The Graduate

Hopefully everyone has gone through some sort of graduation ritual or process, either themselves, their kids or relatives.  My stepson, Forrest, graduated from high school May 26, 2010.  We are all proud of him that he made it through remarkably, as far as we know, unscathed.  No bad grades.  No bad attitude.  No bad girlfriends.  That last one might be a stretch.

Initially I was going to be clever, or try to be, and take images and /or dialogue from the coming-of-age flick, "The Graduate", and correlate it with Forrest's various steps through this learning process.  I stopped after realizing that there really wasn't anything clever to write about.  I hate trying to be clever.  Then, I tried using the symbolic vehicle of a seed growing upward toward  treehood in this immense forest.  Comparing his name with the trees and such.  I hate trying to be symbolic.  That didn't turn out so hot, either.

I came to the realization that making fun of graduation is not fun.  It is serious business, at least to these kids.  The public school of choice that Forrest attended is The Rocky Mountain School of Expeditionary Learning in Denver.  RMSEL (pronounced Rem-Zill) had a graduating class of 23 this year.  It was tight-knit group with a communal aspect.  Not hippie communal but a community that involved learning expeditions such as Outward Bound-type survival trips or studying ancient ruins by tracking what the various cultures encountered in their time.  The total population of this K-12 learning center is around 300 with very little fluctuation in number.  One intriguing aspect was a semi-annual 'showcase' that features the students expressing their various electives such as dance, poetry, music or comedy.  Very entertaining for all the parents and friends.  And the students.

RMSEL's mission statement is "to empower students and staff to be learners, thinkers, citizens and explorers engaged in and inspired by the real world.  We are crew not passengers."  That says it all.  Conscious of our environment, conscious of society's strengths and weaknesses and engaging all this with future focus, has been an eye-opener for me.

Graduation was a chance for the crew leaders (teachers) to individually address each student on a personal level and express what each student meant to that teacher.  Very emotional and inspiring.  Inspiring in a world of educational turmoil.  This school is a breath of rejuvenated air.

Forrest will take this experience with him and use it wisely and worldly.  Thinking small on a community level and bringing it to a global level is the key.  These future leaders have been given a chance to think small but act large.  All RMSELians carried a unique swagger reflecting their own personalities as they accepted their diplomas.  I am proud to have experienced and interacted with a great bunch of kids.  The ability to think outside the box, leadership and mentoring relationships and to communicate intelligently, will serve Forrest and these graduates immensely.  Congratulations Forrest and we are looking forward to another learning year with Blake who will be graduating next year from RMSEL.

FORREST WILLIAM LAMBERT
Class Of 2010

The Gymnasium

Going to the gym for over 20 years has produced some interesting results for me.  I think, and hope, it has been beneficial to my overall health and state of mind.  Friends of mine that don't work out think that I go there to flex and pose in front of mirrors. Ya, that's one of the reasons I keep going: to ogle myself and really love me.  Now, don't get me wrong, you really do need some mirrors, though.  Seeing yourself  in the mirror when you're pumping iron (for me, aluminum), helps you see your form on any given exercise.  And form is very important to achieve the maximum results.  You don't want to go out and pull your Achilles tendon or tweak your thingamajig. 

When I was single for most of those 20 years, it was entertaining to watch the skimpy gym attire and the girls that were poured into them.  Some weren't so entertaining.   Glancing in the mirror as they strut by, gave you a chance to not look like a sexual deviant or stalker.  And complimenting them on their hard work and sweat, you could get away with some close contact.  Until, of course, one of them took it wrong and accidentally (?) dropped a 10 lb. dumbbell on some dumbbell's foot and they had to go to the emergency room with fractured toes and fractured ego and had to explain it to their boss.  I only heard about that one as the story circulated around the gym.

  Getting dates was a priority for some, but my main purpose was to add some muscle onto my skinny frame.  And I did.  It took rigorous lifting, a sensible diet and the realization it wouldn't happen overnight.  It took me several years to put on just two pounds of bulk.  And a lot of hard work.

For all the people that don't have the self-motivation, there are trainers.  A word of advice : they can be expensive with no guaranteed results.  It comes down to you and your perseverance.  Enjoying the gym is a big factor.  What's not to enjoy with all the self-ogling going on?  I recommend it to anyone who wants to learn about their body and have the time and energy to do so.  And it's never too late to start.  Some great results can change your life and enrich it beyond the "looking good" aspect.  No, I didn't become some famous bodybuilder that is pushing his supplements or knows somebody that knows somebody who knows Barry Bonds.  (This is starting to sound like a PSA.)

My results of going to the gym are twofold.  One is the healthy lifestyle.  But Two is the biggie :  meeting the most beautiful, the most intelligent, the most caring, the most zany and the most compassionate (and passionate) woman I have ever been lucky enough to meet.  At the gym.  And that is, Laura Bell, my wife, my heart, my soul. 

I still go to the gym religiously to keep in shape physically and mentally.  This is essential for the "old man" to keep up with his "young lady".  Ogling is still a pastime of mine but now I only ogle Laura.  And I think she still ogles me.  Well, glance maybe.  And dropping weights on each other is definitely a no-no.  Way too much pain.  And no gain.

This is a humongous world wide web shout-out to Laura : my life-partner and muse extraordinaire.  I love ya,

baby.

Winter VS. Summer : FISHING

As a former Minnesotan, I am an avid survivalist.  I have survived 80 below zero and army ant invasions.  I have survived the outdoors and the indoors.  I have survived eating lutefisk and drinking snowshoe grog.  I have survived camping trips and all other trips involving moving vehicles.  I think I have survived.  Here are two contrasting seasons that separate the men from the women.  And usually the women out-survive the men.

WINTER
In winter, all 10 million lakes in the state are frozen to unbelievable depths.  The fish usually have to survive on the bottom eating discarded junk from humanity.  Bottles, boots, tires and fishing lures turn up in the stomachs of these fish that desperately want to get caught so they are relieved of all the crap they have tried to digest. These gillies (little-known term for fish) get fished for even in the winter by gillers (little-known term for fishermen and fisherwomen) in a sport called, surprise, ice fishing.  And you thought it would be ice gilling, didn't you?  Now, I know everybody has heard of ice fishing, except maybe those that don't have ice nor fish in their environment.  They probably are better off not knowing because the sport is quite ludicrous.  My few times ice fishing were a dream come true, though.  Maybe to some a nightmare, true.  But to me, well it's all the same.  Being hearty souls that we are, lineage probably from the Arctic Circle or Neptune, we could endure walking onto a lake with bitter winds that immediately freeze your eyelids.  Hopefully open, because you need to see any stray open gill hole and falling into the murky, frozen water would be just another day on the lakes.  And a little annoying.

Bringing an auger, fishing poles, food with live bait, beverages and the intellect of the dodo, we cheerfully find our spot.  Out in the open.  No high-tech wind screen and no icehouse like Norv Norkoven.  Norv, legend has it, lives on the lake all year long.  We don't know how he does it.  Nor do we care.  He's just plain kookoo.  But a survivor.

As the auger slams onto the surface, which feels like a frozen diamond field, my fellow giller looks at me.  I can't tell if his eyes are frozen over; he kind of flutters his eyes and gives me the thumb up.  At least I think it was his thumb.  I can hardly keep my eyes from freezing shut as the wind picks up.  We both grab the 85 pound Ace Hardware Super Titanium-tipped Auger Deluxe model # 9 and go to town.  Not literally, but of course that's where my mind is.  After several brutal minutes, which seemed like hours, even days, we take a break.  A couple more yards to go and we break through the first of nine layers.  In my opinion, lighting a fire and letting it burn a hole sounds extremely enticing.  And warm.

Finally the gill hole is there.  A window to an underwater playground - undulating organics, floating organics, undulating, floating pieces of inorganic rubber boot.  And the gillies!  Look at them!  They are, wait, where are they?  There!  There is a silverfish!  No, those we only find by our furnaces that frightfully and translucently scurry away onto your bare foot and up your leg!  No, that's not a silverfish.  The fish is, well, silver but no bigger than a sardine.  Then I look closer.  My fellow dodo has dropped our live bait, minnows, into our portal.  They remained there for awhile, as if frozen (imagine that) in time.  We hurriedly brought our poles to the ready, with lures attached, and proceeded to catch our limit.  Now I don't know what the limit for bait was but it had to be about 20.  Ten each.  We proudly called it a day.  A very successful day.  Our limit (?) in only a few minutes.  A legend was born.  Take that Norv.

SUMMER
And summer fishing?  Do you actually think survivors like us prefer to fish from a trolling boat along a glass-like surface or on a sandy shoreline with gentle waves lapping onto our feet or sitting on a dock, lazily watching our line in the still of the near-evening?  I mean mosquitos big as Arne Lundquist's head swarm, the sun burning and the leeches.  Oh, those slimy, squirmy, tar-black leeches stuck to your feet and legs, sucking your blood slowly from your body, get the salt, quick, losing consciousness, waking up on an ice floe?  What?  Recovering in Norv's icehouse on the lake, I firmly declared that this is how survivors survive.  Now, could you pass me that Jasmine tea?