Saving for what?

I have this habit of saving things for future use, even if I don't know what that use will be, or when. I don't know where it started but over the years I have saved clothes I don't wear, random equipment, and even food. I saved things that were perfectly fine by all stardards even though I didn't really have a use for them. I saved them because someday I might use them... Ever since college ended I have slightly been getting better and better about this. It started when I left my college dwelling and moved to Montana. I gave away almost everything that I couldn't take with me. I put somethings in storage, and took somethings to my parents house. (By the way, some of those things are still there.) It felt great to simplify my life, but there was a lot more to come. I learned a great lesson one year when my brother was in Afghanistan. When I was in college I worked at a golf course, which was one of my favorite jobs ever. I was always out on the course working and as a result I found lots and lots of golf balls. I saved them for my future use. I seperated them by value. The really expensive ones went into one box, and all the others went into the other. I never used the expensive ones, because I decided I wasn't a good enough golfer yet. I would save them until I could play well enough to really appreciate expensive balls. Years went by and the box went untouched, even though I personally valued them. They ended up on a shelf in my parents garage, waiting for the time down the road when I was a low handicap golfer. Or so I thought. I got a letter from my brother telling me about how he would hit golf balls off of a rocky cliff overlooking farm fields to pass his free time. He thanked me in the letter for the box of gof balls mom had sent him. I could sense some humor in his words. I thought mom had sent him the box of cheap balls??? Wrong. The expensive balls I had been saving were being flinged all over Afghanistan, and the balls I could care less about were waiting for me in my parents garage. I pictured my brother devilishly grinning as he whacked all the Callaway's and Pro-V's into oblivian. At the time I thought my mother sent the wrong box. I thought she should have sent the cheap balls instead. The more I thought about it the more I had to laugh at myself. I was saving them for something important, and I almost missed it. Looking back I could not think of a better reason for saving those golf balls, and I am so happy my mom sent the box of good ones to my brother instead. Since then I hardly hang on to anything I don't use. If I don't need it, I want some one to use it. Call it simplifying, but it feels great to know someone is going to appreciate and actually use what I didn't have an immediate need for. I am in the process of filling up a bin for The Salvation Army, and in it I have even put in some of my good cowboy boots. Even though they are important to me, they are just possesions. Its time for someone to put them to use again, afterall thats what I've been saving them for.

Back on the water

I'm going to get back out on the water today. The frozen stuff you have to drill holes in. I haven't fished for quite a while, or even really wanted to go. I am running out of fish in the freezer, so I need to go celebrate the fact that God loves me and made me a meat eater. Hopefully the fish will cooperate. Everytime I go ice fishing I think about the first time I can remember going. I was very little and probably a major pain in my dad's butt. However, I got to go anyway. I don't remember a lot about the day except that we went out on Hauser Lake with Great uncle John, and Grandpa. We had a pile of perch on the snow and ice and I was more interested in playing with them than trying to catch them. Uncle John even convinced me to kiss them. He told me that if I did they would come back to life. For some reason, I like to try this with my nephews and other kids too. Hmmm.

Letters from Home

Ever since I was a kid, I have been afraid of writing letters. Superstition at its best. The first letter I ever wrote when I was a kid, ( all by myself), was to my cousin Mark in Saudi Arabia. Shortly after that he was killed over there. For years I wouldn't even consider sending a letter, until my brother deployed to Iraq. I was scared that somehow the two actions were linked. I realize now how stupid that sounds, but fear and love are very, very powerful emotions that outrank reason. I finally forced myself to write to my brother. He came home safe, Thanks to God.
Mom has been writing to me ever since I moved away from home, and except for the first five or so letters, I think I have all of the rest of them. I wish more than anything that I would have kept them. I lost them somehow. Both the ignorance of my youth, and the shanty I lived in led to the loss. That was one of the most important times in my life, and my mother's. Those letters captured something that even a great memory couldn't glimpse at. It was also when 9-11-2001 took place. I will never forget that ever. The way the house I lived in smelled, my tiny room with hardwood floors, the hot September morning in Boise. My vagrant roommate running in to wake me up shouting, "Phelps wake up!!! They just bombed the pentagon!!!!!" The disbelief I felt when I watched the second plane fly into the second tower live on television. All of the events and aftermath that followed. I lost all of my mothers insights and observations from those tremendous events in our lives. Over the years my mother has continued to write to me. So much has changed and taken place it makes my world spin just to think about it. I have pieces of it captured in her letters. Someday my kids and grand kids will get to read them, and perhaps gain a special insight to our lives and our relationships. Even though we talk on the phone often, there is something immensely different and more personal about written word. News about the family and old friends, stories about my dad that reveal an unknown and unseen side of him. When I was lonely those letters connected me to my mother and family in a way that almost seemed to soothe my homesick heart. Letter writing truly is a lost art. I started this blog as an attempt to write to all who would wish to read my letters from home.

Hope and change

What is hope, really? I'm not sure. I think many people have some absurd definition in their minds that means all our dreams will come true and we will live happily ever after. I think hope is something we hang on to, knowing that the chances of success for what ever it is be slim, but possible. I have hopes, don't get me wrong. I hope my dad will quit smoking so he can hunt with me in the future. I hope for healthy babies. I hope for those in my family who struggle with other addictions. I also pray for these things, among others. I think hope and prayer aren't enough. For true change to happen, we need action and conviction. If we want to change something, we have to make a substantial effort. Almost always we need support from those whom we love and respect in order to accomplish that change. If we are comfortable, or content there is hardly any motivation internally to make anything happen. What we get is hot air. Something we are all familiar with. If we have others around us that we hope will change, we have to support them, even if it means changing ourselves. I stopped using tobacco to support my dad, I didn't tell him that though. Maybe I should. I have also tried to stop nagging, trust me negative reinforcement like this doesn't work. No One, two years old or eighty eight likes being told what to do. It makes us want to rebel. I think these things are universal with lots of problems. There are lots of things that we hope for. Hope is a good thing, even though the word has been hijacked and overused lately. The most important thing is that we can't confuse hope with a wish. Wishing gets us nowhere, hence the old addage "Crap in one hand and wish in the other. See which one fills up first." People wish all the time for unrealistic, and sometimes even negative things. Wishing is Hopeless. Hope is something we have to go after. Hope has to be realistic. We can't hope to win the lottery if we don't buy a ticket. That would be a wish. We have to buy lots and lots of tickets and invest our best efforts, learn to play the odds, and strategize on what numbers to play. Then maybe we will see a change.

One bathroom down

All the small details are finally finished. I think it turned out pretty nice.

Users

not knowing

I got a phone call tonight from an old friend, and immediately I knew something was wrong. I could sense a quiet pain in his voice, one I've heard before. He told me his dad had died last night... I didn't know what to say, and I felt nearly as helpless as he did. I wish there was something I could do for him, some way to comfort him. I can hardly imagine how he felt. His father had gone up to the cabin in a remote area and gotten his truck stuck, so he spent the night in the pickup. Sometime during the night he got up, probably to use the bathroom and he fell down an embankment. During the night he died. My heart broke for my friend and his family. I don't know how to reach out to him, I don't know what to do. All I could do was say how sorry I was, and that I would keep him in my prayers. There is a unique useless and helpless feeling I have right now.

Update

The bathroom is nearly finished. Grout goes on tomorow. I will post pics when its finished.

Chucky S.

When I was in High School and even Jr. High my mother used to listen to an evangelical preacher on the radio in the mornings. My room was near the end of the hall way right next to my mom's radio. She used to crack my door so I could hear Chuck, and I would wake up. The closer I got to graduating the higher the volume went, and the wider the crack in the door. My only act of defiance was to jump up and close the door, but a hollow-core doesn't really do much to block the sound. I was awake and soon even paying attention to the sermon. When I moved away for college, I forgot about Chuck. So much had changed that I hardly even noticed. Years went by before I heard his voice again, or even thought of him. My mom had stopped listening to him as well. A few more years went by and all of our lives changed. A while back I found myself driving across Montana bouncing between places to work, and maybe sleep. I was feeling alone for the first time in my life. I had just spent a few days in the wilderness by myself, utter solitude except for the company of my horse and some mules. For the first time in my life, I was completely alone, and for the first time I truly felt lonely. I even spoke to the stock as though they were listening. After I got out and around other people my spirits didn't raise much. I had been doing some "hard living" and found myself surrounded by hollow strangers who could really care less about me. We were all just in it for a good time. I fought back the only way I knew I could, by immersing myself in the confusion that temporarily soothed my lonely, lost heart. It wasn't long before I hit rock-bottom. Just like the saying, you know it when you're there. I sobered up in the middle the Idaho high plains south of the towering mountains. Land that looked as barren and miserable as I felt. I broke down and started to cry, thinking about the downward spiral of my decisions. I knew this was not the life I wanted. I put my forehead on the steering wheel and prayed for help. When I regained my composure I pulled back on to the the two lane and headed east. I turned the radio on and hit the seek button, and through the static came a hauntingly familiar voice. One I hadn't heard in a very long time. It was Chuck. For the first time in a while a sober and genuine smile came to my face. With the familiar voice came familiar feelings and memories of my mother and my past. I didn't feel lonely anymore, and a tiny spark of hope hit me that I could pull myself out of the tailspin.

27 and counting

I'm 27 today. Big Deal. I appreciate all the calls and birthday wishes from my friends and family, it really does feel nice. My nephews and nieces called me and sang to me today as they do every year. Though, each year their song becomes a little more derogatory. It started out that I looked like a monkey etc. Now I "look like a pig and smell like one too." I am terrified to know what I will look and smell like next year.

Time on the move

Tomorrow I will be 27 years old. It doesn't sound right, but it is because I did the math a few times already to make sure. It seems like I was twenty one just a couple years ago... Holy cats. I remember when I turned twenty one. I was cutting weight at the rec. center at BSU. I was running on the treadmill in the morning before practice, and after. I weighed about 205 and had two days before I had to make weight in Havre, Mt at 184lbs. All I wanted to do, was anything but make weight and wrestle. I wanted to be like all my buddies and party on my birthday. It didn't happen, instead I made myself miserable by not doing a better job of controlling my weight. I was having a hard time with it anyway, but my immaturity was compounding the issue. I wasted a season like that. I had a lot of losses I shouldn't of had, including my match up in Havre. I dwelled on cutting weight, instead of being a man and owning up to the decision I had made. I lost sight of what was really important, getting better. Instead of celebrating some great victories, I threw myself a pity party. I Thank God that I was able to overcome that back step in my life. I learned a life lesson, and took a step forward. It didn't seem that long ago when I started writing this, but looking back it feels like I have aged tremendously from who I was back then.

Success!!!!

Finally. I started trapping this year and haven't had any success, until today. I caught this beautiful Bobcat in a snare, and it has made my day to say the least. Hopefully there wil be more to come. I didn't know squat about trapping when the season began, my buddy and I decided to learn together this year. We got one in the books, but I guess were not quite official yet. At least we arent' the Elmer Fudds of the trapping world anymore.

deep thoughts from number 2

If you look closely at the arrow on the sign, it is pretty funny, and true. To all of those who don't know, this is the latrine sign from Lower Scotty Allen camp ground on The Smith River. My boss Mike Geary said it is like taking "the Eco-Challenge" so you better go before you really have to go. Last year my friend Ben came down from the latrine and said he saw "a mountain goat, the abominable snow man, and waved at the pilot in the jet when he flew by." The latrine may not be that high up, but it is in one heck of a cool place and a pretty good hike. One of my favorite places to sit and think. I know, I know, it's a guy thing, but probably only because we don't have to eat special yogurt to go every day. I remember the last time I was up on this latrine, I was thinking about my buddies from college and what they were doing at that very instant. I was "working" on the Smith, they were actually working. Sitting in an office building talking on the phone or staring at a computer screen, "Driving the wheels of the economy". I thought about how much life can change, and how awesome college really was. I thought about how much had changed since I lived in the "Townhouse" with Sam and Randy, then with Sam and Corey. I thought about all the great parties we had in the back yard, and all the funny conversations we had on the old green couches. So many memories came back rapidly, all I could do was smile and hope my buddies were having as good of a day as I was. Hard to imagine though, I was having a great cup of coffee from a french press doing "number two" in the middle of one of the prettiest rivers drainages in Montana, all while getting paid. How the hell did I end up here?

tying flies and day dreaming

I realize how fortunate I am every morning when I wake up in a warm bed, next to a beautiful woman (That I'm actually married to.) There were times in my life when I didn't have a place to go to sleep everynight. I would pull my truck over and roll out my sleeping bag on some dirt road off of the beaten path, look up at the stars on a clear night, or my trucks undercarriage when it would rain. If it rained hard enough I would bunch up inside the cab and think about my friends and family, and pray they were safe and well. Most of the time I had a few libations to help me relax. I never worried about myself. If I had a full belly and a full tank of gas I thought I was the richest man on the planet, because I was truly free. Maybe that is why I like the song "Amarillo by Morning" soo much. I kinda lived it for a while. Hard to believe how much things change so quickly. Now I have a home and a wife and responsibilities, but some how I still feel freedom. I have been very fortunate so far in my life, I have never truly been in need. When I was in my nomadic stage, it was by my choice and my decisions. I thank the Lord that I am not living on the road, down on my luck, and in need. I try very hard not to take that for granted. Today I sat in my office tying flies and day dreaming about what the future holds for my wife and I. Life really is a wonderful thing, and I am a lucky man. I hope I never ever forget that.

watching paint dry

I would be done with the makeover if paint dryed at a quicker rate, so here I wait. Got most of the painting done, and the light fixtures are in, and now just waiting for the doors to dry. Then I can put on the new counter top and backsplash. I can't wait for it to be done.

Eddie and the cruisers

I just watched the movie, "Eddie and The Cruisers". I haven't seen it since I was about eight or nine (I think). I had to laugh because the first thing I thought of was my mom. I remember when she used to teach aerobics classes in our basement, decked out in full 80's attire. I always hear songs that remind me of that time, especially anything by Rod the Bod. I really loved the theme song from Eddie and The Cruisers, and I used to pretend I was a rock singer when "On the Dark Side", by John Cafferty and The Beaver Brown Band would come on. In fact I still love that song. It takes me back to being a little kid when my brothers and I would screw around and dream big in our basement, living room, back yard etc. We usually had a blast for about fifteen or twenty minutes until a fight broke out, then Mom came to clean up the mess. Sorry Mom.

Bathroom makeover

Lena and I decided this morning that we are going to redo our vanity and cabinet in our bathroom. It used to look pretty "Trailer park" with the cheap cabinets, white countertop, and light purple tile. The mirror trim and Light fixture needs work too. The rest of the bathroom is pretty awesome, but the whole thing needs to match. Today We took apart the vanity, removed the sink, and chipped away the counter-top. The last two made me swear repeatedly and left me with three bloody knuckles. We also primed the cabinets and trim. Tomorow I tackle the rest.

People who change our lives

Chris Owens. One of the many coaches that I've had throughout my life, and one I will never forget. I met "Coach O" when I was fifteen and he became an instant hero. Like me he was from Idaho, and loved to hunt and fish. He was the first four-time, undefeated state champion in wrestling. He then went on to Oklahoma State University and became a National Finalist and All-American. His career was cut short by injury and illness, never to capture his goal of a national championship. I truly believe this hardship formed him into the self-less, energetic, and unbelievably knowledgeable coach that he is. Coach O told me once, "I get more enjoyment helping other people reach their goals than I ever got from accomplishing my own." The first thing you should know after this statement is how extremely dedicated he was to his own goals, his record speaks for itself. I not only look up to him as an athlete, but as a person. I am overwhelmed thinking about how much time and energy that he put into me, I can hardly imagine when it comes to all the kids he has coached throughout the years. It is hard not to compare my self to him when I think about my own coaching career. I always think back to the way he handled things, and continue to draw on his experience for advice. One of my goals as a coach is to try and have a positive influence on every kid that I come into contact with. I believe it is the most important thing I can try to do. I feel that there is too much pressure from our world to be winners no matter the cost. Luckily I was never brought up by parents, or coaches like this. I would like to personally like to thank everyone of them for that. Life is all about relationships, and respect (or lack thereof). Coach O was a positive influence in my life, not just in wrestling. He helped me when I was having a tough time dealing with problems in my family. We hunted and fished together, and was always reachable no matter what. I will never forget my last collegiate tournament, NCAA's my senior year. I lost in the quarter finals and came back to the round of twelve. Only the top eight of the tournament reached All-American. I lost a close match to the eventual third place finisher, someone I had beaten earlier that year. I truly felt that I wrestled as hard as I could have, so I shook his hand and walked off the mat with my head held high. Coach O and Coach Randall followed me down the empty tunnel beneath the stands. When the magnitude of the situation finally hit me, I crumbled. I broke down and started crying. A goal that I had spent years training for and thinking about daily, had barely escaped my grasp. It was over. No team to help carry the weight of the fall, it was up to me and I had failed. No one said a word. Coach O cried with me, and embraced me. Coach Randall stood by my side. All three of us in silence, fully understanding the moment. I will never forget the way that felt. I knew when my heart broke theirs did too. I truly understood how much they cared about me, and I still get emotional thinking back. I know for a fact that this moment changed my whole experience, because a lot of coaches would not have done as they did. Athletics shaped my life, especially wrestling. I would not be the same person had I come into contact with all those I've met through the sport. Especially Coach O. I hope I can have a positive impact on my wrestlers lives like he has had on mine.

Heat wave

Its fifteen degrees below zero this morning. I'm going to go out in it and hunt coyotes. I can't stay inside any longer without doing damage to my self or my house. It's days like this that I really appreciate a thermos with hot coffee. I still wouldn't trade where I live for all the tea in China.

Pavlov and me

I feel like a dog being trained with a shock-collar. I am afraid to touch door knobs, light switches, and My Wife. I am getting really sick of being shocked all the time. No, it doesn't really hurt but it is annoying the heck out of me. I really don't enjoy getting shocked in the lips, so I am very cautious when I kiss my wife now. I even touch door knobs with my knee first because the static shock doesn't bother me anywhere but my fingers and lips. The cold dry air makes the situation worse. -20 last night, not getting any better for a while. I'm over it.

Old School Barber shops

I really miss the old school barber shops, something straight out of the 1950's where you come in sit down and your barber starts cutting your hair without even asking your take on the subject. Instead he talks about some local jab, like the high school sports scene, or something more personal like this years hunting season. I remember where I used to get my hair cut as a kid, by Gene in Hayden Lake, Idaho. Old fashioned barber pole outside, a couple chairs inside hardly ever vacant, and a couple old couches surrounded by Time magazines and Outdoor Life. Even though it wasn't that long ago, there were still ash trays freshly used. No crap though, no People or any other tabloid like magazine. I used to like getting a "Flat top", and if it was summer Dad would let me and my brothers get "racing stripes" on the sides. I still remember the black and white picture that used to hang on the wall above the chair. It was a photo of Gene when he was young sitting on an old "Chopper" with long forks and custom handle bars. He looked kinda like James Dean, slick dark hair, white t-shirt with his smokes rolled in one sleeve, and a rebel smile. I used to study the way he would sharpen his razor on the strip that hung from the chair. I can still remember the feel of the hot foam on the back of my neck, and the way I nervously anticipated the first stroke of the freshly edged razor. Gene is gone now along with that barber shop, and slowly but surely the "flat top" is on its way too. Some things really were better then.

Looking Back

I am constantly amazed with life. A few years ago I never thought that I would wan't to get married, or find someone I wanted to marry. That all changed at a "Live at Five" in Helena Montana. It seemed one minute I was sweating on the fence line and the next... I can hardly remember.
Its kinda scary to think that I am approaching adulthood, though I still don't want to be a grown-up. My wife makes me want to be a better person, and she doesn't even know it. I love her for that.

Winter Mornings

I find it difficult to get out of bed in the winter. I don't know if it is because of the lack of sunlight, or the lack of motivation. I don't have much to do these days, which may have something to do with my laziness. I lay in bed when my wife gets up, (rarely does she ever get up before me), half asleep and feeling dull. I don't like to sit idle, unless it is back home on my parents couch, and even that has its limits. A summer sunrise and a winter sunrise are very different, but I enjoy them both, especially in the high-country. The biggest difference is the solitude of the winter. The song birds are gone along with the insects and the quiet of a winter morning can be felt. The only noises heard are the occasional cracks and groans of the trees, small gusts of wind moving up the frozen draws rustling what few leaves remain on the aspens. Crows and Magpies cruise the sky, looking for things that used to make noise. I can find little happiness in these creatures. The pink hue of first light on the snow fields is what brings a feeling of life to the darkest months of winter. Like an old solitary bull, we all patiently wait for the spring.