'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

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

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

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

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