Sarah's wedding - which was very cool - in the wee hours of the morning. Kate was already out like a light, Mother had dozed for a good 120 miles. Hence why I vollunteered to drive. The ladies kept harping on me that it was because I had to be in control of the vehicle, or that I would probably get car sick, among all sorts of reasons why it is funny that "men always drive". For my part, yes, I would rather be in control of the vehicle, although I trust my mother and my sister with my life. No, I don't really get car sick. Usually when I'm riding it's because it was the best solution to get home safely. My reasoning and it still stands is that, I know I can function perfectly well on very little sleep if any. I also know my mother and my sister. I've known them all my life, Ma is usually out cold around 9 or 10 pm. Kate can stay up late, but she was working on a few hours deficit. I figured I was the best one suited for the job.
Anyway. June at work was wet. We have had the wettest June since 1873 when they started keeping track of that kind of stuff. That being said however, first cutting of hay was done on time and in time. Corn is up cultivated, and looking superb. The wheat is ready to harvest. The only real big problem is firewood. We don't have enough and what we have is all wet. Yet my bosses still won't let me go nuts on building my wood shed for the 50 farm. Because "nobody south of the 45 parallel would have a wood shed."
Despite my supervisors declining permission to begin construction on this "inappropriate shed from hell that will make life easier" I have in fact begun construction on it. Mullberry trees are my posts. The floor from the old barn will serve as roofing material. I'm working on collecting green elms for the crosses and supports. For the most part I have gathered all of these materials while on the clock, and while not neglecting my other duties as an interpreter. So there.
Jessie came down from So. Dakota for a party we had on the 3rd of July. She got here early enough that she toured through the farms and chat-chitted with people. She came to the conclusion very early into the tour that most of us are burnt out. We hit the "PLAY" button when people show up but for the most part we're doing our own thing until someone either stops us or asks a quesiton. Now that's kind of my my MO for...three years now. Yes, when there's a school tour, or a day camp, or a group of kids, I bust my butt to make sure that those kids remember something. Even if it's the line, "I would run away from a crazy guy with a beard hitting me with a stick". But the old time farmers, who I love to swap stories with over coffee, hate me when I'm at work. Just because I realize that I have no hope of educating them in how gloriously ignorant they are in regards to farming techniques in central Iowa in the 1850's. They just relate it back to "we used a sickle just like that (pointint at the grain cradle) to cut weeds around fence lines." My reply started three years ago as, "how'd that work seeing that the fence lines would have torn apart the dowels?" and is now, "No you didn't. You might have used a sickle, but you didn't use anything like that". To be honest, I don't say that outloud, but it is deafening when I think it that loud.
I just don't know anymore. 'S a topsy turvy world we're living in. Thank God for gravity and taxes.
Went back home recently on a vacation of sorts. I hadn't planned on staying for more than a wedding reception because the plan was to go camp. But some stuff happened, then some other stuff...and I was in Illinois for longer than planned. Camping was great. Other than I got skunked out on the water with six lines in the drink and four days of fishing. To make it worse, not 10 feet from me an eagle snagged a fish one morning. I started yelling at the eagle shouting, "Teach me your ways! Why did God give me arms instead of wings and feet instead of talons? Teach this young grasshopper!" The eagle just kept on flying. Jerk.
Met some real nice folk up north got a bumber sticker that says, "Don't eat yellow snow, don't drink yellow beer" I thought it was catchy. I promptly gave it to 15 or so year old kid sitting next to me at a free lumber jack show cause he was eye balling it.
Got in touch with Monica this past week. She will be my co-coach with the nationals team this winter. She has all these plans that she wants to accomplish with the girls. I had to reign her back into the real world where we haven't even had tryouts yet. But on the plus side, she knows what she's doing. Which leaves me in the administration and setter and hitters coaching role. Curt, the big boss man of the coaches, took me aside earlier this summer to let me in on a secret: I'm there to keep the parents in check. Monica is too nice a girl to say no, whereas as I am apparently not a nice girl. News to me.
Anyway. Big sister got a pretty sa-weet job and I'm excited for her. I finally got my orientation stuff for school, and the more I think about it, the more that I realize I might have to put it off for another year, or at least semester. I'm scheduled to go up there on Thursday and talk some things over with a counselor. I haven't had much luck with them in my higher education carreer. Hopefully this changes.
If you need me you know how to get in touch with me.
Buck
June was...well it was crazy. There really isn't another way to put it. We got back from Sarah's wedding - which was very cool - in the wee hours of the morning. Kate was already out like a light, Mother had dozed for a good 120 miles. Hence why I vollunteered to drive. The ladies kept harping on me that it was because I had to be in control of the vehicle, or that I would probably get car sick, among all sorts of reasons why it is funny that "men always drive". For my part, yes, I would rather be in control of the vehicle, although I trust my mother and my sister with my life. No, I don't really get car sick. Usually when I'm riding it's because it was the best solution to get home safely. My reasoning and it still stands is that, I know I can function perfectly well on very little sleep if any. I also know my mother and my sister. I've known them all my life, Ma is usually out cold around 9 or 10 pm. Kate can stay up late, but she was working on a few hours deficit. I figured I was the best one suited for the job.
Anyway. June at work was wet. We have had the wettest June since 1873 when they started keeping track of that kind of stuff. That being said however, first cutting of hay was done on time and in time. Corn is up cultivated, and looking superb. The wheat is ready to harvest. The only real big problem is firewood. We don't have enough and what we have is all wet. Yet my bosses still won't let me go nuts on building my wood shed for the 50 farm. Because "nobody south of the 45 parallel would have a wood shed."
Despite my supervisors declining permission to begin construction on this "inappropriate shed from hell that will make life easier" I have in fact begun construction on it. Mullberry trees are my posts. The floor from the old barn will serve as roofing material. I'm working on collecting green elms for the crosses and supports. For the most part I have gathered all of these materials while on the clock, and while not neglecting my other duties as an interpreter. So there.
Jessie came down from So. Dakota for a party we had on the 3rd of July. She got here early enough that she toured through the farms and chat-chitted with people. She came to the conclusion very early into the tour that most of us are burnt out. We hit the "PLAY" button when people show up but for the most part we're doing our own thing until someone either stops us or asks a quesiton. Now that's kind of my my MO for...three years now. Yes, when there's a school tour, or a day camp, or a group of kids, I bust my butt to make sure that those kids remember something. Even if it's the line, "I would run away from a crazy guy with a beard hitting me with a stick". But the old time farmers, who I love to swap stories with over coffee, hate me when I'm at work. Just because I realize that I have no hope of educating them in how gloriously ignorant they are in regards to farming techniques in central Iowa in the 1850's. They just relate it back to "we used a sickle just like that (pointint at the grain cradle) to cut weeds around fence lines." My reply started three years ago as, "how'd that work seeing that the fence lines would have torn apart the dowels?" and is now, "No you didn't. You might have used a sickle, but you didn't use anything like that". To be honest, I don't say that outloud, but it is deafening when I think it that loud.
I just don't know anymore. 'S a topsy turvy world we're living in. Thank God for gravity and taxes.
Went back home recently on a vacation of sorts. I hadn't planned on staying for more than a wedding reception because the plan was to go camp. But some stuff happened, then some other stuff...and I was in Illinois for longer than planned. Camping was great. Other than I got skunked out on the water with six lines in the drink and four days of fishing. To make it worse, not 10 feet from me an eagle snagged a fish one morning. I started yelling at the eagle shouting, "Teach me your ways! Why did God give me arms instead of wings and feet instead of talons? Teach this young grasshopper!" The eagle just kept on flying. Jerk.
Met some real nice folk up north got a bumber sticker that says, "Don't eat yellow snow, don't drink yellow beer" I thought it was catchy. I promptly gave it to 15 or so year old kid sitting next to me at a free lumber jack show cause he was eye balling it.
Got in touch with Monica this past week. She will be my co-coach with the nationals team this winter. She has all these plans that she wants to accomplish with the girls. I had to reign her back into the real world where we haven't even had tryouts yet. But on the plus side, she knows what she's doing. Which leaves me in the administration and setter and hitters coaching role. Curt, the big boss man of the coaches, took me aside earlier this summer to let me in on a secret: I'm there to keep the parents in check. Monica is too nice a girl to say no, whereas as I am apparently not a nice girl. News to me.
Anyway. Big sister got a pretty sa-weet job and I'm excited for her. I finally got my orientation stuff for school, and the more I think about it, the more that I realize I might have to put it off for another year, or at least semester. I'm scheduled to go up there on Thursday and talk some things over with a counselor. I haven't had much luck with them in my higher education carreer. Hopefully this changes.
If you need me you know how to get in touch with me.
Buck
Friday, June 18, 2010
Quizes
I'm taking an accreditation quiz online right now. I must say open ended questions that focus on the recipient's opinions about skill development and strategy are not appropriate for a quiz that I paid money to take. Boo.
Buck
Buck
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Tonka
Tonka has died. As in...Tot. Dead. Pushing daisies. Worm food.
It is a sad day, but it is also a depressing day. I'm chatting up some guys around here that are looking to offload vehicles. But I have to also consider housing expenses, bills, tuition...
Armed services is looking better and better at the moment.
It is a sad day, but it is also a depressing day. I'm chatting up some guys around here that are looking to offload vehicles. But I have to also consider housing expenses, bills, tuition...
Armed services is looking better and better at the moment.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
workin' double shifts...
Hey folksies.
Lot of stuff has been happening since last I threw something up here.
- I am now a nationally accredited volleyball coach.
- We have first hay cut, baled, and stored
- We have three lambs
- We lost a calf
-Went to Nebraska for a wedding
- Planning an orientation for school
- Went to Atlantic to meet the other side of the sister's family.
- Bought my grandfather a beer
- Caught up with three of my best friends
- Planning a trip to Illinois to do some suit shopping.
- Lost the lottery.
That's about it. As I still have to work on this gray and rainy day, I need to wrap this up. Hopefully I'll update with greater frequency now that first cutting is done, but coaching is picking up again so... We'll see.
Buck
Lot of stuff has been happening since last I threw something up here.
- I am now a nationally accredited volleyball coach.
- We have first hay cut, baled, and stored
- We have three lambs
- We lost a calf
-Went to Nebraska for a wedding
- Planning an orientation for school
- Went to Atlantic to meet the other side of the sister's family.
- Bought my grandfather a beer
- Caught up with three of my best friends
- Planning a trip to Illinois to do some suit shopping.
- Lost the lottery.
That's about it. As I still have to work on this gray and rainy day, I need to wrap this up. Hopefully I'll update with greater frequency now that first cutting is done, but coaching is picking up again so... We'll see.
Buck
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Live in a Hoover
Dad was right.
My father and I aren't particularly what you might call close. We chat now and again, but for the most part we are fairly similar. We could go months without talking to one another and still pick up a conversation that we had the last time. He has always told me that he is available for commentary and advice on issues going on in my life.
The advice that he has given me over time I have usually followed. For the most part he knows this, or is at least aware that something is different and it doesn't make his ire rise so he doesn't care.
I can remember vividly asking him why our neighbor always took such good care of his yard. By good care, I'm fairly certain that Jack was OCD when it came to his lawn. Dad replied, "You'll understand that taking care of a yard is nice". I probably rolled my eyes, or snorted, or made a lippy reply like, "No it isn't, if you think that you can take care of it".
Recently, I've picked up some lawn care jobs as I have some more free time. Spreading mulch, mowing, edging, pruning, etc. Most of these jobs are in the "rich" district of DM, and I can charge an arm and a leg for my services. Customers provide equipment, I come in on my days off when they are at work do my thing and the customer comes home to a pretty yard.
I still find the work itself tedious. Given the choices of mowing, or fishing I would take fishing 11 times out of 5. But, the extra cash flow is very nice. It is also nice to get out of my house, away from work, and actually work. When I try to work at work people keep talking to me. Nobody talks to a guy who's sweating, has a beard, and is mowing a lawn. I like that.
But in all honesty tedious work is sometimes the best work. When the mower is running everything else is drowned out, I can plan things, I can organize my thoughts, I can have original thoughts. I really like that.
I've always enjoyed fishing with my Dad. Especially when he took me out with him on the boat. Or we would walk to the pond by Opa and Oma. It was just us. There was kind of an unspoken rule that we could talk about anything during fishing time. Looking back mostly what we did was fish, or sit and have piece of mind while not catching anything. Those were the times that I feel that we really bonded. Gone were the sports where he was my teacher and most times my coach. Gone was the aspect of him being the disciplinarian/father. He was just another guy fishing. Sometimes we would swap more than five sentences, but somehow we were bonding.
I can't really explain it other than that.
Now that I've "grown up", or "matured" I still think of all the advice of his, or sayings/cliches that he would impart on the kids and use it/them more than I'll even admit to myself.
Guess that's part of reaching adult, or achieving utter insanity. I'm not positive which one will come first, but I do know that whatever course my life takes I'll have fond memories.
I suppose I'm writing this because of a song I heard on the radio. A song I've heard many times, and every time I start to well up. Conway Twitty - That's My Job.
Buck
My father and I aren't particularly what you might call close. We chat now and again, but for the most part we are fairly similar. We could go months without talking to one another and still pick up a conversation that we had the last time. He has always told me that he is available for commentary and advice on issues going on in my life.
The advice that he has given me over time I have usually followed. For the most part he knows this, or is at least aware that something is different and it doesn't make his ire rise so he doesn't care.
I can remember vividly asking him why our neighbor always took such good care of his yard. By good care, I'm fairly certain that Jack was OCD when it came to his lawn. Dad replied, "You'll understand that taking care of a yard is nice". I probably rolled my eyes, or snorted, or made a lippy reply like, "No it isn't, if you think that you can take care of it".
Recently, I've picked up some lawn care jobs as I have some more free time. Spreading mulch, mowing, edging, pruning, etc. Most of these jobs are in the "rich" district of DM, and I can charge an arm and a leg for my services. Customers provide equipment, I come in on my days off when they are at work do my thing and the customer comes home to a pretty yard.
I still find the work itself tedious. Given the choices of mowing, or fishing I would take fishing 11 times out of 5. But, the extra cash flow is very nice. It is also nice to get out of my house, away from work, and actually work. When I try to work at work people keep talking to me. Nobody talks to a guy who's sweating, has a beard, and is mowing a lawn. I like that.
But in all honesty tedious work is sometimes the best work. When the mower is running everything else is drowned out, I can plan things, I can organize my thoughts, I can have original thoughts. I really like that.
I've always enjoyed fishing with my Dad. Especially when he took me out with him on the boat. Or we would walk to the pond by Opa and Oma. It was just us. There was kind of an unspoken rule that we could talk about anything during fishing time. Looking back mostly what we did was fish, or sit and have piece of mind while not catching anything. Those were the times that I feel that we really bonded. Gone were the sports where he was my teacher and most times my coach. Gone was the aspect of him being the disciplinarian/father. He was just another guy fishing. Sometimes we would swap more than five sentences, but somehow we were bonding.
I can't really explain it other than that.
Now that I've "grown up", or "matured" I still think of all the advice of his, or sayings/cliches that he would impart on the kids and use it/them more than I'll even admit to myself.
Guess that's part of reaching adult, or achieving utter insanity. I'm not positive which one will come first, but I do know that whatever course my life takes I'll have fond memories.
I suppose I'm writing this because of a song I heard on the radio. A song I've heard many times, and every time I start to well up. Conway Twitty - That's My Job.
Buck
Saturday, April 24, 2010
'S Golden
Here I am, sitting at a desk that is unused trying to tune out the screaming children, the drunk adults, the obnoxious music, and above all the in-courteous behavior of the people at this rental.
Usually I'm a very even keel kind of guy. I've learned to bite my tongue, mostly because arguing just makes you look like a fool. However, maybe because of my upbringing, or maybe it is something hardwired into my personality, I strongly believe in common sense and courtesy.
Even if you are not a good human being, it does not take much to be polite. I don't demand other people's respect. Especially if I don't know them and will never see them again. But, we are all human beings. There is something called a golden rule, and it does not matter if you are religious or not. Think of it as self-preservation, or decency, or however your want to. Boil it down and you're asking yourself a question: Do I want to be in their shoes?
Being myself I of course have examples. When don't I? Let us take a minute and walk through them, shall we? (I feel like I should be changing into some house shoes and a cardigan)
Example the first:
Yesterday morning I finalized my transcripts and testing at DMACC for my enrollment. I was told exactly what I already knew: My math scores are not exemplary. Ok, fine, now what? I really don't want to take another math class so I inquired as to my options. I was told to go to building 6 which is sort of a library, student study center, tutor hot line...building. I walked in the doors, saw a sign that said "Math Department", walked right up to the nice lady behind the desk and asked if she had a minute.
She looked up, smiled, said sure. I explained my situation to her and informed her that I was there to take a Math Test Thing-ama-jigger. She gave me a blank stare and told me that she needed more information. I explained that she had all the information I had, and that I was equally confused. She then went on to explain how she was in a car wreck the week before, and still wasn't feeling well, how she had to put her dog down last month, and just basically rambled wasting my time for a good 10 minutes.
I smiled and nodded at the appropriate moments thinking how my two hour limit in the visitor parking was coming to a dramatic nail-biting climax. I asked her what she thought about me being able to test out of the math class that I will have to take for the degree. She asked me what my specific grades were in high school and college. I stammered and stuttered because, a grade that I got in 2001 was about as forefront in my mind as the impact of bee pollination patterns is in an oil-drillers mind. She picked up on that I'm guessing because she started writing problems out for me to solve.
Once she turned the paper around so I could read the hieroglyphics that she inscribed I of course looked at the problems, looked up at her, looked back down at the Sanskrit in front of me, and just kind of chuckled. Alright, in all honesty, it was a snort of derision. I sighed, mumbled a quick litany against fear, picked up the pen and tried my hardest to remember what Mrs. March tried to teach us back in Algebra 2 Trig. The only thing I could remember from the class was I sat behind a girl who's ponytail always fell on my desk and smelled like lilacs, and Chris Sessca sitting next to me eating supermarket sushi.
I fumbled my way through the first equation, worked my way through FOILing, then almost peed my pants trying to figure out a quadratic equation. All of this in my head, with gross random numbers. Finally after sweating bullets I turned the paper around and said shakily, "Maybe?" The lady behind the desk scoffed and said, "Those were easy ones, and there is no maybe in math." The second part of the statement might very well be true, but when a letter is also a number something is suspect in my mind. The first part of her statement stun a lot. I don't like being wrong. I'll admit it happens, but I don't like it.
After offering what I felt was a legitimate reason for my lack of stellar high school math skills, namely: I don't have a head for numbers. I like high ways that are the same digits because I can't confuse them. Street numbers? No chance of my getting them right the first 28 times I try to get there. This lady would just not get off my case, she kept "Psh-ing" and "Harrumph-ing" my poor math skills. She actually said "Harrumph". I thought it was just a Mel Brooks line, but no! People apparently actually do use that word sound. Anyway, after degrading me further and further on skills I know are rusty at best, she said, "Well, can you at least add and subtract?"
Now right there I wanted to stand up, thank her for her time, and wish her a pleasant stay in Hell where she obviously has central air. But, I bit my tongue and tried to make a joke out of it, "Adding that's where the number gets smaller right?" She didn't laugh. She then insulted me even further by putting down basic problems on the paper. At least there weren't letters involved this time. But still, "2+3...5+1...etc." a tad bit insulting. I didn't even pick up the pen for that one, looked her in the eye and said, "I know that one!" She kept testing my basic math skills to find out that, yes I might be slow with it, but I can do it and do it well.
After a couple of more minutes of banter, and barbed words she told me to go take the Compass Math test. I said, "Ok, where? When? How much does it cost?" She informed me that there was no cost, it was just down the hall, and as soon as I could get down there. I thanked her for her time, and happily left the cubicle where even a Care-Bear would feel like he was in a brier patch with barbed wire on top, with and oil fire on top of that.
As of right now, I am self teaching all of the basic algebra skills that I failed on the test so that when I re-take it I will pass and not have to spend money on a lecture class where I will not learn a darn thing.
I still hate math.
Example the second:
Tonight. Tonight I have the ultimate power on the farms, I'm the closing manager as it were. I have been at this rental all day so far, or at least it seems like that. The guys that speak broken English keep asking if I've eaten, if I want a drink, if I want to take a shot...at least that's what I think they're asking. Anyway. I've been yelling at the hooligan children all day to not run around in the back of the building as it is adjacent to the town, and there's a lot of space in which to get lost, hurt, or die. I realize that I'm using the wrong psychology with these first graders, but still...a little respect for elders would be nice. Finally I broke down grabbed a kid by the feet hung him upside down in front of my face and said to his friends, "If you don't want him dropped on his head and you take the blame for it, run around in the parking lot, not back here". They seemed to pick up on what I was saying pretty quickly after that.
Their parents on the other hand are a completely different story. They're smoking on the patio which, I don't have a big problem with but leaving beers, unfinished plates of food, a shoe, and I also found a Radio Flyer Wagon. I was about to yell at them, but they scurried off quicker than roaches when you flip on a light. Maybe because I was already upset with the kids, and playing Molly Maid to drunken idiots, or maybe because I'm 6 inches taller than the tallest person here. I don't know which is the reason but they ran off. All but one. He calmly walked up to the board walk and I heard, "zip". I thought to myself, "You've gotta be kidding, you're freakin' 50 feet away from the head." I gave a shout of "Hey! You want me to pee on your front door?"
He looked up and acted like all he was doing was stretching, like a kid in a classroom who forgot what they were going to say and quickly recovers with, "I was just stretching". Now, I'm not a teacher, at least not at a school, and I don't like blatant lies to my face, so I kind of ripped into him a bit. He pee-dance-walked to the bathroom while I was following him the entire way carrying a garbage bag ready to burst. Right over the dance floor. It was great, and oddly cathartic.
Those are my examples.
Courtesy: doesn't take much. Politeness: Even less. When you doubt if you're doing the right thing just think, "Do I want them peeing on my front door?"
Buck
Usually I'm a very even keel kind of guy. I've learned to bite my tongue, mostly because arguing just makes you look like a fool. However, maybe because of my upbringing, or maybe it is something hardwired into my personality, I strongly believe in common sense and courtesy.
Even if you are not a good human being, it does not take much to be polite. I don't demand other people's respect. Especially if I don't know them and will never see them again. But, we are all human beings. There is something called a golden rule, and it does not matter if you are religious or not. Think of it as self-preservation, or decency, or however your want to. Boil it down and you're asking yourself a question: Do I want to be in their shoes?
Being myself I of course have examples. When don't I? Let us take a minute and walk through them, shall we? (I feel like I should be changing into some house shoes and a cardigan)
Example the first:
Yesterday morning I finalized my transcripts and testing at DMACC for my enrollment. I was told exactly what I already knew: My math scores are not exemplary. Ok, fine, now what? I really don't want to take another math class so I inquired as to my options. I was told to go to building 6 which is sort of a library, student study center, tutor hot line...building. I walked in the doors, saw a sign that said "Math Department", walked right up to the nice lady behind the desk and asked if she had a minute.
She looked up, smiled, said sure. I explained my situation to her and informed her that I was there to take a Math Test Thing-ama-jigger. She gave me a blank stare and told me that she needed more information. I explained that she had all the information I had, and that I was equally confused. She then went on to explain how she was in a car wreck the week before, and still wasn't feeling well, how she had to put her dog down last month, and just basically rambled wasting my time for a good 10 minutes.
I smiled and nodded at the appropriate moments thinking how my two hour limit in the visitor parking was coming to a dramatic nail-biting climax. I asked her what she thought about me being able to test out of the math class that I will have to take for the degree. She asked me what my specific grades were in high school and college. I stammered and stuttered because, a grade that I got in 2001 was about as forefront in my mind as the impact of bee pollination patterns is in an oil-drillers mind. She picked up on that I'm guessing because she started writing problems out for me to solve.
Once she turned the paper around so I could read the hieroglyphics that she inscribed I of course looked at the problems, looked up at her, looked back down at the Sanskrit in front of me, and just kind of chuckled. Alright, in all honesty, it was a snort of derision. I sighed, mumbled a quick litany against fear, picked up the pen and tried my hardest to remember what Mrs. March tried to teach us back in Algebra 2 Trig. The only thing I could remember from the class was I sat behind a girl who's ponytail always fell on my desk and smelled like lilacs, and Chris Sessca sitting next to me eating supermarket sushi.
I fumbled my way through the first equation, worked my way through FOILing, then almost peed my pants trying to figure out a quadratic equation. All of this in my head, with gross random numbers. Finally after sweating bullets I turned the paper around and said shakily, "Maybe?" The lady behind the desk scoffed and said, "Those were easy ones, and there is no maybe in math." The second part of the statement might very well be true, but when a letter is also a number something is suspect in my mind. The first part of her statement stun a lot. I don't like being wrong. I'll admit it happens, but I don't like it.
After offering what I felt was a legitimate reason for my lack of stellar high school math skills, namely: I don't have a head for numbers. I like high ways that are the same digits because I can't confuse them. Street numbers? No chance of my getting them right the first 28 times I try to get there. This lady would just not get off my case, she kept "Psh-ing" and "Harrumph-ing" my poor math skills. She actually said "Harrumph". I thought it was just a Mel Brooks line, but no! People apparently actually do use that word sound. Anyway, after degrading me further and further on skills I know are rusty at best, she said, "Well, can you at least add and subtract?"
Now right there I wanted to stand up, thank her for her time, and wish her a pleasant stay in Hell where she obviously has central air. But, I bit my tongue and tried to make a joke out of it, "Adding that's where the number gets smaller right?" She didn't laugh. She then insulted me even further by putting down basic problems on the paper. At least there weren't letters involved this time. But still, "2+3...5+1...etc." a tad bit insulting. I didn't even pick up the pen for that one, looked her in the eye and said, "I know that one!" She kept testing my basic math skills to find out that, yes I might be slow with it, but I can do it and do it well.
After a couple of more minutes of banter, and barbed words she told me to go take the Compass Math test. I said, "Ok, where? When? How much does it cost?" She informed me that there was no cost, it was just down the hall, and as soon as I could get down there. I thanked her for her time, and happily left the cubicle where even a Care-Bear would feel like he was in a brier patch with barbed wire on top, with and oil fire on top of that.
As of right now, I am self teaching all of the basic algebra skills that I failed on the test so that when I re-take it I will pass and not have to spend money on a lecture class where I will not learn a darn thing.
I still hate math.
Example the second:
Tonight. Tonight I have the ultimate power on the farms, I'm the closing manager as it were. I have been at this rental all day so far, or at least it seems like that. The guys that speak broken English keep asking if I've eaten, if I want a drink, if I want to take a shot...at least that's what I think they're asking. Anyway. I've been yelling at the hooligan children all day to not run around in the back of the building as it is adjacent to the town, and there's a lot of space in which to get lost, hurt, or die. I realize that I'm using the wrong psychology with these first graders, but still...a little respect for elders would be nice. Finally I broke down grabbed a kid by the feet hung him upside down in front of my face and said to his friends, "If you don't want him dropped on his head and you take the blame for it, run around in the parking lot, not back here". They seemed to pick up on what I was saying pretty quickly after that.
Their parents on the other hand are a completely different story. They're smoking on the patio which, I don't have a big problem with but leaving beers, unfinished plates of food, a shoe, and I also found a Radio Flyer Wagon. I was about to yell at them, but they scurried off quicker than roaches when you flip on a light. Maybe because I was already upset with the kids, and playing Molly Maid to drunken idiots, or maybe because I'm 6 inches taller than the tallest person here. I don't know which is the reason but they ran off. All but one. He calmly walked up to the board walk and I heard, "zip". I thought to myself, "You've gotta be kidding, you're freakin' 50 feet away from the head." I gave a shout of "Hey! You want me to pee on your front door?"
He looked up and acted like all he was doing was stretching, like a kid in a classroom who forgot what they were going to say and quickly recovers with, "I was just stretching". Now, I'm not a teacher, at least not at a school, and I don't like blatant lies to my face, so I kind of ripped into him a bit. He pee-dance-walked to the bathroom while I was following him the entire way carrying a garbage bag ready to burst. Right over the dance floor. It was great, and oddly cathartic.
Those are my examples.
Courtesy: doesn't take much. Politeness: Even less. When you doubt if you're doing the right thing just think, "Do I want them peeing on my front door?"
Buck
Monday, April 19, 2010
Farms
Things are starting to really pick up. Gone are the days of waking up at 5 to enjoy a day packed full with...nothing. In are the days of working 14 hours and still not being completely tired. Just fatigued.
I've been jumping around not only LHF, but helping Kyle get his family farm ready to go this year, bouncing up to Ankeny for this school registration thing, driving out to Dallas Center to help Greg clear out his acreage, going out to Johnston to finalize volleyball stuff....It has been busy. Oh! And let us not forget fishing.
We have meetings and training starting tomorrow for the farm. I don't really know what more they're going to tell us, maybe some new procedure or something. Either way, I have a schedule for May, and I don't like it. Not one bit. I'm getting my 40 hours, but I don't get consecutive days off of work. Will make for an interesting time juggling jobs and social life.
Buck
I've been jumping around not only LHF, but helping Kyle get his family farm ready to go this year, bouncing up to Ankeny for this school registration thing, driving out to Dallas Center to help Greg clear out his acreage, going out to Johnston to finalize volleyball stuff....It has been busy. Oh! And let us not forget fishing.
We have meetings and training starting tomorrow for the farm. I don't really know what more they're going to tell us, maybe some new procedure or something. Either way, I have a schedule for May, and I don't like it. Not one bit. I'm getting my 40 hours, but I don't get consecutive days off of work. Will make for an interesting time juggling jobs and social life.
Buck
Friday, April 16, 2010
Play Ball
This past week has been awesome.
Let me explain...no, there is to much, let me sum up. Sam is out of the Farms. Bailey is in at ISU, Jessie is coming back to the Iowa region, coaching gear has to be turned in on Sunday, and best of all; Paul starts working his contract at 8 AM Saturday!
Three of my remaining bastions of sanity at the farms and I had a celebration of paychecks starting to come into my fairly well depleted bank account.
DG bought me a bottle of Port and a cigar (same kind that U.G. got me for Christmas), and CK bought me a 12 pack of beer, and a pouch of hand rolled cigars. JO gave me a hand forged damascus style knife that he and SC made in the blacksmith shop last year. ... Needless to say: It has been a great night.
The last three days I have spent all day fishing the ponds at the Farms. Over these days I have got 13 keepers and an additional 8 throw backs. Also a snapping turtle.
I sent a picture message on my phone to a couple of people of the first two keepers I caught with the message, "Got Dinner" Dad responded with good job, my coaching boss replied with, "Assh-le, I'm stuck inside all day." A girl that I've been dating replied with how jealous she was that I was fishing without her.
In any event, I start my 40 hours per week in a few hours and I'm very excited. Oats are already coming up, no winter wheat, and the soil is too cold to put corn in. '50 doesn't have any lambs, but hundred has 8, or 9.
That's all I've got.
Buck
Let me explain...no, there is to much, let me sum up. Sam is out of the Farms. Bailey is in at ISU, Jessie is coming back to the Iowa region, coaching gear has to be turned in on Sunday, and best of all; Paul starts working his contract at 8 AM Saturday!
Three of my remaining bastions of sanity at the farms and I had a celebration of paychecks starting to come into my fairly well depleted bank account.
DG bought me a bottle of Port and a cigar (same kind that U.G. got me for Christmas), and CK bought me a 12 pack of beer, and a pouch of hand rolled cigars. JO gave me a hand forged damascus style knife that he and SC made in the blacksmith shop last year. ... Needless to say: It has been a great night.
The last three days I have spent all day fishing the ponds at the Farms. Over these days I have got 13 keepers and an additional 8 throw backs. Also a snapping turtle.
I sent a picture message on my phone to a couple of people of the first two keepers I caught with the message, "Got Dinner" Dad responded with good job, my coaching boss replied with, "Assh-le, I'm stuck inside all day." A girl that I've been dating replied with how jealous she was that I was fishing without her.
In any event, I start my 40 hours per week in a few hours and I'm very excited. Oats are already coming up, no winter wheat, and the soil is too cold to put corn in. '50 doesn't have any lambs, but hundred has 8, or 9.
That's all I've got.
Buck
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Who needs water? We don't. Let it burn...
Last week was fun. It marked the last volleyball practice of the season. It marked the first time that the landlord made it out to the house I live in. It marked the fourth continuous day of burning brush. It also marked the end of an era.
Yes, I'm overjoyed that the stress level will be scaling down from defcon negative 14 to a more mild mannered defcon level 82. I am going to miss this team though. Through the trials and tribulations we have bonded, and had some good times. No, I will not miss this particular batch's drama, nor the tardiness. But I did learn a lot about my coaching style, and how to adapt to the players. Good things for a coach who is still young.
The era closing is the era of Blue House. Or BlauHaus. As of April 7, 2010, Blue House has been condemned by the CEO, Maintenance Head, and Financial Supervisor. We, the tenants, have until August 31, 2010, to vacate the premise. Since my last bastion of sanity that I lived with will be leaving by the end of next week, I can't say that I'm disappointed.
However. I have been talking with the Maintenance Head and we have come to the conclusion that as long as the copper, the appliances, and the hardware remain intact inside the House proper, we will be allowed starting in August to begin demolitions. This makes me very very happy. Coming home from a brutally hot day at work to a house that I don't feel at home in makes me want to break things. I happen to have the blessing of someone in charge to begin breaking things. In a word...awesome!
Blue House has seen a lot in its tenure at the Farms. In the next four months we plan to relive as many of those nights as possible. Come on out if you want to tie one on.
We will provide the sledgehammers.
Buck
Yes, I'm overjoyed that the stress level will be scaling down from defcon negative 14 to a more mild mannered defcon level 82. I am going to miss this team though. Through the trials and tribulations we have bonded, and had some good times. No, I will not miss this particular batch's drama, nor the tardiness. But I did learn a lot about my coaching style, and how to adapt to the players. Good things for a coach who is still young.
The era closing is the era of Blue House. Or BlauHaus. As of April 7, 2010, Blue House has been condemned by the CEO, Maintenance Head, and Financial Supervisor. We, the tenants, have until August 31, 2010, to vacate the premise. Since my last bastion of sanity that I lived with will be leaving by the end of next week, I can't say that I'm disappointed.
However. I have been talking with the Maintenance Head and we have come to the conclusion that as long as the copper, the appliances, and the hardware remain intact inside the House proper, we will be allowed starting in August to begin demolitions. This makes me very very happy. Coming home from a brutally hot day at work to a house that I don't feel at home in makes me want to break things. I happen to have the blessing of someone in charge to begin breaking things. In a word...awesome!
Blue House has seen a lot in its tenure at the Farms. In the next four months we plan to relive as many of those nights as possible. Come on out if you want to tie one on.
We will provide the sledgehammers.
Buck
Saturday, April 3, 2010
April showers bring mud.
April has been an interesting month. And it's only three days old.
The end of March left me very burnt out. I continually ran into the same brick wall that I've been facing since November. You'd think that the wall would be broken down by now. But no. It isn't.
Volleyball is draining me of my desire to ever be around people ever again. Because I know that people start as children. Then they learn to talk. Then they become adolescents. And this is a horrible stage. Hormones are horrible things, and girls should not get them until 21. Illegal to consume alcohol and hormones until the 21st birthday. I will concede that my team is 15 years old, and they can be enjoyable to be around in a non-coach capacity. But I can not, for the life of me get them to focus for more than thirty seconds. It's like herding cats into a circle, they just won't do it.
I was offered a proposition by Curt at the end of the month. He asked me, over a long night of complaining at the nearest watering hole, if I would be willing to take on two teams next year. The moment he said that I just looked at him and laughed. I then proceeded to ask him why on God's green earth would I do something stupid like that. He said because there will be a pay bump, and I'll be co-coaching one of the teams, and that I will get a free round trip all expenses paid by the club to Cedar Rapids for a high intensity coaching certification clinic.
I will admit my interest was piqued at that point in time. I asked for more information which he provided right away with a grin that said he knew what the end result of the conversation would be. I saw this grin and became determined to make the conversation end a different way. Just to be a pain in the neck.
A 13's regional team, 6 tournaments, done by the last weekend in March.
A 15's national team, 9 tournaments, done the weekend after 13's.
To quote a well known historical figure, at least in my circles, "What does this mean?"
It means more traveling, it means more comping for gas and hotels(or trucks), it means more responsibility, it means sharing responsibility, it means getting another binder made, it means Monica and I are going to become best friends, it means over night tournaments, it means that I get to be the bad cop (the parents for the 15's national team will be...problems according to every single one their previous coaches), it means that more of my time will be taken away from the farms, it means that I will have to have great time management skills, it means that I get to meet John Kessel - if this name has no meaning for you Google him combined with volleyball. I'll wait. Go on, Google him and then come back. See? Isn't he cool?!- and it means that I will probably take a toaster into a bathtub with me at some point during the season. This is most certainly true.
I told Curt that I could not commit to such a thing at this point in time in my life. His wife sitting across the table from me leans forward and very quietly but with a lot of vehemence asks, "Why the hell not?" She also accented her question with a kick into my shin. I brought up my plans for the fall, winter, and spring, mentioned relocating, this that the other thing. I asked for a couple of weeks to mull it over and see if I hear back from the schools I applied to.
Again, here comes Janelle in the same manner as before, "Good reasons."
She kind of freaks me out. But she made me dinner one night, so...I think I like her.
End of March rolled around and I heard back from a couple of schools, I took Curt aside and said, "Yeah, I'll do it. I will welcome the hell that I have signed up for with smile and a wave." He looked at me like I was speaking in tongues until it clicked in his head, then smiled and said, "I knew you would". Jerk.
That takes us all the way up to April.
I'm burnt out. I'll post again soon and finish off this update.
Buck
The end of March left me very burnt out. I continually ran into the same brick wall that I've been facing since November. You'd think that the wall would be broken down by now. But no. It isn't.
Volleyball is draining me of my desire to ever be around people ever again. Because I know that people start as children. Then they learn to talk. Then they become adolescents. And this is a horrible stage. Hormones are horrible things, and girls should not get them until 21. Illegal to consume alcohol and hormones until the 21st birthday. I will concede that my team is 15 years old, and they can be enjoyable to be around in a non-coach capacity. But I can not, for the life of me get them to focus for more than thirty seconds. It's like herding cats into a circle, they just won't do it.
I was offered a proposition by Curt at the end of the month. He asked me, over a long night of complaining at the nearest watering hole, if I would be willing to take on two teams next year. The moment he said that I just looked at him and laughed. I then proceeded to ask him why on God's green earth would I do something stupid like that. He said because there will be a pay bump, and I'll be co-coaching one of the teams, and that I will get a free round trip all expenses paid by the club to Cedar Rapids for a high intensity coaching certification clinic.
I will admit my interest was piqued at that point in time. I asked for more information which he provided right away with a grin that said he knew what the end result of the conversation would be. I saw this grin and became determined to make the conversation end a different way. Just to be a pain in the neck.
A 13's regional team, 6 tournaments, done by the last weekend in March.
A 15's national team, 9 tournaments, done the weekend after 13's.
To quote a well known historical figure, at least in my circles, "What does this mean?"
It means more traveling, it means more comping for gas and hotels(or trucks), it means more responsibility, it means sharing responsibility, it means getting another binder made, it means Monica and I are going to become best friends, it means over night tournaments, it means that I get to be the bad cop (the parents for the 15's national team will be...problems according to every single one their previous coaches), it means that more of my time will be taken away from the farms, it means that I will have to have great time management skills, it means that I get to meet John Kessel - if this name has no meaning for you Google him combined with volleyball. I'll wait. Go on, Google him and then come back. See? Isn't he cool?!- and it means that I will probably take a toaster into a bathtub with me at some point during the season. This is most certainly true.
I told Curt that I could not commit to such a thing at this point in time in my life. His wife sitting across the table from me leans forward and very quietly but with a lot of vehemence asks, "Why the hell not?" She also accented her question with a kick into my shin. I brought up my plans for the fall, winter, and spring, mentioned relocating, this that the other thing. I asked for a couple of weeks to mull it over and see if I hear back from the schools I applied to.
Again, here comes Janelle in the same manner as before, "Good reasons."
She kind of freaks me out. But she made me dinner one night, so...I think I like her.
End of March rolled around and I heard back from a couple of schools, I took Curt aside and said, "Yeah, I'll do it. I will welcome the hell that I have signed up for with smile and a wave." He looked at me like I was speaking in tongues until it clicked in his head, then smiled and said, "I knew you would". Jerk.
That takes us all the way up to April.
I'm burnt out. I'll post again soon and finish off this update.
Buck
Friday, March 19, 2010
Midwest
1. Rolling hills of green and gold.
2. Lakes filled with water, and fish.
3. Strange scary weather patterns.
4. Corrupt and ineffective politicians.
5. Most of the pork consumed in the nation.
6. Drivers that are courteous.
7. Starting March Madness.
8. Home to two(maybe three) of the best big breweries.
9. Forests that house all sorts of tasty critters.
10. Home to most of the Big Ten.
11. Home to me, now and forever.
Buck
2. Lakes filled with water, and fish.
3. Strange scary weather patterns.
4. Corrupt and ineffective politicians.
5. Most of the pork consumed in the nation.
6. Drivers that are courteous.
7. Starting March Madness.
8. Home to two(maybe three) of the best big breweries.
9. Forests that house all sorts of tasty critters.
10. Home to most of the Big Ten.
11. Home to me, now and forever.
Buck
Monday, March 15, 2010
A day for one-liners
Ron White: I didn't get where I am today by worryin' about how I'd feel tomorrow.
George Carlin: I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman, "Where's the self-help section?" She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.
George Carlin: Swimming isn't a sport. Swimming is a way to keep from drowning!
Bill Cosby: There is hope for the future because God has a sense of humor and we are funny to God.
Mitch Hedberg: I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it.
Steven Wright: What's another word for Thesaurus?
Groucho Marx: I intend to live forever, or die trying.
Buck
George Carlin: I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman, "Where's the self-help section?" She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.
George Carlin: Swimming isn't a sport. Swimming is a way to keep from drowning!
Bill Cosby: There is hope for the future because God has a sense of humor and we are funny to God.
Mitch Hedberg: I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it.
Steven Wright: What's another word for Thesaurus?
Groucho Marx: I intend to live forever, or die trying.
Buck
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
A heart warming gift.
This week I got a package from my grandparents. Usually that means one of two things. Either pictures, or some sort of baked goodies depending on who sent the package. I was very confused at first when I saw the package in my mailbox. Thoughts went through my head including, "Did I get drunk and order books online?" "Is it ticking, if so, what do I do?" "That's a lot of paychecks."
Slowly I walked up to the bank of mailboxes and pulled the BlauHaus mail out which included five bills which weren't mine, two mailings from NRA which were mine, and the package. I casually tossed the bills and the mailings on the counter in front of Tony and said, "Take care of that will ya? I'll be out of the office till tomorrow." He laughed at me and asked if I wanted to work for free doing chores that night. I laughed right back and replied with a very long and complicated, "No."
I turned my attention back to the package, read the adressee, and the sender information. To: Me! From: Grandpa! Awesome! I got some pictures that he took, and judging by the weight of the box he developed them into slides.
Being me (read as: curious) I gave the box a trial shake, not to hard just a little shake to see if there were moving tid-bits inside. What I heard made me stop mid shake. Things that sounded dry and crumby were sliding around!
I quickly open up the package to see if I had damaged anything inside. To my surprise I found a box from Market Day. A box of shrimp from Market Day. At this point I'm thinking three things: Jackpot, I love shrimp! Wait, our family likes to mislead people with boxes which means that the package came from Grandma. Finally, Cookies!
I open up the box and there to my not-so-surprise is a note in Grandma's handwriting saying that she hopes the cookies make it to me as cookies and not crumbs, and that they enjoy reading my entries here.
I put the note in my pocket and open up the first layer of wax paper and find the best treasure: Vanishing oatmeal raisin cookies. My favorite.
I might and or might not have danced around like a little kid at that point, drawing a few laughs from people in the office.
They obviously do not know or understand how great it is to get little packages like this. Not only does it mean that my family still has a vested interest in me as a living human being, but they take the time to mix, bake, cool, wrap, and write a note before sending a package! Talk about commitment.
On another good note, we hit forty degrees out here the past two days. The walking has started again. Granted we still have banks of snow that are taller than I am and the road and ground is completely saturated with water, but I don't need my heavy coat! I can use my thermal hoodie! I don't have to have the heat on in my room at night and not worry about freezing to death in my sleep!
There's something peaceful about walking through the woods searching for antler sheds. Nobody bothers you, the closest thing to people is the highway, if you bring a chair you can sit and relax. Watch the critters running around finally getting to see green grass for the first time in four months.
I have friends that feel at home in the city. They love the bustle, the traffic, the meters. I am not one of these people. True, I enjoy going downtown for a pint, or going to Christkindlemart with the family. One of those is a tradition, one of those is just good clean fun. (Which is which?) I have a sign that I made that reads: I'd rather be lost in the woods than found in the city. And for the most part it's true. I get jumpy very easily, and sometimes I jump when I don't even hear anything. Bailey likes to call this side of me twitchy. There are many a story where he snuck up on me and scared the soul out of me. But, this usually only happens when I fixate on something. When I get so engrossed in what I'm doing that the rest of the world is dead to me.
When I'm outdoors I tend to be constantly taking in my surroundings. Looking, listening, smelling, trying to find something that's out of place. The woods, or anywhere that isn't the city I can handle. My senses can cope with it filter pretty much everything. But in the city...there's just to much. Too much to watch, to listen for, to smell. Plus, a day of walking and you might get out of the city, but it won't be cheap. A day of walking in the woods? Priceless.
A day of walking in the woods with some vanishing oatmeal raisin cookies sent from Grandma? Heaven.
Buck
Slowly I walked up to the bank of mailboxes and pulled the BlauHaus mail out which included five bills which weren't mine, two mailings from NRA which were mine, and the package. I casually tossed the bills and the mailings on the counter in front of Tony and said, "Take care of that will ya? I'll be out of the office till tomorrow." He laughed at me and asked if I wanted to work for free doing chores that night. I laughed right back and replied with a very long and complicated, "No."
I turned my attention back to the package, read the adressee, and the sender information. To: Me! From: Grandpa! Awesome! I got some pictures that he took, and judging by the weight of the box he developed them into slides.
Being me (read as: curious) I gave the box a trial shake, not to hard just a little shake to see if there were moving tid-bits inside. What I heard made me stop mid shake. Things that sounded dry and crumby were sliding around!
I quickly open up the package to see if I had damaged anything inside. To my surprise I found a box from Market Day. A box of shrimp from Market Day. At this point I'm thinking three things: Jackpot, I love shrimp! Wait, our family likes to mislead people with boxes which means that the package came from Grandma. Finally, Cookies!
I open up the box and there to my not-so-surprise is a note in Grandma's handwriting saying that she hopes the cookies make it to me as cookies and not crumbs, and that they enjoy reading my entries here.
I put the note in my pocket and open up the first layer of wax paper and find the best treasure: Vanishing oatmeal raisin cookies. My favorite.
I might and or might not have danced around like a little kid at that point, drawing a few laughs from people in the office.
They obviously do not know or understand how great it is to get little packages like this. Not only does it mean that my family still has a vested interest in me as a living human being, but they take the time to mix, bake, cool, wrap, and write a note before sending a package! Talk about commitment.
On another good note, we hit forty degrees out here the past two days. The walking has started again. Granted we still have banks of snow that are taller than I am and the road and ground is completely saturated with water, but I don't need my heavy coat! I can use my thermal hoodie! I don't have to have the heat on in my room at night and not worry about freezing to death in my sleep!
There's something peaceful about walking through the woods searching for antler sheds. Nobody bothers you, the closest thing to people is the highway, if you bring a chair you can sit and relax. Watch the critters running around finally getting to see green grass for the first time in four months.
I have friends that feel at home in the city. They love the bustle, the traffic, the meters. I am not one of these people. True, I enjoy going downtown for a pint, or going to Christkindlemart with the family. One of those is a tradition, one of those is just good clean fun. (Which is which?) I have a sign that I made that reads: I'd rather be lost in the woods than found in the city. And for the most part it's true. I get jumpy very easily, and sometimes I jump when I don't even hear anything. Bailey likes to call this side of me twitchy. There are many a story where he snuck up on me and scared the soul out of me. But, this usually only happens when I fixate on something. When I get so engrossed in what I'm doing that the rest of the world is dead to me.
When I'm outdoors I tend to be constantly taking in my surroundings. Looking, listening, smelling, trying to find something that's out of place. The woods, or anywhere that isn't the city I can handle. My senses can cope with it filter pretty much everything. But in the city...there's just to much. Too much to watch, to listen for, to smell. Plus, a day of walking and you might get out of the city, but it won't be cheap. A day of walking in the woods? Priceless.
A day of walking in the woods with some vanishing oatmeal raisin cookies sent from Grandma? Heaven.
Buck
Monday, February 22, 2010
I can sleep when I'm dead...
This past week was a bit rough. Alright, it was very rough. Emotionally, physically, mentally, the whole kit-and-kaboodle.
First focal point - volleyball.
Sunday we had a practice that went fairly well for only have three girls there. Monday we didn't have a practice because of Parent teacher conferences at the school.
Tuesday was another decent practice in my eyes. The girls finally realized that, "Yeah, we're gonna have to work."
Wednesday we were off, same with Thursday Friday and Saturday. At least the team was. We coaches however were not off. We had a clinic on Wednesday for our last two months focusing on keeping the girls from burning out from the long season. Thursday we found out that Curt's mother passed away. Friday we had another mini-clinic at Curt's house on coping with loosing. (Related to something somehow I'm thinking...) We didn't really talk about much other that other experiences we were in where we lost, and how we got over it. It boiled down to just a couple of us hanging out in the basement playing pool and drinking beer, talking about what's gone wrong in life and how we got past it.
I was a bit of an outcast at that point. I don't really enjoy talking about my feelings. Ever. It's hard for me to articulate what I feel, because I'm not good at it, I don't like doing it. I've got no problem telling about times where I screwed up, I've got plenty of those moments. I can tell you how I got over the guilt of screwing up. But for me to bare a piece of my soul and tell how I got over that...it just ain't gonna happen. Couple of reasons for that: I better know you better than I know my family, and you don't wanna know how I got over it, I'll look like a sociopath.
Loss is something that I don't truly understand. It happens. We can't change it. Remember what you want and move on. No use beating yourself up about something you can't change. (No use beating yourself up for things you can change either, if you can change it...change it.)
Anyway, Saturday coaches got the day off for planning and assembling the troops for tournaments.
Sunday was the fourth tournament. The girls did a great job. 12 points lost from not talking. From 41 points to 12, in a week. Amazing progress, and I let them know it. But, I let them know it too soon. We were in the last match of pool play, playing for third place. We came out of the gate fired up and took the other team to extra points even if we lost 26-28, it was a great effort. The second set we were set up in serve receive and could not pass the ball. The girls got their heads in the way of they fun of the game. We took third place in the pool because of a point spread that was negative 20. Ouch.
Bracket play started and we swept up. We kicked butt and took names. Every team in our side of the bracket (Consolation first place!) met with defeat when they faced us. The sad thing is that a weaker sister team played great in their pool and got demolished in bracket play. Just annihilated, which happens. What I'm upset about with that situation is that none of that team, coach included, did not stick around to watch any of the other sister teams playing. My team did, well after pictures with the new hardware we supported our 13's and 14's teams still playing.
Second focal point - work(ish)
One of the volunteers out at the farm asked me if I'd help him move some of his cattle and help him load hay, then clean out a grain bin. All in all, not the hardest work in the world. But this volunteer happens to live a good 45 minutes east of here. Working with Hank is a lot like working with Grandpa. The work is cleansing, the conversation is never boring, and there are plenty of coffee breaks. He kept putting off paying me (which he insisted on, I thought I was just going to help out a good guy) till the next day. Ended up that Friday we sat in the tavern for most of the day debating who the better artist was/is: Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, or Hank Williams Sr. At the end of the Friday he asked if I'd come back out on Saturday and help him shoot ground hogs with his son. I informed him that I only have a shotgun and a pistol out here, but I could borrow my roommate's .22 rifle on Monday. Hank said, "Forget that, you can use my aught-6" So, Saturday I showed up at his shop's door around 6 in the morning. Hank opened the door and handed me a cup of coffee and said, "Do you not sleep in on the weekend?"
We took a couple of varmints, and had a great time doing in. Met Hank's boy, who I've heard all about, and had fresh meat for dinner.
Third focal point - Farms.
Somehow, somewhere, somebody is not keeping confidential information confidential. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but if the only way to keep a secret between three people is to kill the other two, I'm with the wrong company. Cloak and dagger and speaking out of turn on subjects the speaker has no knowledge of is not a good way to retain employees. It makes my head and heart hurt when my trust is betrayed. And betrayed it was.
Fourth focal point - Sleep.
I haven't been sleeping again, hence the subject line. It comes from a song by Jason Michael Carroll, where the theme is being young and crazy and not sleeping.
Yes, this past week has been busy. Early mornings, and some late nights. All of that points to me sleeping. I get tired, I can't sleep cause I'm at the wheel. I get home and crawl in bed, and close my eyes. Then I toss and turn, toss and turn...then finally open my eyes back up and see 15 minutes have gone by. Repeat that for another 4 hours with maybe 5 minutes of sleep thrown in there every hour. I don't know where I'm getting the energy to get through the day. Wherever it's coming from I'm grateful.
I don't know how to change it, so I'm just gonna accept it and move on. Change it when I can.
Buck
First focal point - volleyball.
Sunday we had a practice that went fairly well for only have three girls there. Monday we didn't have a practice because of Parent teacher conferences at the school.
Tuesday was another decent practice in my eyes. The girls finally realized that, "Yeah, we're gonna have to work."
Wednesday we were off, same with Thursday Friday and Saturday. At least the team was. We coaches however were not off. We had a clinic on Wednesday for our last two months focusing on keeping the girls from burning out from the long season. Thursday we found out that Curt's mother passed away. Friday we had another mini-clinic at Curt's house on coping with loosing. (Related to something somehow I'm thinking...) We didn't really talk about much other that other experiences we were in where we lost, and how we got over it. It boiled down to just a couple of us hanging out in the basement playing pool and drinking beer, talking about what's gone wrong in life and how we got past it.
I was a bit of an outcast at that point. I don't really enjoy talking about my feelings. Ever. It's hard for me to articulate what I feel, because I'm not good at it, I don't like doing it. I've got no problem telling about times where I screwed up, I've got plenty of those moments. I can tell you how I got over the guilt of screwing up. But for me to bare a piece of my soul and tell how I got over that...it just ain't gonna happen. Couple of reasons for that: I better know you better than I know my family, and you don't wanna know how I got over it, I'll look like a sociopath.
Loss is something that I don't truly understand. It happens. We can't change it. Remember what you want and move on. No use beating yourself up about something you can't change. (No use beating yourself up for things you can change either, if you can change it...change it.)
Anyway, Saturday coaches got the day off for planning and assembling the troops for tournaments.
Sunday was the fourth tournament. The girls did a great job. 12 points lost from not talking. From 41 points to 12, in a week. Amazing progress, and I let them know it. But, I let them know it too soon. We were in the last match of pool play, playing for third place. We came out of the gate fired up and took the other team to extra points even if we lost 26-28, it was a great effort. The second set we were set up in serve receive and could not pass the ball. The girls got their heads in the way of they fun of the game. We took third place in the pool because of a point spread that was negative 20. Ouch.
Bracket play started and we swept up. We kicked butt and took names. Every team in our side of the bracket (Consolation first place!) met with defeat when they faced us. The sad thing is that a weaker sister team played great in their pool and got demolished in bracket play. Just annihilated, which happens. What I'm upset about with that situation is that none of that team, coach included, did not stick around to watch any of the other sister teams playing. My team did, well after pictures with the new hardware we supported our 13's and 14's teams still playing.
Second focal point - work(ish)
One of the volunteers out at the farm asked me if I'd help him move some of his cattle and help him load hay, then clean out a grain bin. All in all, not the hardest work in the world. But this volunteer happens to live a good 45 minutes east of here. Working with Hank is a lot like working with Grandpa. The work is cleansing, the conversation is never boring, and there are plenty of coffee breaks. He kept putting off paying me (which he insisted on, I thought I was just going to help out a good guy) till the next day. Ended up that Friday we sat in the tavern for most of the day debating who the better artist was/is: Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, or Hank Williams Sr. At the end of the Friday he asked if I'd come back out on Saturday and help him shoot ground hogs with his son. I informed him that I only have a shotgun and a pistol out here, but I could borrow my roommate's .22 rifle on Monday. Hank said, "Forget that, you can use my aught-6" So, Saturday I showed up at his shop's door around 6 in the morning. Hank opened the door and handed me a cup of coffee and said, "Do you not sleep in on the weekend?"
We took a couple of varmints, and had a great time doing in. Met Hank's boy, who I've heard all about, and had fresh meat for dinner.
Third focal point - Farms.
Somehow, somewhere, somebody is not keeping confidential information confidential. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but if the only way to keep a secret between three people is to kill the other two, I'm with the wrong company. Cloak and dagger and speaking out of turn on subjects the speaker has no knowledge of is not a good way to retain employees. It makes my head and heart hurt when my trust is betrayed. And betrayed it was.
Fourth focal point - Sleep.
I haven't been sleeping again, hence the subject line. It comes from a song by Jason Michael Carroll, where the theme is being young and crazy and not sleeping.
Yes, this past week has been busy. Early mornings, and some late nights. All of that points to me sleeping. I get tired, I can't sleep cause I'm at the wheel. I get home and crawl in bed, and close my eyes. Then I toss and turn, toss and turn...then finally open my eyes back up and see 15 minutes have gone by. Repeat that for another 4 hours with maybe 5 minutes of sleep thrown in there every hour. I don't know where I'm getting the energy to get through the day. Wherever it's coming from I'm grateful.
I don't know how to change it, so I'm just gonna accept it and move on. Change it when I can.
Buck
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
A Letter
Dear Mr. Brown,
Over the years I have come to not only respect your culinary technique but also the logic and science you apply to the art. This being said, I've got a bone to pick with you.
A few seasons back you had an episode on drying foods as an excellent way of not only preserving them but also of having a readily accessible highly nutritious snack. Ever since I saw that episode I have been aching to try your method of drying out meat to make jerky. As I have tried numerous other recipes and techniques that you have featured I was looking forward to this new adventure.
Your particular method involves a box fan as a cheap dehydrator, with the thinly sliced meat in furnace filters stacked and bungee corded to the box fan. Turn on the fan, and forget it until you wake up. Or eight hours, whichever comes first (or second).
In the past I have cooked the meat in order to dehydrate it. I also enjoy using a brine, and then season the meat. These are methods that you discourage. I can understand that the baking method will actually cook the meat which is something that should be avoided if possible in the jerky operation. The brine and then seasoning is adding a double dose of salt that isn't necessary. So far, I understand your science.
Where I stop following you is when you say to use a box fan with furnace filters. I understand the multi-tasking in the kitchen. But why the cold air? I understand that warm air holds onto more moisture which if translated into the culinary world means that less moisture will have the chance to be pulled out of the meat.
In your show you used the example of any mountain dwelling peoples that dry meat. Cold air, air movement, great jerky. But what about a little bit closer to home? The Plains Indians dried out buffalo meat. Last time I checked the Plains of the United States isn't very mountainous, and while it does get cold in the winter, there are plenty of days in the summer where 80 degrees is a low temperature.
Needless to say I was skeptical about the adventure but was willing to try it because you highly recommended it. So, just yesterday I started the process. Slightly frozen meat, check. Cut the meat into my desired size, check. Marinade of Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, honey, liquid smoke, garlic, and pepper for three hours, check. Towel dry meat after three hours and place on furnace filters, check. Bungee cord said furnace filter laden with meat to the box fan, check. Turn box fan on high in a well ventilated room, check. Find something to fill the time for eight hours, check.
This morning I came out of my room to a delicious smelling kitchen. I turned off the fan, un-bungeed the bungees and proceeded to check the jerky. I can summarize my thoughts on the turn out in a word. Disappointing.
Don't get me wrong. Clean up was a breeze. Prep was a breeze. The jerky tastes phenomenal. Where I'm stuck is at the texture. While jerky is supposed to be chewy, this was more like a Slim-Jim than jerky. My conclusion is that your method is a very easy method for producing great tasting jerky, but to make great tasting and great chewing jerky bump up the time that the meat is on the fan. I put the meat back on the filters and turned the fan back on for an additional four hours, checking the meat every hour. At the end of all 12 hours I have amazing jerky.
All in all, just like you strive to teach on your show, stepping outside the box and experimenting leaves you with nothing but...Good Eats. Thank you AB.
Buck
Over the years I have come to not only respect your culinary technique but also the logic and science you apply to the art. This being said, I've got a bone to pick with you.
A few seasons back you had an episode on drying foods as an excellent way of not only preserving them but also of having a readily accessible highly nutritious snack. Ever since I saw that episode I have been aching to try your method of drying out meat to make jerky. As I have tried numerous other recipes and techniques that you have featured I was looking forward to this new adventure.
Your particular method involves a box fan as a cheap dehydrator, with the thinly sliced meat in furnace filters stacked and bungee corded to the box fan. Turn on the fan, and forget it until you wake up. Or eight hours, whichever comes first (or second).
In the past I have cooked the meat in order to dehydrate it. I also enjoy using a brine, and then season the meat. These are methods that you discourage. I can understand that the baking method will actually cook the meat which is something that should be avoided if possible in the jerky operation. The brine and then seasoning is adding a double dose of salt that isn't necessary. So far, I understand your science.
Where I stop following you is when you say to use a box fan with furnace filters. I understand the multi-tasking in the kitchen. But why the cold air? I understand that warm air holds onto more moisture which if translated into the culinary world means that less moisture will have the chance to be pulled out of the meat.
In your show you used the example of any mountain dwelling peoples that dry meat. Cold air, air movement, great jerky. But what about a little bit closer to home? The Plains Indians dried out buffalo meat. Last time I checked the Plains of the United States isn't very mountainous, and while it does get cold in the winter, there are plenty of days in the summer where 80 degrees is a low temperature.
Needless to say I was skeptical about the adventure but was willing to try it because you highly recommended it. So, just yesterday I started the process. Slightly frozen meat, check. Cut the meat into my desired size, check. Marinade of Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, honey, liquid smoke, garlic, and pepper for three hours, check. Towel dry meat after three hours and place on furnace filters, check. Bungee cord said furnace filter laden with meat to the box fan, check. Turn box fan on high in a well ventilated room, check. Find something to fill the time for eight hours, check.
This morning I came out of my room to a delicious smelling kitchen. I turned off the fan, un-bungeed the bungees and proceeded to check the jerky. I can summarize my thoughts on the turn out in a word. Disappointing.
Don't get me wrong. Clean up was a breeze. Prep was a breeze. The jerky tastes phenomenal. Where I'm stuck is at the texture. While jerky is supposed to be chewy, this was more like a Slim-Jim than jerky. My conclusion is that your method is a very easy method for producing great tasting jerky, but to make great tasting and great chewing jerky bump up the time that the meat is on the fan. I put the meat back on the filters and turned the fan back on for an additional four hours, checking the meat every hour. At the end of all 12 hours I have amazing jerky.
All in all, just like you strive to teach on your show, stepping outside the box and experimenting leaves you with nothing but...Good Eats. Thank you AB.
Buck
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Response
In regards to my latest post I feel the need to defend myself and my decisions. Perhaps this unmerited, but it is the way I feel.
An anonymous reply to the post said ,"As the line in Miracle to coach Herb Brookes, or maybe in Remembering the Titans: "There's a fine line between punishment and insanity" be careful you don't lose the team (if you ever had it). They are young, and at a very insecure age. Don't beat them. Drive your point home, but remember the goal is not to have a mutiny, but to develop volleyball players. The consequences should be appropriate to the offense, and within a time frame that amplifies the conduct. Just my dime's worth. BTW, Listening is a skill I am still trying to improve."
My reply to that is I do believe that the punishment is appropriate to the offense. Not only that but I am leaving a loop-hole for the girls, I understand that they are young and so they might not catch it. The push-ups are a team punishment for a team failure. True, some failed more than others in this particular challenge, but the fact remains that when one person fails on the team the entire team fails. So, if they catch the loop-hole they only owe 50 push-ups. This is not unreasonable, even for 15 year-olds that have started weight training on their school teams. As a secondary issue, if this punishment does drive a wedge between the team and the coach a part of me says good for the team. It will give them a cause to rally behind, hatred or resentment of a coach. While this is not a good motivational tool (speaking from experience...Doc.) it does work. I would give up my "friend" status -which I don't think a coach should have anyway- to bring the team together. I feel, not only from experience but in my own philosophy -which I suppose is derived from my experience- that a club team should be able to play, win, work together, overcome obstacles, and communicate with each other without active coaching. The coach is there for strategic purposes, and guidance.
This particular club that I'm coaching for is a farm system. They cultivate players from within the school district that they practice at. To me that means these girls have played with each other, or against each other (depending on the age). This club also starts at 12 years old. By the time these young ladies are 15 they've had at least three years of experience with the sport, and with the higher caliber expectations that are associated with club ball. If at this point they think that 50 push-ups is ridiculous, they need to rethink sports. A secondary issue is that I don't get a weight room, I don't get time to have conditioning practices because the folks that run the club don't see the need for conditioning in an anaerobic sport. From my vantage point, a consequence that incorporates body-mass exercise and conditioning at the same time is a very good thing.
The second reply to my post was from my sister, " I agree with Anon about the fine line. The thought of doing that many pushups makes me want to cry and barf simultaneously. As far as new and creative ways to encourage listening...well, how many days of your life do you think you've heard it? And how many times a day? The second part of the saying is pretty important. A skill isn't something you just change (Today I'm going to be a great painter!) it's something to practice your whole life. If you want to try something completely unsporty for different perspective, there were some good theater warm up games (improv stuff mostly) we did to focus on listening and not being nervous to talk. Could be fun?"
My response to that is a little convoluted. First, I agree with the sentiment that skills are cultivated throughout a lifetime. I disagree with the second part of the comment though. During my tenure in college I had my fair share of "team building" moments. Hell, throughout my life I've had my fair share of "team building" moments. The only thing that I took away from them - the staged get-to-know-you ones were different kinds of fruit or breakfast entrees. In college I had to come up with multiple activities that could be used at team-building exercises and then present them to the class. Imagine an entire two weeks of nothing but team-building. I cam to the conclusion during those two weeks that the activities only worked if the leader was a believer that the activity worked.
Knowing what I took away from those activities I feel unfit to lead them. I don't think they work. I've never thought they worked. Even in high school I viewed those activities as time I didn't have to do anything, or make sure I had all of my AP Psych note cards done. Either way, I wasn't actively participating because I thought and still think they are a waste of time.
Having said that, I realize that not everyone shares my unique outlook on the world. Yet I still believe that those activities do not work. I could be wrong. Since there is that possibility I should not short change my team by denying them the opportunity to become closer. I readily admit that. What I won't admit though is that I'm willing to give up 10-20 minutes of a practice to incorporate those activities. We have too much work to do in only 3 hours a week.
If I had been on top of my game we would have already done this. We would know all about each other a month before our first tournament. But...in my eyes, because of how I came through the system, that's what tournaments are for. That's when you get to know your teammates. Practice is when and where you get better. Tournaments are where you prove yourself to your team, your coach, and yourself; then you get to find out about each other.
That's my take on it, on club ball. Maybe I'm wrong, it wouldn't be the first time. But, just maybe, my expectations for these young ladies are not too high.
Buck
An anonymous reply to the post said ,"As the line in Miracle to coach Herb Brookes, or maybe in Remembering the Titans: "There's a fine line between punishment and insanity" be careful you don't lose the team (if you ever had it). They are young, and at a very insecure age. Don't beat them. Drive your point home, but remember the goal is not to have a mutiny, but to develop volleyball players. The consequences should be appropriate to the offense, and within a time frame that amplifies the conduct. Just my dime's worth. BTW, Listening is a skill I am still trying to improve."
My reply to that is I do believe that the punishment is appropriate to the offense. Not only that but I am leaving a loop-hole for the girls, I understand that they are young and so they might not catch it. The push-ups are a team punishment for a team failure. True, some failed more than others in this particular challenge, but the fact remains that when one person fails on the team the entire team fails. So, if they catch the loop-hole they only owe 50 push-ups. This is not unreasonable, even for 15 year-olds that have started weight training on their school teams. As a secondary issue, if this punishment does drive a wedge between the team and the coach a part of me says good for the team. It will give them a cause to rally behind, hatred or resentment of a coach. While this is not a good motivational tool (speaking from experience...Doc.) it does work. I would give up my "friend" status -which I don't think a coach should have anyway- to bring the team together. I feel, not only from experience but in my own philosophy -which I suppose is derived from my experience- that a club team should be able to play, win, work together, overcome obstacles, and communicate with each other without active coaching. The coach is there for strategic purposes, and guidance.
This particular club that I'm coaching for is a farm system. They cultivate players from within the school district that they practice at. To me that means these girls have played with each other, or against each other (depending on the age). This club also starts at 12 years old. By the time these young ladies are 15 they've had at least three years of experience with the sport, and with the higher caliber expectations that are associated with club ball. If at this point they think that 50 push-ups is ridiculous, they need to rethink sports. A secondary issue is that I don't get a weight room, I don't get time to have conditioning practices because the folks that run the club don't see the need for conditioning in an anaerobic sport. From my vantage point, a consequence that incorporates body-mass exercise and conditioning at the same time is a very good thing.
The second reply to my post was from my sister, " I agree with Anon about the fine line. The thought of doing that many pushups makes me want to cry and barf simultaneously. As far as new and creative ways to encourage listening...well, how many days of your life do you think you've heard it? And how many times a day? The second part of the saying is pretty important. A skill isn't something you just change (Today I'm going to be a great painter!) it's something to practice your whole life. If you want to try something completely unsporty for different perspective, there were some good theater warm up games (improv stuff mostly) we did to focus on listening and not being nervous to talk. Could be fun?"
My response to that is a little convoluted. First, I agree with the sentiment that skills are cultivated throughout a lifetime. I disagree with the second part of the comment though. During my tenure in college I had my fair share of "team building" moments. Hell, throughout my life I've had my fair share of "team building" moments. The only thing that I took away from them - the staged get-to-know-you ones were different kinds of fruit or breakfast entrees. In college I had to come up with multiple activities that could be used at team-building exercises and then present them to the class. Imagine an entire two weeks of nothing but team-building. I cam to the conclusion during those two weeks that the activities only worked if the leader was a believer that the activity worked.
Knowing what I took away from those activities I feel unfit to lead them. I don't think they work. I've never thought they worked. Even in high school I viewed those activities as time I didn't have to do anything, or make sure I had all of my AP Psych note cards done. Either way, I wasn't actively participating because I thought and still think they are a waste of time.
Having said that, I realize that not everyone shares my unique outlook on the world. Yet I still believe that those activities do not work. I could be wrong. Since there is that possibility I should not short change my team by denying them the opportunity to become closer. I readily admit that. What I won't admit though is that I'm willing to give up 10-20 minutes of a practice to incorporate those activities. We have too much work to do in only 3 hours a week.
If I had been on top of my game we would have already done this. We would know all about each other a month before our first tournament. But...in my eyes, because of how I came through the system, that's what tournaments are for. That's when you get to know your teammates. Practice is when and where you get better. Tournaments are where you prove yourself to your team, your coach, and yourself; then you get to find out about each other.
That's my take on it, on club ball. Maybe I'm wrong, it wouldn't be the first time. But, just maybe, my expectations for these young ladies are not too high.
Buck
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Episode Three
Third tournament.
Third time where I'm hitting my head against a brick wall.
I've come to understand something that my coaches have said in the past. Something that my father ingrained into my head from an early age up until...well until now. Listening is a skill.
I first really understood this phrase when I was in 12 or 13. I was at a basketball camp where we not only learned techniques to make us better, but philosophy, and morals to make us better players and better people. Pretty heavy stuff for kids that aren't even in high school yet, but at the same time it is a moment and a camp that I will never forget.
"The difference between hearing and listening is the same as glancing and looking. When we glance we just see the big picture with one or two details. When we look we see the big picture with all the details. When we hear we catch the important parts without understanding the meaning. When we listen we hear the important parts and actively understand the meaning."
Heavy stuff.
Every practice I've been stressing the importance of talking, cheering, making any kind of noise on the court. I'd be happy if I heard one of the girls shout "Hamster!" It got to the point where at last practice I divided punishments up by the time in practice. If the player contacts the ball without saying anything in the first third of practice they had to do five diamond push-ups. If the same thing happens in the second third of practice the punishment increases, five diamonds plus sidelines while play continues. If the same mistake happens in the last third of practice the whole team gets punished, they all have five diamonds and sidelines and play stops.
I continued the punishments through our last tournament and the girls knew it. Things were better, for a while. If you extrapolate three contacts per point, 45 points per set, two sets per match. You get 270 opportunities to talk, to say anything. We passed up on 41. All in all that's pretty good.
But think about it this way. Every time "we" don't talk "we" loose the point. That's 41 points. To draw an analogy from another sport. Not talking in volleyball is the same as missing a shot at the charity stripe. It's easy, and should be routine.
So. 205 diamond push-ups.
If the girls weren't mad enough about losing - still taking fourth place, but losing to get it - they were furious about the push-ups. All I said when they kept whining, "That's not fair" was "Then maybe you should have talked during the tournament." I had and have no sympathy. I told them before we started playing, "Sunday night at practice you owe me for all of the times you didn't talk on the court. As a team. Everyone pays for one person's mistake."
Tonight, I was foiled. Three girls showed up. Two were sick, one was coming back from Minnesota with her Show Choir (second tournament she's missed along with the 8th practice. Guess who's questioning her commitment to club volleyball? ME!) one was coming back from a ski-trip, the last one I have no idea where she was, or why she wasn't at practice.
Because of coach not knowing from the girl about three of the absences the team gets their punishment from the tournament pushed to Tuesday. The girls that were here tonight don't have to do as many. Because I'm gonna double it. 410 total. Plus the normal punishment for not telling the coach about missing a practice which is the dreaded 10 ball. They way I'm thinking right now, which is much calmer than I have been, is that that the whole team is gonna do 10 ball. Encourages movement, and the count starts over when you don't call the ball. I've already thrown out one of the rules because we aren't good enough where the count resets when you miss one. I hated 10 ball.
I don't know. Any advice on expressing the Listening is a skill idea to my team? I can only say it so many times before I go further insane.
Grrr. Arrgh.
Buck.
Third time where I'm hitting my head against a brick wall.
I've come to understand something that my coaches have said in the past. Something that my father ingrained into my head from an early age up until...well until now. Listening is a skill.
I first really understood this phrase when I was in 12 or 13. I was at a basketball camp where we not only learned techniques to make us better, but philosophy, and morals to make us better players and better people. Pretty heavy stuff for kids that aren't even in high school yet, but at the same time it is a moment and a camp that I will never forget.
"The difference between hearing and listening is the same as glancing and looking. When we glance we just see the big picture with one or two details. When we look we see the big picture with all the details. When we hear we catch the important parts without understanding the meaning. When we listen we hear the important parts and actively understand the meaning."
Heavy stuff.
Every practice I've been stressing the importance of talking, cheering, making any kind of noise on the court. I'd be happy if I heard one of the girls shout "Hamster!" It got to the point where at last practice I divided punishments up by the time in practice. If the player contacts the ball without saying anything in the first third of practice they had to do five diamond push-ups. If the same thing happens in the second third of practice the punishment increases, five diamonds plus sidelines while play continues. If the same mistake happens in the last third of practice the whole team gets punished, they all have five diamonds and sidelines and play stops.
I continued the punishments through our last tournament and the girls knew it. Things were better, for a while. If you extrapolate three contacts per point, 45 points per set, two sets per match. You get 270 opportunities to talk, to say anything. We passed up on 41. All in all that's pretty good.
But think about it this way. Every time "we" don't talk "we" loose the point. That's 41 points. To draw an analogy from another sport. Not talking in volleyball is the same as missing a shot at the charity stripe. It's easy, and should be routine.
So. 205 diamond push-ups.
If the girls weren't mad enough about losing - still taking fourth place, but losing to get it - they were furious about the push-ups. All I said when they kept whining, "That's not fair" was "Then maybe you should have talked during the tournament." I had and have no sympathy. I told them before we started playing, "Sunday night at practice you owe me for all of the times you didn't talk on the court. As a team. Everyone pays for one person's mistake."
Tonight, I was foiled. Three girls showed up. Two were sick, one was coming back from Minnesota with her Show Choir (second tournament she's missed along with the 8th practice. Guess who's questioning her commitment to club volleyball? ME!) one was coming back from a ski-trip, the last one I have no idea where she was, or why she wasn't at practice.
Because of coach not knowing from the girl about three of the absences the team gets their punishment from the tournament pushed to Tuesday. The girls that were here tonight don't have to do as many. Because I'm gonna double it. 410 total. Plus the normal punishment for not telling the coach about missing a practice which is the dreaded 10 ball. They way I'm thinking right now, which is much calmer than I have been, is that that the whole team is gonna do 10 ball. Encourages movement, and the count starts over when you don't call the ball. I've already thrown out one of the rules because we aren't good enough where the count resets when you miss one. I hated 10 ball.
I don't know. Any advice on expressing the Listening is a skill idea to my team? I can only say it so many times before I go further insane.
Grrr. Arrgh.
Buck.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Things that just irk ya
I have discovered something new in life. Eating healthy. Alright, maybe this isn't a new discovery maybe it is a re-revelation.
I'm still fighting those extra pounds I threw on from a bit of a wild style of living for the last four years. Working everyday in the summer helped, eating fewer larger meals, and more tide-me-overs helped. Drinking less alcohol really helped.
Now that we're in one of the worst winters and I'm only pulling hours for coaching. That leaves me with roughly 160 hours a week with nothing to do. I mean nothing. I'm riding around with the maintenance crew helping with plumbing, woodwork, snow removal...but I'm not getting paid to do any of this at least not anymore. It just gets me out of the house which I love.
What do I do to fill my time now? I work out. I read. I hop on the computer. And I plan things.
Working out isn't that big of a deal to me. High school I had to work out pretty much everyday. College I dropped off after leaving Concordia and stuck to a regiment of 12 oz. curls. When I moved in to BlauHaus I took over the water softener business for reasons unknown at the time other than no one else would and I'm at least half-way familiar with it. But while I was down in the basement I came across a bar, a couple of mini bars for curls, a bench, and almost 500 lbs of weight plates. I was very happy to see these things because it means that I get to focus on some of my weight training goals.
- Increase bench press rep weight by 10%
- Increase bicep curl rep weight by 15%
- Increase triceps ext. weight by 30%
- Increase squat rep weight by 20%
- Increase lunge weight by 25%
Those are my biweekly goals. That's right. Every two weeks I achieve the desired weight on the bars. And since I don't have much else to do during the day I go to the "gym".
Where does the food fit in with this? I can ruin a great 3 hour workout in a manner of 15 minutes. No problem. Sometimes even less. Fried foods, griddled foods, the extra butter, chips, pie, cake, burgers, pizza, coke, beer...all of that stuff that is sooo tasty and yummy wrecks everything that I did in the morning. So where does that leave me?
Ideally I would be cutting all that crap out of my diet. But when I'm coming home from a tournament or practice and stop at Casey's to pick up a big boy jug of Gatorade for the week (I cut my Gatorade so that it is easier for the stomach to process. It also decreases the amount of sugar/serving and makes the half gallon last a whole week.) I have to walk by their diner counter. At this diner counter is everything you need to keep you going. Cheap 32oz fountain drinks. Fried pork and chicken samiches, pizza, chicken nuggets, doughnuts, hot ham and cheese samiches, etc. And the smells. Oh the smells.
There is something special about the smell of warm fried foods that just sends me up the wall with enjoyment.
After a couple of minutes of debating with myself in my head I glumly walk to the fridges and pick up my Gatorade and a pack of Peanut butter cracker samiches. The clerk, Tom, always laughs at me when I get to the counter. "Couldn't do it could ya?"
You'd think that for someone who enjoys cooking as much as I do would have no problem passing up the drive-thrus, garbage foods, and other assorted crap. But, humans are like water we take the path of least resistance. Willing to spend 6 bucks for dinner at Wendy's when I could have spent 6 bucks for three nights worth of dinners if I were willing to cook it myself.
But in the end I suppose it's worth it. I get to perfect recipes, find just what I like in what styles. Plus if it keeps me living healthier who am I to complain? I put my body through the paces on a regular basis and work it like I'm still 15. Which I'm learning the hard way that I am not.
Last week we had a specialties practice where I was the gunner. My job for three hours was hit at the liberos who were practicing a new style of pass designed to take the brunt of an attack with the result of a soft pass. After the first hour I couldn't feel my hand. After the second hour I couldn't feel my arm. At the end of practice I couldn't feel my right side.
What does that mean for my workout? New focus on a couple of different muscle groups. That way I can recover from something like that practice in a night, not three days.
Getting old isn't for sissies
Buck
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Story of my Life
Sounds Like Life
Darryl Worely
Got a call last night from an old friend’s wife
Said I hate to bother you
Johnny Ray fell off the wagon
He’s been gone all afternoon
I know my buddy so I drove to Skully’s
And found him at the bar
I say hey man, what’s going on
He said I don’t know where to start
Sarah’s old car’s about to fall apart
And the washer quit last week
We had to put momma in the nursing home
And the baby’s cutting teeth
I didn’t get much work this week
And I got bills to pay
I said I know this ain’t what you wanna hear
But it’s what I’m gonna say
Sounds like life to me it ain’t no fantasy
It’s just a common case of everyday reality
Man I know it’s tough but you gotta suck it up
To hear you talk you’re caught up in some tragedy
It sounds like life to me
Well his face turned red and he shook his head
He said you don’t understand
Three kids and a wife depend on me
And I’m just one man
To top it off I just found out
That Sarah’s 2 months late
I said hey bartender set us up a round
We need to celebrate
Sounds like life to me plain old destiny
Yeah the only thing for certain is uncertainty
You gotta hold on tight just enjoy the ride
Get used to all this unpredictability
Sounds like life
Man I know its tough but you gotta suck it up
To hear you talk you’re caught up in some tragedy
Sounds like life to me
Sounds like life
Darryl Worely
Got a call last night from an old friend’s wife
Said I hate to bother you
Johnny Ray fell off the wagon
He’s been gone all afternoon
I know my buddy so I drove to Skully’s
And found him at the bar
I say hey man, what’s going on
He said I don’t know where to start
Sarah’s old car’s about to fall apart
And the washer quit last week
We had to put momma in the nursing home
And the baby’s cutting teeth
I didn’t get much work this week
And I got bills to pay
I said I know this ain’t what you wanna hear
But it’s what I’m gonna say
Sounds like life to me it ain’t no fantasy
It’s just a common case of everyday reality
Man I know it’s tough but you gotta suck it up
To hear you talk you’re caught up in some tragedy
It sounds like life to me
Well his face turned red and he shook his head
He said you don’t understand
Three kids and a wife depend on me
And I’m just one man
To top it off I just found out
That Sarah’s 2 months late
I said hey bartender set us up a round
We need to celebrate
Sounds like life to me plain old destiny
Yeah the only thing for certain is uncertainty
You gotta hold on tight just enjoy the ride
Get used to all this unpredictability
Sounds like life
Man I know its tough but you gotta suck it up
To hear you talk you’re caught up in some tragedy
Sounds like life to me
Sounds like life
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Color me blue
Dick Vitale.
Dickie V.
Joe Buck.
Brent Musberger.
Hate them. Worse, I loathe them, all that they stand for, and everything they ever wanted to stand for.
For those that don't know all of the above have something in common. They are sports color commentators. Now for the most part I don't listen to what they say; but when forced to, or I forget to think about the game analytically a rage builds up inside me.
While in Bloomington this past weekend I was watching the MSU UI basketball game on ESPN. Normally this would be fine, Dickie V can only comment one game a night, chances were on my side that I would miss that game. I was very wrong. Granted we were flipping channels for the most part, but the 3-4 minute segments that we would watch the game I would go crazy.
First MSU wasn't playing well. Second. Dickie V.
I can understand when former players or coaches become commentators. I get it. They want to still be part of the game and get paid gobs of money to do it. Now with that logic Dickie V should be tolerable as a commentator. Former coach and all that. But there's a reason he's a former coach. He wasn't very good. Coaches can do a lot with talent and good teams, but if the coach doesn't have either of those...all you can do is what you're paid for. COACH. Teach the kids how to play.
Anyway. The best thing I can say about these guys is that there is a mute button and that I am not them.
Lighter side: The girls did a great job in Bloomington this past weekend. Well...not really. We came out of the gate at a full stop. 8am is too early for them, but this is club ball and 8am means 7:30. I did not feel sorry for them. Bailey and I went out and had a few at the bar catching up watching the Hawks game. What started as one beer turned into the end of the game turned into "let's listen to the band for a few songs" turned into me walking to his apartment because he wasn't gonna drive. Even though I stayed out later than intended I held true to what I said upon arrival, "One beer. I gotta work in the morning." I was a good boy.
Saturday we lost our first match. Lost the second match. Lost the third match. Lost the last match in three sets instead of two. Needless to say Coach was not happy. Coach dropped the friend routine right quick and put on the "shut up, I don't care" hat. I was livid. Granted, we were a player short so the entire weekend we only had six instead of the seven we were planning on. So one girl was playing out of position for three of six rotations, but we've run drills like this, it wasn't an entirely new situation.
Best part was I had to deal with an aggravated parent (father). He was the spokesperson for the parents to question what happened, and what I was going to do to correct the flaws to win in bracket play. I swallowed my pride and did what I was taught to do with reporters, "Well from what I saw out there we did a lot of things right in a lot of tough situations. I'm going to have to change some things so that the girls can excel without question tomorrow, some things I tried to do strategy wise didn't pan out. That's my fault. Poor reading of the opponents defensive styles." He liked that and walked off with his head held high.
In reality, my analysis and play calling was spot on, we need to work on execution now.
Sunday started at 8am again. We game out of the gate at full stop again. After I burned both of my timeouts at scores 0-8 and 2-12 I sat down. I watched. I shut up. Two reasons for it though. The first was I wanted to see how the girls reacted to no feedback from the bench in a situation where they knew exactly what they had to do - talk, move, and pass really easy serves-. The second was because I was furious. We lost that set 11-25. Not bad, we had a string of service runs and they were waking up from anger. The second set I didn't do a thing. I didn't even call a timeout. Same reasoning.
After that set I told the girls to go to our campsite -where all our bags were and that stuff- drink some water, and tell their parents to stay away. I took a lap outside to cool down a bit. When I got in to the campsite that father from before had pulled one of the girls -his daughter- aside and was telling her where to play on defense. I marched right up to them and said, "Maddie grab some water, pee, whatever, then head over to the others let them know I'll be there in a few minutes". Once she left I turned to Dad and said, "Unless you know what type of defense we run by name don't tell her what to do or where to go on the court. That's my job." His reply was, "Well then maybe you should do your job." Mine was, "That's where I'm going. You've read the rules cause you've signed that you've read the rules. Never question the coach on game day." Then I turned and got my Diet Dew and walked over to camp.
Much stern talking, prodding, questioning, and explaining later we played again. I also might have told Maddie that if her old man ever came up to her on game day again telling her where to be or go on the court to say, "Coach said not to listen to you cause you're full of crap". This time we came out the gate full bore. They were talking, moving, not sending easy free balls over the net, everything that I wanted them to do. In short, we kicked ass. 25-4, 25-6. I was so happy!
The next match was for Fifth place. We came out strong. The second set we faltered a bit, but learned that when coach calls a timeout and gives us strategy tips to listen. The other team wasn't covering deep on third hit, and the setter routinely never played defense. So, I said deep corners, or straight down the lines or at the setter. We battled back to extra points but lost. Third set to decide if we would be staying to ref or hitting the road back home. We ran into some old problems of not moving. I called a quick TO to get them settled and I only said six words, "Good pass, Good set, Draw blood". The girls laughed and actually did those three things. One of the middles just hit the bladder out of the ball through the block into the blockers face. Mt. Vesuvius from the nose. Awesome. We lost the race to 8, switched sides with serve receive. We couldn't get a pass to save our lives. 7-12. Burned the last TO to ice the serve and calm the girls down again. Missed serve. Serve run from a fairly weak server to take the lead 13-12. Great pass, dump set. 14-14. Service ace 15-14. Then something that was amazing happened. The server looked at me to see where to serve it, I said, "In." Which is something we've struggled with. She put a little rainbow gumdrop serve right onto the tape, rolled over to the other side. The receivers made a great dive and roll to pass it up, then free balled the pass over to us. We had great cover but it didn't matter. Our middle had gone up for the free set and slammed it into the court inside the 10 foot line.
A 10 foot shot is something I haven't seen since I played. I was screaming and yelling, the ref looked at me weird, the girls looked at me weird, the parents looked at me weird until the girls saw the ref signaling us to the end line for end of the game hand shakes. Then they went nuts too. I had to be the grown up and calm down then tell them to get to the end line and and shake hands.
So...we took fifth place at the tournament. Out of 20 teams, and only five of the teams were 15 year olds. We only played two 15 teams the entire tournament. Everyone else was 16. I told them that when we were packing up camp, and the girls started cussing me out. Literally.
But they accepted my logic on it, we played really tough teams that are older than us. That brings our level of play up. Plus we spanked a 16's team on their home court. If we can play that great against "tougher" teams than us, imagine how well we should be playing against girls that are worse than us, and are our same age.
Good weekend all in all.
Then Dickie V. happened.
Oh, here's a question for ya. Why is it so tough to get 15 year old girls to talk on the court, but not off the court, or in a huddle?
Buck
Dickie V.
Joe Buck.
Brent Musberger.
Hate them. Worse, I loathe them, all that they stand for, and everything they ever wanted to stand for.
For those that don't know all of the above have something in common. They are sports color commentators. Now for the most part I don't listen to what they say; but when forced to, or I forget to think about the game analytically a rage builds up inside me.
While in Bloomington this past weekend I was watching the MSU UI basketball game on ESPN. Normally this would be fine, Dickie V can only comment one game a night, chances were on my side that I would miss that game. I was very wrong. Granted we were flipping channels for the most part, but the 3-4 minute segments that we would watch the game I would go crazy.
First MSU wasn't playing well. Second. Dickie V.
I can understand when former players or coaches become commentators. I get it. They want to still be part of the game and get paid gobs of money to do it. Now with that logic Dickie V should be tolerable as a commentator. Former coach and all that. But there's a reason he's a former coach. He wasn't very good. Coaches can do a lot with talent and good teams, but if the coach doesn't have either of those...all you can do is what you're paid for. COACH. Teach the kids how to play.
Anyway. The best thing I can say about these guys is that there is a mute button and that I am not them.
Lighter side: The girls did a great job in Bloomington this past weekend. Well...not really. We came out of the gate at a full stop. 8am is too early for them, but this is club ball and 8am means 7:30. I did not feel sorry for them. Bailey and I went out and had a few at the bar catching up watching the Hawks game. What started as one beer turned into the end of the game turned into "let's listen to the band for a few songs" turned into me walking to his apartment because he wasn't gonna drive. Even though I stayed out later than intended I held true to what I said upon arrival, "One beer. I gotta work in the morning." I was a good boy.
Saturday we lost our first match. Lost the second match. Lost the third match. Lost the last match in three sets instead of two. Needless to say Coach was not happy. Coach dropped the friend routine right quick and put on the "shut up, I don't care" hat. I was livid. Granted, we were a player short so the entire weekend we only had six instead of the seven we were planning on. So one girl was playing out of position for three of six rotations, but we've run drills like this, it wasn't an entirely new situation.
Best part was I had to deal with an aggravated parent (father). He was the spokesperson for the parents to question what happened, and what I was going to do to correct the flaws to win in bracket play. I swallowed my pride and did what I was taught to do with reporters, "Well from what I saw out there we did a lot of things right in a lot of tough situations. I'm going to have to change some things so that the girls can excel without question tomorrow, some things I tried to do strategy wise didn't pan out. That's my fault. Poor reading of the opponents defensive styles." He liked that and walked off with his head held high.
In reality, my analysis and play calling was spot on, we need to work on execution now.
Sunday started at 8am again. We game out of the gate at full stop again. After I burned both of my timeouts at scores 0-8 and 2-12 I sat down. I watched. I shut up. Two reasons for it though. The first was I wanted to see how the girls reacted to no feedback from the bench in a situation where they knew exactly what they had to do - talk, move, and pass really easy serves-. The second was because I was furious. We lost that set 11-25. Not bad, we had a string of service runs and they were waking up from anger. The second set I didn't do a thing. I didn't even call a timeout. Same reasoning.
After that set I told the girls to go to our campsite -where all our bags were and that stuff- drink some water, and tell their parents to stay away. I took a lap outside to cool down a bit. When I got in to the campsite that father from before had pulled one of the girls -his daughter- aside and was telling her where to play on defense. I marched right up to them and said, "Maddie grab some water, pee, whatever, then head over to the others let them know I'll be there in a few minutes". Once she left I turned to Dad and said, "Unless you know what type of defense we run by name don't tell her what to do or where to go on the court. That's my job." His reply was, "Well then maybe you should do your job." Mine was, "That's where I'm going. You've read the rules cause you've signed that you've read the rules. Never question the coach on game day." Then I turned and got my Diet Dew and walked over to camp.
Much stern talking, prodding, questioning, and explaining later we played again. I also might have told Maddie that if her old man ever came up to her on game day again telling her where to be or go on the court to say, "Coach said not to listen to you cause you're full of crap". This time we came out the gate full bore. They were talking, moving, not sending easy free balls over the net, everything that I wanted them to do. In short, we kicked ass. 25-4, 25-6. I was so happy!
The next match was for Fifth place. We came out strong. The second set we faltered a bit, but learned that when coach calls a timeout and gives us strategy tips to listen. The other team wasn't covering deep on third hit, and the setter routinely never played defense. So, I said deep corners, or straight down the lines or at the setter. We battled back to extra points but lost. Third set to decide if we would be staying to ref or hitting the road back home. We ran into some old problems of not moving. I called a quick TO to get them settled and I only said six words, "Good pass, Good set, Draw blood". The girls laughed and actually did those three things. One of the middles just hit the bladder out of the ball through the block into the blockers face. Mt. Vesuvius from the nose. Awesome. We lost the race to 8, switched sides with serve receive. We couldn't get a pass to save our lives. 7-12. Burned the last TO to ice the serve and calm the girls down again. Missed serve. Serve run from a fairly weak server to take the lead 13-12. Great pass, dump set. 14-14. Service ace 15-14. Then something that was amazing happened. The server looked at me to see where to serve it, I said, "In." Which is something we've struggled with. She put a little rainbow gumdrop serve right onto the tape, rolled over to the other side. The receivers made a great dive and roll to pass it up, then free balled the pass over to us. We had great cover but it didn't matter. Our middle had gone up for the free set and slammed it into the court inside the 10 foot line.
A 10 foot shot is something I haven't seen since I played. I was screaming and yelling, the ref looked at me weird, the girls looked at me weird, the parents looked at me weird until the girls saw the ref signaling us to the end line for end of the game hand shakes. Then they went nuts too. I had to be the grown up and calm down then tell them to get to the end line and and shake hands.
So...we took fifth place at the tournament. Out of 20 teams, and only five of the teams were 15 year olds. We only played two 15 teams the entire tournament. Everyone else was 16. I told them that when we were packing up camp, and the girls started cussing me out. Literally.
But they accepted my logic on it, we played really tough teams that are older than us. That brings our level of play up. Plus we spanked a 16's team on their home court. If we can play that great against "tougher" teams than us, imagine how well we should be playing against girls that are worse than us, and are our same age.
Good weekend all in all.
Then Dickie V. happened.
Oh, here's a question for ya. Why is it so tough to get 15 year old girls to talk on the court, but not off the court, or in a huddle?
Buck
Monday, February 1, 2010
Don't means don't
I've been following another blog for awhile now. The author hails from the Flint Hills of Kansas. I enjoy reading this particular blog because of some shared interests and some non-interests. However, the latest work that was posted revolves around a topic that is dear to my heart. Here is the author's take on "pest control". While I'm not certain whether or not it was written as a comical piece as there are many quips and comedic phrases, I'm still not certain.
The hunters that come out to the Farm are a bunch of decent guys. Two I really enjoy visiting with, the other three drop off some tasty meat every other week. All in all, I have no complaints. I do however have a problem with the administration disregarding the rules posted by our maintenance head, the hunting organizer, and the local DNR enforcement.
DO NOT FEED THE DEER.
Simple rule. There are three corn cribs that the feed from, dozens of hay bales they can feed from, even with the three feet of snow there is plentiful vegetation that they can feed from as well. They don't need peanut butter samiches, apples, and candy.
Being annexed on the fringes of an urban community, we are termed an overpopulation center. While not technically true since the deer can leave the property and hit the local farms, and all of the deer harvested this year are all disease free, we do have quite a large number.
But rules are rules. Even if you are the head honcho, you are expected to follow the rules. I don't care if your kids want to see a deer, or you want to take pictures of them in their "natural environment". Authority figures - I think - should follow the rules because they set an example to the line grunts.
I also think that they should open up shotgun season out here for employees. Screw the neighbors. Bluahaus will take care of the 16 deer that walk across our front yard every day and night. While 16 less won't put a dent in our population numbers, it will add to the 35 harvested already.
Poaching is a cardinal sin, but to those of us living on the property, we should get our nuisance tags.
I want a cross bow.
Buck
The hunters that come out to the Farm are a bunch of decent guys. Two I really enjoy visiting with, the other three drop off some tasty meat every other week. All in all, I have no complaints. I do however have a problem with the administration disregarding the rules posted by our maintenance head, the hunting organizer, and the local DNR enforcement.
DO NOT FEED THE DEER.
Simple rule. There are three corn cribs that the feed from, dozens of hay bales they can feed from, even with the three feet of snow there is plentiful vegetation that they can feed from as well. They don't need peanut butter samiches, apples, and candy.
Being annexed on the fringes of an urban community, we are termed an overpopulation center. While not technically true since the deer can leave the property and hit the local farms, and all of the deer harvested this year are all disease free, we do have quite a large number.
But rules are rules. Even if you are the head honcho, you are expected to follow the rules. I don't care if your kids want to see a deer, or you want to take pictures of them in their "natural environment". Authority figures - I think - should follow the rules because they set an example to the line grunts.
I also think that they should open up shotgun season out here for employees. Screw the neighbors. Bluahaus will take care of the 16 deer that walk across our front yard every day and night. While 16 less won't put a dent in our population numbers, it will add to the 35 harvested already.
Poaching is a cardinal sin, but to those of us living on the property, we should get our nuisance tags.
I want a cross bow.
Buck
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Some folks like the summertime when they can walk about
Strolling through the meadow green it's fun there's no doubt
But give me the wintertime when snow falls all around
For I found her when the snow was on the ground
Well i traced them footprints in the snow
I traced the footprints in the snow
I can't forget the day my darling lost her way
And I found her when the snow was on the ground
Well I dropped in to see her there was a big round moon
Her mother said she just stepped out be returnin' soon
I found her little footprints and I traced them thru the snow
I found her when the snow was on the ground
Well I traced them footprints in the snow
I traced the footprints in the snow
I can't forget the day my darling lost her way
And I found her when the snow was on the ground
Now she's up in heaven she's with an angel band
I know I gonna meet her in that promised land
But every time the snow falls it brings back memories
Footprints in the Snow
Roger Miller
Buck
For i found her when the snow was on the ground
Strolling through the meadow green it's fun there's no doubt
But give me the wintertime when snow falls all around
For I found her when the snow was on the ground
Well i traced them footprints in the snow
I traced the footprints in the snow
I can't forget the day my darling lost her way
And I found her when the snow was on the ground
Well I dropped in to see her there was a big round moon
Her mother said she just stepped out be returnin' soon
I found her little footprints and I traced them thru the snow
I found her when the snow was on the ground
Well I traced them footprints in the snow
I traced the footprints in the snow
I can't forget the day my darling lost her way
And I found her when the snow was on the ground
Now she's up in heaven she's with an angel band
I know I gonna meet her in that promised land
But every time the snow falls it brings back memories
Footprints in the Snow
Roger Miller
Buck
For i found her when the snow was on the ground
Friday, January 29, 2010
I've been thinking. I know that I usually get into trouble when I start doing that kind of thing. What have I been thinking about? Books.
I love books. I love reading. I love the language that authors use to express their vision. I even envy the way they use language. I've found myself thinking, "That's a good word. People should use that word more often." Only to forget the word the next morning when I wake up.
I've been reading a coaching book the past couple of days. I'm even taking notes on it. It isn't so much a book on how to coach inasmuch as it is a philosophy book written by a coach. The book centers around a new approach to passing in volleyball.
Tanden (Tahn-dun) Passing. Core Passing. It is a technique that almost every volleyball player is taught and can be summed up by saying, "Don't swing". Yet, the philosophy behind it is much deeper. Very eastern in the approach to getting the players to pass in their core. There are points in the book where the author brings attention to certain zones in the body where energy is stored, how to access that energy, how to conserve it...lots of crazy stuff. At least to a guy that has seen the insides of the human body. (There are no tupperware containers labeled, "ENERGY STORAGE")
Some of the coaches that I work with swear by this idea, and mode of teaching. I don't. Don't get me wrong, it gives me another method of instruction and I dig that. But it isn't the end all be all. It won't make your players perfect passers. Repetition will take care of that, commitment from the player will take care of that, desire to be perfect will take care of that.
I've had seven different coaches. The only thing that stayed constant between all of them was how we passed. Low, athletic stance, hands together, thumbs pointing as far down as possible, forearms as flat as possible. Now, you have a platform. In platform passing the object is to keep the platform as solid as possible while keeping it in your core. Why in the core? Keep it in the core because that is where the platform is the most stable.
When I compare platform and tanden passing techniques I come to a pretty cool conclusion. I was taught to pass in tanden. But my coaches left out the crazy hippie stuff.
Books are cool. They can bring you to look at something old in a new light. If you take the time to be an active participant in reading.
Buck
I love books. I love reading. I love the language that authors use to express their vision. I even envy the way they use language. I've found myself thinking, "That's a good word. People should use that word more often." Only to forget the word the next morning when I wake up.
I've been reading a coaching book the past couple of days. I'm even taking notes on it. It isn't so much a book on how to coach inasmuch as it is a philosophy book written by a coach. The book centers around a new approach to passing in volleyball.
Tanden (Tahn-dun) Passing. Core Passing. It is a technique that almost every volleyball player is taught and can be summed up by saying, "Don't swing". Yet, the philosophy behind it is much deeper. Very eastern in the approach to getting the players to pass in their core. There are points in the book where the author brings attention to certain zones in the body where energy is stored, how to access that energy, how to conserve it...lots of crazy stuff. At least to a guy that has seen the insides of the human body. (There are no tupperware containers labeled, "ENERGY STORAGE")
Some of the coaches that I work with swear by this idea, and mode of teaching. I don't. Don't get me wrong, it gives me another method of instruction and I dig that. But it isn't the end all be all. It won't make your players perfect passers. Repetition will take care of that, commitment from the player will take care of that, desire to be perfect will take care of that.
I've had seven different coaches. The only thing that stayed constant between all of them was how we passed. Low, athletic stance, hands together, thumbs pointing as far down as possible, forearms as flat as possible. Now, you have a platform. In platform passing the object is to keep the platform as solid as possible while keeping it in your core. Why in the core? Keep it in the core because that is where the platform is the most stable.
When I compare platform and tanden passing techniques I come to a pretty cool conclusion. I was taught to pass in tanden. But my coaches left out the crazy hippie stuff.
Books are cool. They can bring you to look at something old in a new light. If you take the time to be an active participant in reading.
Buck
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Winkin' Blinkin'
Sunday was my team's first tournament. To say that they were ready for it would be stretching the truth. To say that they were unprepared would be a flat out lie. Sadly, I can not think of the proper word to fit the manner in which they played and comported themselves.
Tournaments are strange out here. Pool play still abides by round-robin rules, but there are no best of three matches. Rather, there are two games to 21 points with no cap in hopes to speed up the process. Cheats the players I think, but it also saves on having two day tournaments. Pluses and minuses everywhere.
The first match we split sets. (The new fancy lingo for a game. I hate it.)
The second match we won both.
The third match we won both and took lead in the pool.
The fourth split sets and dropped to second in the pool.
Bracket play started. We played the fourth seed and took them all the way to three sets losing by six points overall. This shouldn't have happened. We should have won outright in two. There were a few hiccups along the way involving not communicating, poor serve reception, and more than a few scorer errors.
Sadly, with all of the father's taking detailed stats, and one mother running a score sheet I still had no tangible proof to present to the R1 when I very politely asked her to keep her players on task at the scorer's table. - Only USA Volleyball members are allowed to keep score in official capacity, I was busy coaching and the girls sitting never sat long enough to keep scores - The R1 told me to shut up and turn in a line up before the two minute deadline. I then asked if she would sound the whistle so I would know when that was. It was a proper request and within my rights to ask for a warning prior to a time deadline. She told me to stop crying about losing a set and coach my team. At that point I might have lost it a little bit. While walking back to my bench I casually asked her how I should coach the team that beat her out of a spot in bracket play.
She didn't like that. Not. One. Bit.
She called me back to the stand and gave me a verbal warning along with a yellow card and a delay of play sanction. - At this point the Dad's in the stands went nuts. - I protested the sanction since line ups were not checked, nor had play resumed. She actually retracted the sanction but still gave me the yellow and the verbal warnings with a promise that I would be ejected if I kept pushing the issue. In order to comply with her directions I turned around and walked to the bench filling out my line up. She called me right back to the stand and in a snarky tone of voice asked me to thank her.
I didn't like that. Not. One. Bit.
So with an overly polite smile and curt thanks, I walked to the scorers table and turned in my line up.
The girls were upset that we lost because of stupid mistakes and clerical errors to which I said, "Whaa. It happens. Ignore the peanut gallery, win as many points as you can." To which Carolynn asked, "What's a peanut gallery?" I told her to forget it, just play each point.
Overall, it was a decent tournament. I fear that knowing the rules better than the other coaches and refs might get me into more trouble down the line.
Kind of like it did for Dad when he was coaching me in basketball. Good times.
We've got our work cut out for us though. All the girls want to do is hit, and hit, and hit. But if we can't put a serve in play, nor pass a ball that's been served at us...We're never going to get the chance to hit.
Tonight we played a little game that I call "Kill the setter", which Maddie hates. A game that I hated. But, it gets the blood pumping, the body warm, and a nice lather of sweat is produced. Then for the next hour we did serve receive. Where I was the server. Went through all of the rotations, and I think I've found one of the problems. They don't move. They watch the ball, unless it comes right at them.
I need some testosterone shots to give them to make them more aggressive.
Sunday will be conditioning and serving.
Unless I get ejected.
Buck
Tournaments are strange out here. Pool play still abides by round-robin rules, but there are no best of three matches. Rather, there are two games to 21 points with no cap in hopes to speed up the process. Cheats the players I think, but it also saves on having two day tournaments. Pluses and minuses everywhere.
The first match we split sets. (The new fancy lingo for a game. I hate it.)
The second match we won both.
The third match we won both and took lead in the pool.
The fourth split sets and dropped to second in the pool.
Bracket play started. We played the fourth seed and took them all the way to three sets losing by six points overall. This shouldn't have happened. We should have won outright in two. There were a few hiccups along the way involving not communicating, poor serve reception, and more than a few scorer errors.
Sadly, with all of the father's taking detailed stats, and one mother running a score sheet I still had no tangible proof to present to the R1 when I very politely asked her to keep her players on task at the scorer's table. - Only USA Volleyball members are allowed to keep score in official capacity, I was busy coaching and the girls sitting never sat long enough to keep scores - The R1 told me to shut up and turn in a line up before the two minute deadline. I then asked if she would sound the whistle so I would know when that was. It was a proper request and within my rights to ask for a warning prior to a time deadline. She told me to stop crying about losing a set and coach my team. At that point I might have lost it a little bit. While walking back to my bench I casually asked her how I should coach the team that beat her out of a spot in bracket play.
She didn't like that. Not. One. Bit.
She called me back to the stand and gave me a verbal warning along with a yellow card and a delay of play sanction. - At this point the Dad's in the stands went nuts. - I protested the sanction since line ups were not checked, nor had play resumed. She actually retracted the sanction but still gave me the yellow and the verbal warnings with a promise that I would be ejected if I kept pushing the issue. In order to comply with her directions I turned around and walked to the bench filling out my line up. She called me right back to the stand and in a snarky tone of voice asked me to thank her.
I didn't like that. Not. One. Bit.
So with an overly polite smile and curt thanks, I walked to the scorers table and turned in my line up.
The girls were upset that we lost because of stupid mistakes and clerical errors to which I said, "Whaa. It happens. Ignore the peanut gallery, win as many points as you can." To which Carolynn asked, "What's a peanut gallery?" I told her to forget it, just play each point.
Overall, it was a decent tournament. I fear that knowing the rules better than the other coaches and refs might get me into more trouble down the line.
Kind of like it did for Dad when he was coaching me in basketball. Good times.
We've got our work cut out for us though. All the girls want to do is hit, and hit, and hit. But if we can't put a serve in play, nor pass a ball that's been served at us...We're never going to get the chance to hit.
Tonight we played a little game that I call "Kill the setter", which Maddie hates. A game that I hated. But, it gets the blood pumping, the body warm, and a nice lather of sweat is produced. Then for the next hour we did serve receive. Where I was the server. Went through all of the rotations, and I think I've found one of the problems. They don't move. They watch the ball, unless it comes right at them.
I need some testosterone shots to give them to make them more aggressive.
Sunday will be conditioning and serving.
Unless I get ejected.
Buck
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