Opps! I meant to do that.

One of my martial arts friends posted a picture of him practicing with a katana, a Japanese sword, in his living room. Reminded me of the many times I did the same.

Training! To learn you must practice and when there was no place else I would move the furniture and practice in the living room - I did this at least a hundred times... with a wood sword, with a practice swords and at times with real steel.

I tried to be careful, that is the goal of discipline but at times my enthusiasm got the best of me and something got hit. I put a couple of dents in the ceiling and wall. Cut into a lamp shade once with a real sword... opps, I wasn't married at the time so didn't have to admit that to anyone.

There are two great stories about swords in the living room, the first was in the early 1980s. It was mid summer, a Saturday, a warm day, all the windows were open and the light drapes floated in the breeze. I was wearing a light cotton yukata with shorts, summer wear in Japan. I had just purchased a real Japanese sword, a gunto, a sword manufactured in the 1940s for use by officers during World War II just a few days previous. I had the sword on a low coffee table and had sword books spread across the table. I had a notebook with notes about the length of the various components and the various features.

And there comes a knock, knock, knock, on the screen door.

I get up and walk barefoot to the door, there standing a young man, well dressed with a brief case. He says he is an insurance salesman. I try to dismiss him, but he is persistent so I give in and invite him in. I invite him to sit down on the sofa and I walk over on the other side of the coffee table and kneel down Japanese style, which I sit in quite normally. The young salesman begins his canned lecture about the different kinds of accident insurance that he had for sale: there was a silver, gold and platinum plan. As he talked he was simultaneously looking over the sword, the books, the notes, my clothing and was getting more anxious by the second. He asked, “is that a real sword?” with a wavering voice.  I replied, “yes”. “Do you know how to use that sword?” I replied, “yes”. He was tittering, not sure what he was saying, repeating himself, laughing strangely. He really looked like he wanted to leave. I thanked him for his time, he looked relieved to be dismissed, I showed him to the door. I think he peed on the gate post or left some other message because I didn't get another salesman at my door for decades.

But the best story happened one evening during the fall when Brittany was 16 or 17 years of age. Her mother and I were divorced and she was at her mother's house this day. I was practicing with a mugito, a zinc practice sword, looks for all like a real sword, it is dangerous but not dangerous,  not sharp, like a real sword. There is a groove along both sides of the blade that makes a most satisfying swoosh when it is swung in a proper manner.

I had moved the furniture and had been practicing for the better part of an hour, hundreds of cuts, my t-shirt was soaked with sweat and I am breathing hard. I hear the front door open and am aware of my daughter, she has seen me train many times and knows that I will acknowledge her as I complete the current drill. So I continued to focus on the drill set I was working on... from a kneeling position, draw, overhead cut with a satisfying swoosh, chiburi (ceremoniously remove the blood), rise to standing, and re-sheath the blade.... I turn around and face my daughter, she is with another girl and two boys, standing there deathly quiet, pretty much holding their breath, you could just see the amazement in their eyes. I know that went around school... kind of like meeting the daughter's date with a shotgun! Priceless.

Uncle Roger

20 March 2017

While driving across Wyoming this morning, I got a telephone call from my Uncle Roger.
Roger, my mother's bother, is eight years my senior so he was more like an older brother than an uncle.

One day, when I was 12, Roger and I were going back out to the field, don't remember what he was doing, but I remember well when he shifted the 1949 International KB2 pickup into “super low”, opened the door, slid across the seat and stood on the running board, pulling me across the seat with him, into the driver's position. I had to look through the steering wheel to see over the dashboard. Roger instructed me to use only the gas pedal and drive around the field, he closed the door and stepped off the running board... the pickup was idling in super low, it had to be going all of 2 miles an hour. I stepped on the gas and the truck would lurch forward, which would throw me back in the seat, and my foot would come off the accelerator, and the truck would lurch back to 2 miles an hour, only seconds later I would be recoiled forward by the seat's rusty, bare springs, mashing down on the gas pedal as the truck lurched forward, only to be thrown back into the seat again and repeat, over and over again. Adding to my poor control of the accelerator, the field was quite bumpy and had a dead furrow running down the middle. The lurching motion would get so bad that I would have to take my foot off the accelerator for fear of being thrown through the windshield. Kind of like shaking a marble in a tin can. Only to try again and again. I drove around the field for an hour before I figured out how to control my foot on the accelerator. It had to be hilarious to watch.

After that Roger taught me, over the years, how to operate the tractor, how to use a plow, disc, field cultivator, how to lay a land (you start plowing in the middle of the field so you have to eyeball a straight line to the opposite side of the field, typically a half mile, it was high art and if you did it well you were well respected by other farmers.) I learned how to cut hay, rake hay, operate a baler (I wasn't much good at stacking bales, most were heavier than I was), and use a Farmall stacker (one of my favorite jobs). I learned how to tell when the wheat was ready to swath and how to roll the swath with a side delivery rake when it was too wet to combine. I learned how to operate a combine and haul grain. It was a tremendous education and Roger was a patient teacher. I still love farming and have tremendous respect for those who turn the soil.

I learned a strong work ethic from Roger. He was (is) an outstanding individual, always looking for the brighter side of any situation. He always stood up for his fellow man and never had a harsh word. He has the greatest sense of humor and always had a joke. I was truly lucky to spend so many summers with my Uncle. When I got in the Army I needed the moral sense that Roger taught me.
So Roger calling me today really made my day, thanks Roger Hill you are the best! Glad I can share what you taught me with others.

NOTE:  this was written on the 20th of March,  2017.  That day I was driving to Denver to have an operation to remove my right lung.  Carol and our daughter Kristen were driving in another car.  So the call really picked up my spirits.

Love, Van

the New Normal

26 July 2017

I went rock climbing with dear friend Mark Strege this morning in Chopping Block, a climbing area behind Mount Rushmore.  This is the first time I have been climbing in about a year.  Last year in August I tore a rotator cuff in my shoulder and had to take a break for it to heal and then in January got slapped by cancer.  Finally decided it had been too long.

I got to the Wrinkled Rock Climbing Area early and a young man from Wisconsin stopped by and asked if I was a local and I said yes.  He and some friends had been on a two week long climbing trip that included Devil's Tower, Ten Sleep and the Big Horns.  He wanted to know if there were some frictiony, slabby 5.11s in the area.  I told him I was sure that there were some but 5.11 was out of my range but that my friend Mark climbed in that range and would be able to help him and his friends.  I told him to come back when Mark had arrived.

Mark arrived a few minutes later and the young man came back and Mark gave him some good beta on half a dozen great climbs in the 5.11 range of difficulty.

Then Mark and I strapped on our packs and made our way across the highway and up the path to a rock called North Park.  I should mention for those who are not familiar, that this climbing area is right behind  Mount Rushmore, we are about a mile away from the faces.

Mark was walking slowly, turning around to visit every few feet and I was coughing up a storm and breathing hard.  Last year this would have been a walk in the park, I have lost a lot of conditioning, I am guessing that I am about 25% of what I was a year ago.  Truth to be told, it sucks, but as my dear wife Carol reminds me, it is the NEW NORMAL.  Thank goodness it was a short hike and we were at our destination in about 5 minutes and I was breathing like a steam locomotive.

Happy to not have to hike another step I took off my pack, and still breathing hard, started to sort through the pack for the essentials: harness, chalk bag and shoes.  It took me 10 minutes to catch my breath.

Mark lead the first climb, Beyond Beauty, a 5.6 degree of difficulty.  This degree of difficulty is where we start beginners.  So it was a nice and easy climb, still pretty much vertical <grin> but easy.  Mark got easily to the top, I belayed from the bottom, and Mark came down on a single rope rapel.   This left the quick draws hanging from the bolts, so it was my job, climbing second to remove the quick draws and carry them to the top of the climb.

I got my shoes on and the rope tied to my harness and Mark got the other end of the rope attached to his belay device, which was attached to his harness.  Mark said, "on belay" and I said, "climbing" and I was off on another mad adventure on the rock.  I had lead this climb many times so it wasn't particularly difficult, except for the noticeable lack of "wind", I was breathing heavy after only a few feet... that "new normal" again.  By the time I made it to the top of the rock I was breathing hard and fast, completely out of breath but happy once again to be back on the rock.

I came down on a two rope rapel and we set up an adjacent climb that uses the same anchors at the top of the rock.  This climb, "Balls and Braun", is a 5.7, just a bit more difficult than the previous climb and it was unbolted, so it has been climbed much less, and best of all, I had not ever climbed it before.  As it was unbolted, we would have to climb it using a technique called "top rope", where the rope runs up to the anchors, it is also the safest way to climb rock.  There is an interesting bulge about midway up the rock, I suppose about 30 feet off the ground, that we have to go over.  Of course, Mark makes it look easy.

Then it was my turn, I put my climbing shoes back on and got tied in, Mark and I said the appropriate words, "on belay" and "climbing" and I was off on another mad adventure up the rock.  This section of rock was a bit more vertical and in my face but the hand holds and footwork were good.  By the time I got to the bulge I was breathing like a steam locomotive again so I hung on the rope for a few minutes to catch my breath.  When you have the bulge in front of you, you are pushed backwards over your feet, it is an odd feeling, but there are a couple of good holds in the rock, one in a large crack and the other, up and to the left is a big knob.  I moved my feet up and pushed my body away from the rock with my left foot, giving me enough room to place my right foot on the rock at hip height, then a pull of the hands and my body rotated around my right foot and up I went.  From there the climb was much easier and in a few minutes I was at the anchors at the top of the rock.

It was a great morning!!!!  Thanks Mark Strege.