Laughing Wolf

Saturday, June 30, 2007

To Any Readers I Have Left In GB

To those in England, Wales, and Scotland:  Stand to, check six, and please be careful out there. 

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Anyone But Lugar

I didn’t have much respect for him before moving up here; and, after having lived in Indiana for several years now, I have none.  When it comes to the global war on terror, he is not only ignorant but woefully and willfully uninformed.  When it comes to illegal immigration, well, he sure wasn’t representing me or the vast majority of his constituents.  Which brings up two points:

1.  Anyone up for a recall election? 
2.  Anyone who wants to run against him, be you Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, or anything else, let me know and I will be glad to cover you and your campaign.  Not saying I will be nice, but I will be glad to discuss you and your position on the issues without ever once mentioning the hack. 

LW

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Rob

Jim at Parkway Rest Stop notes that it’s been a year.  Hard to believe.  I didn’t get to meet him in person but once, and that for far too short a time, but am damn glad I did.  Rob gave me a lot of encouragement (and some grief) via comments and e-mails, something that means even more than it did at the time—and that was a lot even then.  You are missed. 

LW

Off The Wagon

I’ve been really good about the extreme low fat diet the doc put me on for the experiment.  I have been wondering what would make a great splurge one day, and had debated pizza, prime rib, and a number of other delights.  Well, I will have to wait a while for another splurge for last night I was taken out to dinner at the Rathskeller in Indianapolis.  Nothing that fit the extreme low fat on the menu, so I splurged with a delicious beef rouladen, spaetzle, sauerkraut, and a sneak of some excellent sausage.  In six weeks, I can consider going off the wagon again…

LW

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Goals

To answer a question:  What are my goals for working out? 

What they are not:  Weight and inches. 

While I have some general goals in terms of my waist, my main goal is to simply get back in shape.  Weight is not a good goal for anyone, IMO; and inches can be an illusion of a different sort.  It is very easy to lose both inches and weight, and still be in lousy shape.  What I want to do is:

1.  Get the lowest possible percentage of body fat I can
2.  Build some significant upper body strength; and, in so doing, rebuild and safeguard my shoulders and upper back. 
3.  Improve overall muscle tone and strength
4.  Maintain and improve flexibility, range of motion, and balance
5.  In so doing, improve cardio conditioning and kick my metabolism back towards what it was when I was around 20

Ultimately, I would like to be able to pick up a 100 pound pack and easily cover 20 or more miles in a day, at somewhere around 10,000 feet ASL.  Oh, and have a resting pulse of about 50 and blood pressure on the low end even when stressed. 

LW

Yes, I Know

I promised more soon.  Even as we type, the Phin-ny one is hard at work getting things done and ready.  Sure of it I am…

Meantime, things are hectic here.  On the good news to share front, my getting back into working out is going well.  Despite what some may think (Hi Tammi!), I truly have been taking it slow and careful—more so that I cared for.  It has been paying off, however, and yesterday I met with an expert to review the workout, check form, and make suggestions so that it can be changed about. 

There were a number of complements on various forms and what had been done, including the starting slow and building.  There was one routine removed with an admonition that I am never to do it again (just because a doctor said so… grumble), and another was taken away because they had something else in mind.  That was part of almost ten new exercises that were given to me instead.  Several new free weight exercises designed to work some specific (and small even) muscle groups, and several new free-motion and machine exercises to work even more.  The workout is now being split, with upper body three days a week (helping continue/finish rebuilding the shoulder) and lower body on two, along with continuing a class I am taking during lunch one day a week.  I am doing the elliptical trainer (Precor, yes!) four days a week, and may continue to do an hour on it for two of those days, but that may change based on how the split of the workout goes.  I may well start to “max out” on the elliptical in the next few weeks, and if so I may end up wearing a weighted backpack to get more out of it.  I’ve been cleared to start adding weight to some things, and—if all goes well—at the end of July weights can go up on all.  Somewhere towards the end of August or early September, we will review again and see what and how to change up.  Damn it feels good to be able to work out again… Need to remember to buy stock in Bayer/Aleeve…

We also have finally gotten some rain.  I am sure Jenny is unamused, but it is the first in several weeks.  We have been almost six weeks I think without any significant rainfall.  Today’s really wasn’t significant, in my book at least, but it was needed and might make a good start.  Am hoping it is enough to save the garden, as I am no longer watering as water levels drop—including the level in my well.  Even with roof and other issues, I would love to get two to three days of soaking (light but steady) rain. 

More soon, and the changes really are coming. 

LW

Sunday, June 17, 2007

A Father’s Day Gift

This Father’s Day morn finds me somewhat contemplative as I sit here with my cup of coffee.  The weekend has not been as planned, and I am reminded once again that such is oft a good thing.  Planning is a good and necessary thing, but all plans must allow for the fact that life happens—and so does death. 

Yesterday I had planned to attend a funeral, or rather, three funerals held together.  We gathered at the gravesites to say our goodbyes.  Unlike most funerals, the bodies were simply in their shrouds.  The shrouds were pulled back for a short time, so that people could come over, touch, and say goodbye to each of the departed.  Some of us tucked grave goods in under the shrouds, an offering to go with them on that journey.  Then, J gamely climbed down into the graves; and, then friends in life closed the shrouds and carried the dead to the grave one at a time, giving J time to move as needed. 

The service is/was a thing I do admire.  Those that knew the departed longest start by speaking of them, telling tales and sharing fond memories.  It is a time in which laughter can and should come to go with the “remember the time when’s” that go around.  Tears, yes, and a lot of sniffles as memories are shared between those young and old in friendship.  Flowers, mostly hand-picked from yards and gardens of those present, are then dropped in on top of the shrouds.  Then, those that knew the departed longest, were closest to them, take up a spade, and tenderly begin the process of filling the grave.  Each person there takes that turn, and once there is a sufficient cover, the shovelling increases in pace until the grave is full and a mound remains under the open sky. 

I can’t help but think of my father’s funeral.  It was graveside too.  As he wanted, as we discussed, it was short and sweet.  Mostly a military funeral, with the preacher keeping his extemporaneous words to a minimum.  Maybe he did indeed know of the pact Dad and I had made years before, and renewed just recently before his death, of how a preacher who did not do so was to be dealt with.  The preacher knew I was on edge, for I had to be the strong one, the one to organize, take care of things, and deal with all the family politics so that things would go as smoothly as they could.  For I did not trust some to honor that time, and still feel I was wise not to do so.  It was hard having to deal with Dad’s funeral, and harder still not being able to truly make it my focus.  Afterwards, we did go and share memories, but again I managed and directed.  In many respects, that was not a bad thing, for it allowed me to cope in a different way, and kept me busy. 

Staying busy at such times works for me.  It is also a way to honor those gone.  Taking care of details, of seeing to it that jobs are done right, of taking the time to do some of them myself—that is a good final gift to give to someone. 

I think Dad would have liked some of the simplicity of yesterday’s services.  He refused to pick out a casket, telling me instead that he would be quite happy in a simple shroud, a blanket as so many of his fellow Marines were given where they fell on those remote Pacific islands.  He would have appreciated and approved of the simple shrouds yesterday, though I know of one time where he took out his tools and built a casket for one who was gone.  It was his way to deal with the grief, and to provide such for one who was unable to build in advance or afford when gone. 

The telling of tales is an old family tradition, particularly on Dad’s side.  I can’t remember how many times we gathered in the kitchen of the sole remaining family home, one almost as old as this country, to swap the tales and share the laughter.  To celebrate a life. 

I think Dad might have snorted a bit at some of the grave goods, for why waste such was his thought.  He told me flat out years ago that he was NOT going to pickle me in brandy a la Nelson because he was not going to waste good brandy.  He would drink good brandy at my passing, but not throw it away into a grave.  Yet, I seem to remember one time when he placed a grave good with a friend who had passed… I think he would have nodded and agreed with the single flower, and clump of bison fur I placed within the shroud. 

D and I carried Tatanka to his grave.  We lowered him down, and J took him the rest of the way, carefully and respectfully placing him on the straw that covered the bottom.  He lies next to Kawani, companion in life, and the two of them lie not far from Seneca, mighty hunter and even better opener of gates. 

When I was first brought into the Wolf Park family, I was invited (Shanghaied?) to a get together at Monty’s.  Other than Monty, and I think G and P, I can’t tell you who was there except for Tatanka, Kawani, and the Raphael.  Tatanka was quite impressive, and is the only true wolf-dog hybrid (I swear I think I could make a mint passing off Chihuahuas as wolf-dog hybrids) I have ever liked and trusted.  He and I agreed on large crowds (like not).  He had a tendency to food guard, loved to eat, and appreciated the fact that the main table for the food was shoulder high to him… Thank goodness Jenny doesn’t food guard the refrigerator as Tatanka was known to do on occasion.  He would come greet, encourage a certain amount of skritching and grooming, and then move off.  Companionable, and not demanding.  Kawani and the Raffish one, what can one say about two such retiring types (cough, choke, wheeze).  Now, only Raff remains of that group, joined by Chumley who adores Jenny. 

Seneca was a wolf I never met except through a fence.  He truly was a mighty hunter, and gave some of the most exciting wolf-bison demos.  He managed more than once to “get” a calf, at least until Mom realized what was going on and intervened.  He also had a sense of humor, and one time he truly “got” a calf.  He did a careful stalk, got up close, and leaped up at the calf’s face—and licked it on the nose.  I swear he laughed, calling out “Gotcha!” I thought one day that he was going to leap up into P’s arms during a demo.  There was a very aggressive bison cow at the time, who had all the humans in the field either in the truck or treed—literally as P and G (I think) were up on top of a large rootball for safety.  The cow was chasing the wolves, and pushing Seneca hard—and I saw him look up at P and appear to seriously contemplate leaping up into her arms for safety (Mommy save me!  That cow’s mad!).  He didn’t, but I think it was a near run thing.  He also was extremely good at opening gates, and developed a novel method of telling one and all that the wolf-bison demo was over:  he would leap some eight to ten feet in the air to grab a rope, pull it with his weight and give a twist and kick—to open the large gate to the bison corral.  Inside, the bison watering trough/tank made a dandy wolf wading/swimming pool on a hot day, and he and the other wolves would go indulge themselves.  While he was one of our more interesting residents, he did have a soft spot for those he considered special.  One day, the former managing director of the park was in the pond cleaning out the overflow pipe, and he was clearly unhappy with this.  A reached out a hand towards him, to reassure, and Seneca took his paw and pulled it closer—and then carefully took A’s thumb and pulled them up onto the bank.  He then got huffy when A insisted on going back in to finish the job, sort of a “if you’re that stupid” thing, and stalked off in his huff. 

I ended up going in with some of the wolves afterwards, de-stressing and getting a duckweed shower, before joining the rest of the family at a local establishment for lunch and some liquid refreshment.  While I had plans and a schedule for the day, I chunked them and went back out to the Park for the day.  Work and a side project have caused me to take a leave of absence from my duties there, but they were sore shorthanded for the day, and I decided both to stay busy and take some time to do some things myself, and for myself.  I enjoy giving tours, and telling the tales, so decided to tell some.  To share a bit about my friends, to craft some words myself to give so that others might take them away as part of a memory and of understanding.  For the wolves, dogs, foxes, and other canids are not the romanticized creatures of Hollywood, myth, and eco-myth.  They are complex and interesting creatures—far more so than some humans I’ve met—and defy stereotyping:  just as do humans.  The largest difference between my canid/feline/other four-legged friends and humans is that I do trust the former—to be themselves.  I trust them to act upon their natures, no more and no less.  I know that some know me and that we have a good relationship; and, that they will bite me in a heartbeat were I to transgress socially or act so as to presume that relationship is more than it is. 

I will miss watching Seneca hunt.  I will miss skrtiching and petting Kawani.  I will miss Tonks coming up and carefully greeting, and asking me if I had food.  I will miss watching him check to see if anyone was looking before trying to make his way down one side of the table before anyone noticed…

Sad, yes, in part; but, my day yesterday was richer than anticipated for the memories, and the reminders.  Reminders not merely of them, or even of my own father’s funeral.  Rather, reminders of the times with Dad where we thought, talked, and shared.  Memories of him laughing, grieving, and doing.  Memories not just of him building a casket with his own hands, but memories and the realization that he built a foundation of thought, knowledge, and ethics with and for me. 

Those are the true memories of Father’s Day.  Not the death, not the funeral, not the politics—the life.  The craftsmanship of that life, and of the legacy and foundation he built for me.  That is my Father’s Day gift from him, and one I share with you.  A very special gift from my Dad, and from friends.  Thanks Dad.  Thank you my friends. 

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Want To Know Why

The legal system and those in it oft are scorned and distrusted by “average” citizens?  Read this.  I’ve been meaning to comment on it for a while, and could go into a long discussion of why the legal system is failing the republic, and is a legal system rather than a justice system, but I’m tired and time is short. 

So, will keep this short and sweet.  Did someone hurt of kill their dog?  No.  Did someone screw their significant other?  No.  Fire them, reposess their home, and sell their kids?  No.  It’s a pair of pants for Ifni’s sake.  Even if custom tailored overseas and with allowance for travel and even distress, you’re still only talking $5k max.  $54 million?  Someone needs to take this self-absorbed narcissistic boor out and b***h slap them hard and long and then send them back to kindergarten to grow the f**k up. 

LW

Monday, June 11, 2007

Changes Coming Soon

Really.  I mean it this time.  Honest!

LW

Content copyright C. Blake Powers and the individual authors. Comments become the property of C. Blake Powers and may be altered, edited, deleted, and used by C. Blake Powers or the individual authors without restriction or recompense.