Thursday evening, we’d just started our Lodge Meeting in Magna, Utah when the Chaplain’s cell phone went off during one of the more sober parts of the Lodge opening ceremony. The ring was an “Island” Reggae beat – a catchy little tune – and the Chaplain hurried to retrieve and turn off the offending phone.
The Chaplain sits in the east of the Lodge room, in front of and to the left of the Worshipful Master facing the rest of the Lodge. To add to the solemn nature of the opening, the Master was joined by the Grand Master of Utah who is also a member of our Lodge, and he was standing almost directly behind the Chaplain.
I’ve seen many ways that “people in charge” deal with ringing cell phones and so have you. Often their methods include a disgusted glare, deep sighs, shakes of the head, anger, and almost always, words which embarrassing the cell phone owner. There is generally a lecture for the rest of the audience and a stern order to “turn off your cell phones.” Then, the meeting truly off to a bad start, it’s leader now in a foul mood not only because of the cell phone but also because they realize that they over-reacted, it seems as if a damp blanket has been thrown over all the participants.
When the Chaplain’s phone went off, human nature took over and we all looked to the Grand Master to see what would happen next. What we then saw was an impressive piece of leadership. Instead of bringing all his Masonic power to bear on the offending brother, the Grand Master spontaneously lifted both hands into the air with his index fingers pointed up as if they were drum sticks, rocked his hips in time to the reggae beat while drumming his fingers in the air – the slightest hint of a smile on his face.
We all chuckled a bit, and then we checked our own phones while our Chaplain turned his off and shoved it back into his suit pocket. The mood was not ruined, the Chaplain was only embarrassed by his phone, and the meeting went on without further interruption. By the time we started on our first order of business just minutes later the incident was forgotten.
Our Grand Master has a light touch. He is very effective. And one of the finest leaders I’ve had an opportunity to observe.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Progress Report
After setting my big goal to put some passion back into my workout, I realized that instead of running to lose weight, I needed to lose weight to run better and faster. I logged more than 110 miles in April and May - lost eight pounds in May - and took a minute off my 800 meter time and found that I could sustain my top end speed for roughly a quarter mile. I'd have to say that April was a slow start but May was very positive.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Sharp Focus
“Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir men's blood and probably themselves will not be realized. Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will never die, but long after we are gone will be a living thing, asserting itself with ever-growing insistency. Remember that our sons and grandsons are going to do things that would stagger us. Let your watchword be order and your beacon beauty. Think big.” -Daniel Burnham
Since setting that stretch goal just four days ago I’ve discovered – or rediscovered, that such a purpose sharply focuses my mind. My workouts are more structured, more intense, and when I feel like slowing down, I resist it rather than giving in with some inane justification.
Eating better no longer feels like a sacrifice.
Some have asked me why I felt the need to stretch toward a World Record, and frankly, I think I realized that I needed to have something big enough stir my blood and I was guided by the inspirational quote by the Chicago Architect referenced above.
But there was also more to it than that (isn’t there always?)
In High School I was well under 2:00 for the Half. A part of that inner dialogue I wrote about the other day included struggling with how to put my age into the equation and still discover new territory. Even when I reach my goal of 2:00:0, I’ll be unable to set a personal best unless I accept some kind of fiction.
So why not an age-appropriate World Record? There is no physical reason, and maybe I need to prove to myself that if anyone else can do it, that with the right dedication and work I can do it too.
Since setting that stretch goal just four days ago I’ve discovered – or rediscovered, that such a purpose sharply focuses my mind. My workouts are more structured, more intense, and when I feel like slowing down, I resist it rather than giving in with some inane justification.
Eating better no longer feels like a sacrifice.
Some have asked me why I felt the need to stretch toward a World Record, and frankly, I think I realized that I needed to have something big enough stir my blood and I was guided by the inspirational quote by the Chicago Architect referenced above.
But there was also more to it than that (isn’t there always?)
In High School I was well under 2:00 for the Half. A part of that inner dialogue I wrote about the other day included struggling with how to put my age into the equation and still discover new territory. Even when I reach my goal of 2:00:0, I’ll be unable to set a personal best unless I accept some kind of fiction.
So why not an age-appropriate World Record? There is no physical reason, and maybe I need to prove to myself that if anyone else can do it, that with the right dedication and work I can do it too.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
2 minutes
While completing a pretty fast half-mile split this morning I had an epiphany. Actually, it was a recurring epiphany, realizing once again that I need a competitive goal to give meaning to my workouts. The imprecise “better quality of life” objective just isn’t enough for me.
In the last decade, I’ve covered thousands of miles in search of better health. I was doing pretty well when Plantar Fasciitis sidelined me five years ago. A diagnosis of arthritis further slowed me down. My weight and waist ballooned.
And then a little more than two years ago I was trapped in the center seat between two other large men while we were stranded on the tarmac in Albany for more than an hour. On that flight I decided I had to do something.
It no longer mattered if there was pain. My knees, ankle and shoulder hurt whether or not I work out. If there was going to be pain anyway, I was determined a smaller me would endure it.
In the following twelve months I lost more than 40 lbs. and a little more than 8 inches around my waist.
Unfortunately, I gained too much of it back again. I’m still constantly fighting to maintain healthy cholesterol and blood pressure. I get terrible migraines. I’m better than I was, but still I’m bigger than I want to be. I still sleep with a C-PAP machine. I have to maintain two wardrobes: one for the thinner me, and the other for the chubbier me.
So this morning while I was approaching 9 mph, and despite “Fall Out Boy” singing in my ear buds, I was recounting my efforts over the last year. I wondered what I needed to do to make them more effective.
I pondered a recent gift from my employer: a Health Coach who determined that I miss too many meals, don’t consume enough vegetables, and that I overeat on days I miss breakfast. My inner dialogue was once again digesting that brilliant analysis when that chronic epiphany hit me.
A flurry of thoughts followed:
“All my workouts have been more meaningful since I began to track my one mile splits on Saturdays. I’ve been steadily shaving time off those splits every week this year."
"But I wasn’t built for the mile. I've never been better than mediocre at it.”
“As much as I wanted to be a World Class 400 meter man since High School, I was never any better than just a little faster than most.”
“Through the years, my coaches have always said that I was custom built for the 800 meter run. One even urged me to make it my only race other than the relays.”
“My half-mile times were more than just competitive even if I always looked for reasons to skip it. And Coach Scoggins said I “would always be good in the Quarter, but I could be amazingly fast in The Half.”
“My quarter splits are sluggish; my mile splits peter out at the end. But my half-mile splits are always very good. I have evidence that this is my race. Maybe it is time to stop ignoring the advice and evidence.”
“What are my other options? Train for Marathons? Half-Marathons. I'm not mentally prepared to run marathons. Those guys are masochists. And nuts too.”
“But 800 meters … I was built for The Half. I wonder what the World Record is for a 55-year old man.”
“That’s it! – I’ve let my age define me for too long, it is time for me to define my age. I’m going to do what must be done to run an age appropriate World Record in the 800. After all, I was built for it.”
That was it! Upon my return home, I looked it up. The World Record for an 800 meter run outdoors by a 55-year-old man is 2:03:7 and was run by Stan Immelman on January 12, 2001.
“If he can do it,” I thought, “so can I.”
Today I began a quest to beat that time. My goal is to run 800 meters in 02:00:0 before I turn Sixty. And why not, after all, according to experts I was built for it.
If you want to watch here, I’ll report on my progress. I know if you watch me it will make me so much better than I’d be if I kept it to myself. And for that I thank you!
In the last decade, I’ve covered thousands of miles in search of better health. I was doing pretty well when Plantar Fasciitis sidelined me five years ago. A diagnosis of arthritis further slowed me down. My weight and waist ballooned.
And then a little more than two years ago I was trapped in the center seat between two other large men while we were stranded on the tarmac in Albany for more than an hour. On that flight I decided I had to do something.
It no longer mattered if there was pain. My knees, ankle and shoulder hurt whether or not I work out. If there was going to be pain anyway, I was determined a smaller me would endure it.
In the following twelve months I lost more than 40 lbs. and a little more than 8 inches around my waist.
Unfortunately, I gained too much of it back again. I’m still constantly fighting to maintain healthy cholesterol and blood pressure. I get terrible migraines. I’m better than I was, but still I’m bigger than I want to be. I still sleep with a C-PAP machine. I have to maintain two wardrobes: one for the thinner me, and the other for the chubbier me.
So this morning while I was approaching 9 mph, and despite “Fall Out Boy” singing in my ear buds, I was recounting my efforts over the last year. I wondered what I needed to do to make them more effective.
I pondered a recent gift from my employer: a Health Coach who determined that I miss too many meals, don’t consume enough vegetables, and that I overeat on days I miss breakfast. My inner dialogue was once again digesting that brilliant analysis when that chronic epiphany hit me.
A flurry of thoughts followed:
“All my workouts have been more meaningful since I began to track my one mile splits on Saturdays. I’ve been steadily shaving time off those splits every week this year."
"But I wasn’t built for the mile. I've never been better than mediocre at it.”
“As much as I wanted to be a World Class 400 meter man since High School, I was never any better than just a little faster than most.”
“Through the years, my coaches have always said that I was custom built for the 800 meter run. One even urged me to make it my only race other than the relays.”
“My half-mile times were more than just competitive even if I always looked for reasons to skip it. And Coach Scoggins said I “would always be good in the Quarter, but I could be amazingly fast in The Half.”
“My quarter splits are sluggish; my mile splits peter out at the end. But my half-mile splits are always very good. I have evidence that this is my race. Maybe it is time to stop ignoring the advice and evidence.”
“What are my other options? Train for Marathons? Half-Marathons. I'm not mentally prepared to run marathons. Those guys are masochists. And nuts too.”
“But 800 meters … I was built for The Half. I wonder what the World Record is for a 55-year old man.”
“That’s it! – I’ve let my age define me for too long, it is time for me to define my age. I’m going to do what must be done to run an age appropriate World Record in the 800. After all, I was built for it.”
That was it! Upon my return home, I looked it up. The World Record for an 800 meter run outdoors by a 55-year-old man is 2:03:7 and was run by Stan Immelman on January 12, 2001.
“If he can do it,” I thought, “so can I.”
Today I began a quest to beat that time. My goal is to run 800 meters in 02:00:0 before I turn Sixty. And why not, after all, according to experts I was built for it.
If you want to watch here, I’ll report on my progress. I know if you watch me it will make me so much better than I’d be if I kept it to myself. And for that I thank you!
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
State's Rights!?
I never quite “got” the appeal of States Rights.
There are several embarrassing bills making their way through the Utah Legislature that are designed to “send a message to Washington” and assert our State Rights.
Our little experiment in democracy began with State's Rights, slavery and the disenfranchisement of women, and I’m of the opinion that you couldn’t have the last two without the first.
I am not a huge fan of any government but let’s face it, the worst government isn’t practiced in DC. The most awful government is practiced in our towns, cities, counties and states. It is made by part-time power-brokers who got 113 of their constituents to vote for them and garnered 97% of the vote.
State’s Rights advocates say they want to protect me from the Feds but who is going to protect me from them? Attend a School Board meeting, or a City Council Meeting, and you’ll see they are focused on the petty, the power and the money, not you and me.
The best evidence that municipal government isn’t working is traffic jams. They didn’t plan well or design correctly. They allowed unchecked growth because it meant more tax revenue.
Our schools are a local mess, beginning at that mean little local board with seats filled by your neighbors and going right on up to the State Board of Education.
If that isn’t enough to remind you that local isn’t always better, then talk to anyone in this state about renewing your Driver’s License … (admit it, you just shuddered, didn’t you!?)
We often hear about the evils of multi-level marketing but how about the evils of multi-level government? All those layers of government spend most of their time duplicating the efforts of other government entities, asserting their rights and grabbing power from one another.
For every layer there are taxes to be paid. Or transferred. You pay taxes on every layer and then the Feds give some of “their” money to States, Counties and Municipalities to do stuff, like maintain roads, provide education, pay Medicare claims or clean up the air and water.
The Feds also pay States to enforce stuff. That stuff is often the stuff States don’t want to implement but are willing to grumble and impose if it means enough money to balance their budgets.
All that means is that the State’s Right advocates who say they’d be willing to forego Federal money to have more power locally aren’t telling the whole story. Your taxes won’t get smaller and judging by the evidence, your government services will: A) Go away, B) Get worse, or C) Cost more.
Is that the message you want to send to Washington? If so, please reelect the clowns currently in the Utah State Legislature.
There are several embarrassing bills making their way through the Utah Legislature that are designed to “send a message to Washington” and assert our State Rights.
Our little experiment in democracy began with State's Rights, slavery and the disenfranchisement of women, and I’m of the opinion that you couldn’t have the last two without the first.
I am not a huge fan of any government but let’s face it, the worst government isn’t practiced in DC. The most awful government is practiced in our towns, cities, counties and states. It is made by part-time power-brokers who got 113 of their constituents to vote for them and garnered 97% of the vote.
State’s Rights advocates say they want to protect me from the Feds but who is going to protect me from them? Attend a School Board meeting, or a City Council Meeting, and you’ll see they are focused on the petty, the power and the money, not you and me.
The best evidence that municipal government isn’t working is traffic jams. They didn’t plan well or design correctly. They allowed unchecked growth because it meant more tax revenue.
Our schools are a local mess, beginning at that mean little local board with seats filled by your neighbors and going right on up to the State Board of Education.
If that isn’t enough to remind you that local isn’t always better, then talk to anyone in this state about renewing your Driver’s License … (admit it, you just shuddered, didn’t you!?)
We often hear about the evils of multi-level marketing but how about the evils of multi-level government? All those layers of government spend most of their time duplicating the efforts of other government entities, asserting their rights and grabbing power from one another.
For every layer there are taxes to be paid. Or transferred. You pay taxes on every layer and then the Feds give some of “their” money to States, Counties and Municipalities to do stuff, like maintain roads, provide education, pay Medicare claims or clean up the air and water.
The Feds also pay States to enforce stuff. That stuff is often the stuff States don’t want to implement but are willing to grumble and impose if it means enough money to balance their budgets.
All that means is that the State’s Right advocates who say they’d be willing to forego Federal money to have more power locally aren’t telling the whole story. Your taxes won’t get smaller and judging by the evidence, your government services will: A) Go away, B) Get worse, or C) Cost more.
Is that the message you want to send to Washington? If so, please reelect the clowns currently in the Utah State Legislature.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Delightful Daughters
On Valentine’s Day my youngest daughter gave birth to Olivia Grace, the latest of my nine grandchildren. Livy is my eighth granddaughter. While Natalie was doing that “little thing” I was completing the novel Honolulu by Alan Brennert.
Honolulu is set in Hawaii in the first half of the 20th Century and tells the story of a Korean “Picture Bride” named Regret. Brennert characterizes the position of women in that place, culture and time as little more than the servants of men and mere receptacles for men’s pleasure and the birth of more men.
When I began reading his novel, I’d wondered if Brennert would be able to successfully navigate the perspective of the protagonist. Brennert is, after all, a 21st Century American male, of European descent, who did not grow up and does not live in The Islands. (For the same reasons, I’m not really capable of knowing how accurate he was.)
Brennert’s character development is satisfying. He delves successfully into the carefully controlled lives of his female Korean characters along with the differences in opportunity and justice in Turn of the 20th Century Hawaii based upon ethnicity and wealth. Brennert’s narrative added to my appreciation of the 21st Century Islands (a place I truly love.) My next visit to The Islands will be more colorful and rich because of the narrative.
I was born one year before the fictional end of Brennert’s book. Since then I've witnessed the formation of the Civil Rights Movement, observed the passage of the Civil Rights Act, and seen most of the intent of the Equal Rights Amendment become the Status Quo.
Like many men of my generation, I cannot imagine being disappointed at the birth of a daughter or granddaughter, let alone feeling that I’d been somehow less “blessed” than my friends with many sons. (This does not mean that my son, sons-in-law and grandson are chopped liver. I enjoy their company immensely.)
Yet, while we live in a time of unprecedented opportunity for women, there are still men I know who are disappointed at the birth of a daughter, balk at working for a woman, and far too many who view women as less capable than men. Those feelings are foreign to me. Even in the Enlightened Western World, we cannot yet say that we’ve “arrived” in the Promised Land of Equality.
I adore my daughters and enjoy every moment I spend with them. They have always given me such joy. They are so bright, so full of life, so very delightful. They often feel differently about the same “facts” than I do. This has caused me to look at things very differently. My daughters have been great companions. There are few things I enjoy more than talking with them or listening to them converse with one another (especially if they don’t know I am listening.)
My daughters, and their daughters, have been a great and wonderful gift in my life and I shall truly enjoy getting to know Olivia just as I have enjoyed the company and personalities of her mother, aunts and cousins. I can already tell she is going to bless my life.
Honolulu is set in Hawaii in the first half of the 20th Century and tells the story of a Korean “Picture Bride” named Regret. Brennert characterizes the position of women in that place, culture and time as little more than the servants of men and mere receptacles for men’s pleasure and the birth of more men.
When I began reading his novel, I’d wondered if Brennert would be able to successfully navigate the perspective of the protagonist. Brennert is, after all, a 21st Century American male, of European descent, who did not grow up and does not live in The Islands. (For the same reasons, I’m not really capable of knowing how accurate he was.)
Brennert’s character development is satisfying. He delves successfully into the carefully controlled lives of his female Korean characters along with the differences in opportunity and justice in Turn of the 20th Century Hawaii based upon ethnicity and wealth. Brennert’s narrative added to my appreciation of the 21st Century Islands (a place I truly love.) My next visit to The Islands will be more colorful and rich because of the narrative.
I was born one year before the fictional end of Brennert’s book. Since then I've witnessed the formation of the Civil Rights Movement, observed the passage of the Civil Rights Act, and seen most of the intent of the Equal Rights Amendment become the Status Quo.
Like many men of my generation, I cannot imagine being disappointed at the birth of a daughter or granddaughter, let alone feeling that I’d been somehow less “blessed” than my friends with many sons. (This does not mean that my son, sons-in-law and grandson are chopped liver. I enjoy their company immensely.)
Yet, while we live in a time of unprecedented opportunity for women, there are still men I know who are disappointed at the birth of a daughter, balk at working for a woman, and far too many who view women as less capable than men. Those feelings are foreign to me. Even in the Enlightened Western World, we cannot yet say that we’ve “arrived” in the Promised Land of Equality.
I adore my daughters and enjoy every moment I spend with them. They have always given me such joy. They are so bright, so full of life, so very delightful. They often feel differently about the same “facts” than I do. This has caused me to look at things very differently. My daughters have been great companions. There are few things I enjoy more than talking with them or listening to them converse with one another (especially if they don’t know I am listening.)
My daughters, and their daughters, have been a great and wonderful gift in my life and I shall truly enjoy getting to know Olivia just as I have enjoyed the company and personalities of her mother, aunts and cousins. I can already tell she is going to bless my life.
Friday, February 5, 2010
While your wallet is open ...
The tragic events in Haiti continue to attract our attention. I hope that all of you within the "sound" of my electronic voice will not forget the homeless and needy in your own communities while you give so generously to those across the sea. Their needs have not diminished and it has been particularly cold so far this year.
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