Call it hunter instinct or maybe fishing was further embedded into my DNA since most of my ancestors lived near the ocean and relied on the sea for survival.  Perhaps it could have been the sheer delight I experienced after watching The Old Man and the Sea. I recall idolising Spencer Tracy as he battled that giant marlin and the sharks. That movie mesmerised me. Anyway, no matter the reason, I always wanted to go fishing, even as early as age 6.

My mother had a problem with my desire to go fishing at such an early age and she made it clear that I would not be going anywhere near hooks or water for a long time. I recall sulking on the back stairs of our house and I would push mom to the limits with my begging. After risking my neck for years, mom finally agreed to let me fish with my older brother and step-father. It was during my 9th birthday when I received my first fishing pole: a kid’s Zebco, plastic rod and reel. What a gift!

I excitedly tore the wrapping paper open to further reveal the instrument of my deepest desire-A FISHING POLE!  I squealed in utter joy and immediately ran outside to attempt my first cast. The fishing package was ready to use and all I had to do was tie the little fish-shaped weight onto the line and let her…. well, I spent and hour trying to get the weight out of the tree on the other side of our garage but at least I caught SOMETHING! The tree didn’t put up a fight like that giant marlin, I thought.

How strange! Getting up at sunrise on a warm Summer’s day to go fishing was easier than dragging myself out of bed to go to school or church. I think this is applicable at any age but there I was, a 9-year old boy; the first to rise and I don’t think I slept a wink the night before. My brother and step-father moved a little slower and I motioned them to hurry for this was the day I had been waiting for! We reserved a skiff out of Salem harbor (Massachusetts) and we were going to take to the open sea and face the marlin and the sharks. I could hardly contain myself and my brother would poke fun at my excitement by mimicking my antics while over-exaggerating my voice and body movements. After acting this out, he would always follow-up with the statement, ”What a dufuss.” Ah yes, older brothers.

Mom had packed Fluffernutter sandwiches, Wise Old Owl potato chips, some Chip Ahoy cookies and raspberry Kool Aide in an empty prune juice jar. The ice cubes tinkled against the glass and condensation beads formed on the jar which made it slippery in my boy-hands. Mom had placed some Saran Wrap between the screw top and threaded portion of the jar to prevent leaks.  “You be careful out there you guys.” We backed the Oldsmobile down the jet-black slurried driveway and I yelled to the kids on the street. “We’re going deep-sea fishing!”

Sea gulls laughed and circled above the parking lot next to the boat rental dock. Salt air permeated my nostrils and invoked a strange familiarity. The slip down to the dock was damp and steep, for it was low tide, soon to rise to the occasion. Fourteen foot Amesbury skiffs tied end to end, paralleled the floating dock. The boats gently joggled in the stillness of the harbor. The occasional squeaks and moans of wood on wood would break the early morning silence. A rather scruffy man with a clip board approached us to assign life vests and the vessel of our journey to sea. “Lucky number 7 is your boat today”, said the man. His trousers barely hung on his hips and the belt he wore was several degrees off from center. “SEVEN?”  Hardly a proper name for a deep-sea fishing boat, I thought. I began to blurt out names: Fish Bank, Betty Jane (named after my mother) aaah..”Shut up, dufuss,” quipped my brother. He tried to knuckle my skull, I dodged him and the dock slightly dipped with our movement.  ”Knock it off!”, said Jerry, our irritated step-father.

After loading our gear and checking the boat for all the necessary equipment: oars, oar locks, seat cushions, life preservers, anchor, rope and a gas tank with enough fuel to, “make it to George’s Bank”, we prepared to launch. Jerry tried pull starting the Evenrude 9 horse power outboard engine. The skiff jerked forward with each pull of the cord and Jerry’s elbow came within inches of my brother’s nose with each try. “A little closer”, I thought. After several attempts, the cold motor belched smoke into the salt air and the echoes of the sputtering outboard bounced off the enclosed sea wall lining the docks. Blub, blup, blup, POP, blup. The engine smoothed out and changed pitch as the skiff dipped and raised in the water. BEE OOO, BEE OOO. The dock hand cast our bow line and my step father shifted the motor into reverse with a little too much throttle. BOOM! Backwards we jerked and I leaned over the bow and watched the sea water fizzle in front of the skiff. “We’re OFF!”

We came about and creeped out of the berthing area into the main harbor. Barnacles, the sea’s squatter, clung to the stone sea wall and our wake caused exposed sea weed to dance. Old men waved to us from Derby Wharf park as we rounded the lighthouse point. The harbor opened into a large bay and small waves began to appear as we departed the protection of the enclosed harbor. My step father began pointing out landmarks and telling us stories of his childhood growing up on Derby Street. ”We used to swim off that rock, over there.” He seemed changed, now that we were ”out to sea”. ”Look, over there Glenn, that’s the Salem Willows”, he yelled over the outboard’s growl. The “Willows” was a small amusement park we used to frequent as children. It looked so much smaller from the water, I thought.

After clearing the point rounding the Willows, we continued for another 10 minutes outward towards the unknown. I felt scared as I peered over the bow into the black depths. “There has to be a ”marlin”, I said. Jerry cut the motor and straddled the gunnels forward to the bow. He motioned me to slide left so he could get at the anchor. He chucked it overboard and the rope uncoiled through the open bow cleat. It hummed as it slid into the depths. “When is it ever going to stop?” “What if it hits a sea monster?”, I said. “Oh brother”, complained my brother. The rope slacked and Jerry tugged at the line to set the anchor . We were ready to fish!

I fumbled with my Zebco rod and reel. My brother laughed. “You think you are going to actually catch something with that?”, he asked with a smirk on his face. Jerry tied a silver mackerel jig onto the 6 lb test line. “Don’t cast the line, just let it out til it hits the bottom”, said Jerry. I pressed the plastic thumb release and the line began to feed into the depths. My heart raced and my mind wandered. After what seemed like an hour, the jig thudded on the bottom. “Jerk the pole up, like this and let it rest on the bottom again.” Jerry taught me how to jig for mackerel and he would correct my movements from time to time as he fished handlines on each side of the skiff.

I jerked my pole to the sky every 5 seconds or so and I gazed into the abyss and pictured that marlin looking for my tiny jig. I jerked the pole again and again and continued to picture the marlin and Spencer Tracy. Then it happened. BAM! My rod violently slapped the surface and my plastic reel made an almost sick sound as the limited drag setting struggled against what had grabbed my line. “The MARLIN, it’s her, it’s her!” My brother couldn’t believe it and all of a sudden, both Jerry and my brother were yelling commands. “Keep the tip up!” “Reel it in slowly!” I was dizzy with excitement and almost frozen as I wondered what to do. The rod jerked violently to the depths again and the plastic knurled drag button flew out of the reel housing. Line spewed out of the reel and the reel was quickly running out of room. “I’m going to lose her!’, I screamed.

Jerry jumped into the wooden bench seat next to me and devised a way to retrieve the line. “I’ll pull it in by hand and you reel the slack in.” , he yelled. It was working and after an eternity of utilizing this technique, the “marlin” was beginning to surrender. I thought of the line burning the hands of that old man and here, was my step-father, hand over handing the beast onto the surface. “Look, it’s a cod!”, Jerry yelled. We could see the silvery shimmer just feet below. We pulled the tired-out fish to the surface and with one motion, Jerry grabbed the gills of the defeated monster and flopped it into the skiff’s ribbed floor. We were amazed but I was completely out of my body.

My brother laughed and stared in disbelief. “You did it, you actually did it, Glenn!” I could hardly hold the fish up it was so fat. We managed to land a 4 pound rock cod with a kid’s plastic Zebco rod and reel bought from the toy section of a local drug store. The young boy of the sea got his “marlin” and fulfilled his dream!  

The "marlin catcher".

It is interesting to notice an increase in attention given to the issue of conspiracy within the mainstream media and certain government officials as a way to make a story seem more substantiated and official. It’s as if extra attention to the “truth” is needed to solidify events as they happen and somehow, explaining away conspiracy theories achieves this task. As more effort is given to debunk a conspiracy wouldn’t it seem to add even more suspicion among those who refuse to believe what they are being told?

The more important question that needs to be asked is why an increase in conspiracy theories in the first place? There must certainly be some sort of social or psychological explanation as to why conspiracies exist or increase during certain times. Surely, there must be an extremely eloquent dissertation backed by painstakingly gathered evidence shelved within the confines of the most astute of academies written upon this subject. If so, why are there no efforts within the media or inside our government to understand what is happening to society when conspiracy permeates the minds of many citizens? 

Thank goodness for the Internet and the ability to gather immediate information about anything. Low and behold, there are copious amounts of articles and studies available about conspiracy and the traits that exist in people and groups who engage in conspiracy theories. The studies are in-depth accounts from sociologist and psychologist alike and this blog could take several directions when it comes to the dynamics associated with individuals and the psychology of conspiracy. The majority of attention given in these studies seem to focus on “drive behaviors” rather than what may lay at the very heart of conspiracies; the lack of accurate information, the dissemination of too much information, distraction, distortion and propaganda.

Sure, there are personalities that are probably more susceptible to engaging in conspiracies and the studies do a fantastic job pointing out behavior “flaws”, which in themselves exacerbates conspiracy but what about the fire that feeds the behavior? Too many times, people’s unanswered questions and propensity to be left in the dark by the “system” leads many to fend for themselves.Is it any wonder then, in the sense making process, trustworthiness is a key factor when people attempt to decipher meaning and when one can only trust themselves, a whole gamut of truths manifest? Why the absence of trust though?

One doesn’t have to think hard about the events around 9/11 and how many questions arise with respect to so many incongruities. Many people still want to know why building 7 was allegedly “pulled” by NYFD when the ladder chief for the company that was there was reported as saying, “NYFD is in the business of saving buildings.” There is a group of architects and an MIT metallurgist who have produced unarguable scientific evidence  that jet aircraft could in no way, cause both towers to “perfectly” collapse into a pile of rubble.  There were aviation professionals who were at the Pentagon when a jet allegedly struck the building and yet, to this day, nobody can produce a black box or the engines which would have been thrown from the impact zone. These are the gaps in facts that feed the conspiracies and not one person is asking about the fire that feeds the psychology of conspiracy.

The fact remains, many people have been left to fend for themselves to make sense of so many mis-truths and half-lies such as the “yellow cake” story and the need to attack Iraq. People were led to believe versions of the Iraq conflict that seemed to change by the week. Why then, is there any wonder, in the wake of so much death and destruction, misinformation and changing stories is there a need to point the finger at individuals? Why is there so much effort to discredit people and their inherent need to know the truth? Is there any wonder there are people engaging in conspiracy theories when our leaders and media are only telling us so much? Why isn’t anyone studying the environment of conspiracy. Why are there so many people theorizing about events covered by the media and coming up with an array of possibilities?

Perhaps the heightened engagement in conspiracy theories is a true social/psychological sign that people are either inundated with too much information, subjected to some very slick propaganda or they have a deep instinctual knowing that what they are being told doesn’t add up. Maybe it’s a smattering of all these dynamics and it’s time to pay attention to our propensity to make sense of our complicated world by utilizing suspicion. Let’s face it, we live in strange times with cloudy facts.

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Before allegiance is sworn to any party, philosophy or belief that’s propagated upon the conscious, ask the fundamental question. “Is it good for the Republic and does it serve the promise that so many have sacrificed themselves for?” As an American before any party affiliation, we are obligated to courageously see fit that in order to establish a more perfect union and enact domestic tranquility, we must step beyond party politics and demand what is sealed into the very essence of this Republic. It is our duty to one another as people of a Democratic Society.

George Washington refused a second term in fear of becoming an oligarchical figure. He warned the fledgling Republic that foreign intervention and party politics would destroy us. Today, we do not have to think hard about the truth of Washington’s warning when we see our nation’s involvements and political struggles. The constrictive coils of these dynamics are suffocating the core nature of who we are as a people and yet, we allow the grip to tighten with every complacent exhale. When there is no breath there are no words to speak and no body to move.

The men and women who have taken sworn oaths to represent the people have become the maniacal puppets of bankers, globalists, military industrialists and corporations. The power has shifted from the people and now systematically works against the people by utilizing chronic fear campaigns, manipulating the rule of law, classifying and labeling basic human rights into compartmentalized party affiliations and finally the hijacking of the nation’s military for the purpose of advancing global domination and elitist’s agenda.

As an American before any party affiliation, I ask myself, “What and who do I align myself with?” In my minds-eye, I see the seemingly endless rows of white grave markers in Arlington Cemetary and I begin to feel a rumble in my groin from the sacrificed souls buried in that hallowed ground. Voices rise above the turf and whisper through the trees-”Remember the Republic.

Dear Mr or Mrs Rancher,

I’m writing to you from an Internet cafe’ based in the San Francisco bay area and discovered the Quivira Coalition by simply talking to a stranger. He’s a truck driver from New Mexico/former ranch hand who just stopped in for a cup of mud. Something from deep within told me to speak with this gentleman. I’m glad I did because it brought me to a terrific website whose goal is to strike balance.

Before I tell you what I have in mind by contacting you, let me give you a little background of what I’m about. I’m a former California ranch hand who loves the west and its land. I’ve spent most of my life wandering the western wilderness and my love for wild places is deep. I’ve spent a couple of years listening to stories from ranchers and environmentalist alike and have come to the conclusion that a balance must be struck. This is why I’m writing to you and your organization. I need your help and I need it fast!

You see, I’m getting e-mails from defendersofwildlife.org, informing me that the Bush administration is ready, as I sip my coffee and write to you, to give the “green light” to lift the “total” ban on the wolf kill in Alaska, Wyoming, Montana and the adjoining inter-mountain west. I don’t have all the facts and I want to be sure to hear all the issues and this will take time. I’m afraid the wolves do not have the luxury of time.  I feel stuck because I want to do something to help the wolves while respecting the people who live and work in their habitat. I’m sickened by the prospect of this decision and so are many others.

Judging from the e-mails that I have received on the current wolf issue, there are many people talking about a mass march from Jackson Hole to Yellowstone to demand protection. I think this would be a disaster.  Most of these people are from outside the west and do not understand the rancher’s way of life and how it is being threatened on too many fronts. They don’t think that ranchers love the land too! There are so many layers to this issue it gets complicated, as you know. Complications create gridlock and this is the core reason I’m writing to you.

I believe we Americans have the ability to cooperate and create solutions. Lately, though, we seem to have lost the concept of compromise. Some call it waffling, some say, “You’re either for us or against us.” Some believe we must defy the law of the land to get attention to be heard. The wolves don’t have a chance when all fronts are locked in disagreement. Maybe the wolves and this crisis can teach us to run as a pack again. The spirit of this animal is like the life you, I and many like us want; free, open to run and hunt and raise our young. Really, when you think about it, this wolf issue is deeper than we think. I think this struggle can serve as a model to help us as a people, divided, to join as a nation again. This is secondary; the wolves must come first because time is running out. This is what I propose.

There are so many people, including myself, who would love to view these magnificent animals and others on the ranch lands of Wyoming and Montana. We would pay a price to ride horseback or hike to see them run. Is there any way you could use your organization’s influence to create momentum to stop the bill that is being proposed in Washington? Can we work together for a balance? Tell me, can we ride together for the future of ranches and the west?  How can we all win on this? For the sake of the land, its wildlife and a way of life, please tell me how we can do something!

Please call any and all ranchers you know in the inter-mountain west and urge restraint. Let’s use our power of stewardship wisely,

Urgent regards,

Glenn A Smith

Visit: http://www.quiviracoalition.org/

Bonn photographer, Karl Otto Clemens, aimed his Hasselblad digital camera through the ornate first class cabin. The eager photographer began the first series of air born digital photos from within the airship. As he indiscriminately shot photos of the interior and its passengers, Luftwaffe Colonel, Fritz Erdmann frowned at the young man. “What’s the matter Colonel, afraid I might shoot something top secret?” Clemens cockily asked. Erdmann warned Clemmens that he was not authorized to take digital photos. “Just because we are in international waters doesn’t give you permission to shoot, you must still follow the rules of the digital free space,” bellowed the Colonel. Clemmens reached into his blazer pocket and produced a document and waved it tauntingly under the Colonel’s nose. “This is my ticket to take as many photos as I want and there is nothing you or the Gestapo can do to stop me,” laughed Clemmens. The Colonel turned to his aide and snorted something patriotic and dutiful and Clemmens snapped on. He wasn’t the only person with a camera on board the flight. In fact, several people began shooting pictures and videos from every angle imaginable. It was a virtuoso of image gathering and the Colonel fumed as several passengers sent multiple images to friends and family in the “digital zone”. There was nothing anyone could do to stop the flow of information.

Stockholm correspondent, Berger Brinck spoke in broken English to Chicago’s WLS radio announcer Herbert Morrison over his new mobile phone. “Ya!  Za ship ist behind schedule, Mr Morrison. I suspect ve shall arrive sometime on Surzday.” Brinck and Morrison want to coordinate a live feed for radio audiences from inside the airship as it lands. “Alvederzane mine goot friend, I shall see you soon!”  Brinck beamed at the prospect of being broadcast live across America. “Zist ist za first time anyone haz attempted an international link up via videophone and I am za first man to ever do zis! ” Brinck’s pride filled him but all around him existed something he hadn’t considered, being that he was from the digital free zone. His self induced exclusivity was going to be squelched by a phenomena not yet discovered by him; citizen journalism!

Out of character, Morrison barked orders at the audio and video crews at the damp New Jersey airfield. He pointed up at the mooring mast prepared for the airship’s docking. “I want this angle as the airship lands and I want the audience to get a feel for how large this thing is!” he ordered. “Use wide-angle lenses!”  Morrison seemed outside of himself as he waved his arms and shouted at the crew. “This will be sensational!” he squealed. Like Berger Brinck, Morrison is “old school” journalism and he prides himself as the “voice of what is” and he believes that he can paint the total picture of what is happening no matter what emotion he is experiencing at the time. The network pays him a pretty penny to “tell it like it is” and this time, he has “carte blanche” on the controversial landing of a Nazi airship on American soil. ” I want the digital sound technicians to place microphones as far up the docking tower as possible, ” Morrison yelled. “No problem, boss, we can make it sound like the ship is landing on the audience’s heads!” snickered one of the techs. The entire WLS  road crew worked double overtime checking and re-checking every camera angle, microphone placement and spotlight at least three times.

The Hindenburg’s GPS indicated it was 3 hours and 12 minutes and 42 seconds away from docking time. The sunrise beamed its fiery red light upon the coast of Massachusetts and navigator, Max Zabel ordered to turn the ship’s heading to the southwest. Helmsman, Alfred Bernhard eased the wheel slightly and as the ship’s nose pointed southward,  red sunlight stretched across the cabin’s interior. “Look, mommy!” shouted 6-year-old Werner Doehner. Matilda, exhausted from the long flight looked out the window towards the ground. Small dots of people waved upward as the giant ship made its first ever pass over American soil. Several people aimed their camera phones upward and recorded the incident. It wasn’t long before the first images of the Hindenburg reaching America hit youtube. Soon, thousands of viewers would see and hear these freshly uploaded videos.

“It’s not as big as they say it is and the engines sound kind of toyish!” said one youtube enthusiast. She began to post a comment along the hundreds of others growing by the second. Opinions from, “its fake” to, “the Nazis are smuggling in a huge bomb to kill us all”, littered the Internet. Collective meaning began to take its elusive shape as individuals formed their own ideas about what was happening. Since the digital zone is fairly new, bitter arguements often arise as the result of a sort of an informational withdrawal symptom because so many years of “packaged news” had people so entrenched in what was told to them was always true. Now, in the digital zone, information flows freely and quickly and everyone has his or her own version of what’s really happening. Meaning is shared and sometimes bitterly discussed!

Major Hans Hugo Witt of the German Luftwaffe nodded his head to Colonel Erdmann. The Colonel rose from his seat and eyed the cabin carefully as he looked for a secluded spot to place a very important phone call. The Colonel pressed the send button to a contact named, “completion”. WLS CEO, Bob Iger answered the phone. “Iger here.”  “We must begin the operation,”  said Colonel Erdmann in a dry monotone. Iger responded, “It’s finished.” The Colonel hung up and returned to his seat and nodded back at Major Hugo as he buckeled in. The Hindenburg began its descent towards the airfield.

“Damn it!” shouted Morrison. “The citizen journalists are already posting shots of the airship all over the Internet!” “This is my shoot!”  Out of sheer frustration, Morrison kicked an orange cone across the tarmac. Off in the distance the moan of the Hindenburg’s engines could be heard. Hundreds gathered as the mamoth ship floated towards its mooring. Ground crews scrambled into position to ready the ship for docking. “Are we live?” asked Morrison. “Call Brinck and let’s roll this shoot!” “Get all the sound and lights fired up!” gasped, Morrison.

Brinck’s blackberry phone  ring toned The Ride of the Valkyries. “Ya!” shouted Brinck as he answered the call. “Za commander haz prepared all passengers for arrival!”  Morrison grabbed the phone from his assistant. “We are live, inside the cabin of the Hindenburg as it makes its historical landing in America.” We have visual and audio contact with Stockholm correspondent, Berger Brinck. How does it look, Berger?” asked Morrison. Thousands looked on as live streams hit the digital spectrum. Brinck gave his version of what he was experiencing based on the questions Morrison asked. “Za ship is so smooth und za view of za field ist grand. I can see all za people on za ground.” Brinck explained.

Viewers all over America watched as Brinck talked to them “live” from insde the cabin. Juxtaposed camera angles and enhanced sound gave the impression the Hindenburg was larger than life. Back to the cabin, Brinck talked excitedly and as he did, behind him, out of focus two men stood up and looked to be brandishing some kind of cylandrical metal objects. Bright sparks flashed and screams could be heard over the airways. “What is going on, Berger?” shouted Morrison. “Zaire ist smoke, (cough, cough) thick smoke in za cabin.”  Brinck’s camera couldn’t focus on anything.

Passengers began placing calls from within the cabin and found that their phones were dead. Mysteriously, Clemen’s digital camera wouldn’t shoot any photos. The airship bumped into its mooring and people lurched in their seats completely blinded by the white smoke in the cabin. Noise and confusion were interrupted by shouts of commands.

On the ground, hundreds of spectator’s digital devices wouldn’t work either. Morrison and Brinck’s phone call ended abruptly. “Oh the humanity!” wept Morrison as the airship burst into flames. Live network shots showed the horror over and over again as it happened. As it happened. As it really was. As it happened.

The bus full of passengers crossed the Canadian border and most of the people vanished into obscurity. Most of them, German elite.  Except for one man, almost 65 years later, Werner Doehner who kept the analog print given to him from photographer, Karl Otto Clemens. Karl always kept a small older camera with film. The print showed two Lufwaffe officers igniting smoke bombs. Werner scanned and posted the photo on his blog. Comments posted said it was a “fake”.

Out of respect for the families who lost loved ones on the Hindenburg: the depictions of actual passengers are dramatized in this fiction.

What would life be like if we were to make a full on commitment, for one year, to live each day differently in some subtle way? I mean, really get radical with this notion! Start by taking inventory of all the things you do in a year, such as holidays, birthdays, anniversaries or whatever you think is an annual event and change it or cancel it completely. For example, think of the following consecutive events that come every year in America: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanuka and New Years. There are probably more events depending on your heritage, only you know. Now, with each of these events, you might have certain things that are traditional about how you celebrate these holidays, right? Here’s the fun part! Get crazy and change everything!  For example, instead of baking a Thanksgiving turkey, drink dirty martinis and listen to Frank Sinatra with your lover. Try to make a paper-mache turkey, stuff it with junk mail and then set it ablaze in your backyard. Get the idea? Good! Try this approach to each holiday and see how much fun you’ll have!

After you stir up annual events, gradually begin to change your life down to the micro-second. Begin to treat each day as if it were a clean painter’s pallete. Take a different way to work each day and wear something you wouldn’t  ordinarily wear. Brush your teeth at a park water fountain during sunrise and garggle “inagaddadavida” if you can. Try eating dinner at breakfast and lunch at 1 a.m and talk in your own made up language for one full day. Really go nuts with variety!

One terrific way of changing routine is donating your entire wardrobe to charity and visit a local thrift shop and have a blast with fashion. Try on colors you normally avoid, fabrics that seem “off” and patterns that make your head spin. Go big and when it comes to hair! How about shaving it off or grow it like you’ve never had before?! You never know how much fun you could have just by changing your entire “look”!

I’m suggesting these seemingly crazy ideas because I think life in America has become so entrenched in “same ole/same ole”, that our society has become like the pacing tiger at the zoo. Back and forth in our 14′ X 14′ cage we call conventionality. We’ve become stir crazy and entrenched in ideas on how we think we should live. It’s no wonder America is angry, we’re STUCK! I say, break tradition, turn every stone over, practice radical paculiarity and let your freak flag fly high. Most of all, notice how much fun you’re having in the process!

Trainer, Johanna Teresi and her dog "Seiki"

Owner and operator of Four Legged Scholars, L.L.C., based in Salt Lake City, Utah,  professional dog trainer, Johanna Teresi holds individual and group trainings where she utilizes a unique approach to dog training. “I like to see the dog and owner shift, ” Teresi said during a recent interview. Johanna believes that a frustrated owner often leads to a frustrated dog. “Dogs will pick up the energy the owner is experiencing, ” she said. The “shift” she refers to is when the owner is coached along with the dog and the obedience issue is addressed by encouraging a change in attitude or belief in the owner.

Johanna began dog training in 1989 when she was a young girl in 4th-grade. She was a member of dog 4H Club and participated in dog shows and country fairs where she and her Shetland Sheepdog, “Heather” won awards for showmanship and obedience. As a young adult, Ms. Teresi received a Bachelors degree in psychology with an emphasis in animal learning from Ohio Wesleyan University. She has worked with exotic animals at three zoos including the Hogle Zoo in Salt Lake City.

When confronted about the idea that dog owners need coaching outside of the “norm” of teaching mere commands and how to implement them, Johanna said she feels as though she can help build a connection between dogs and their owners. “I put myself in their shoes (owner), ” she said. One successful training session had a boy and his Golden Retriever on the same page after some clever coaching. “The boy believed he wasn’t capable of telling his dog to “stay” and his lack of confidence showed up in a dog that wouldn’t stay.” Johanna explained that she could get the boy’s dog to stay consistently by exuding an air of confidence. Once Teresi pinpointed the boy’s lack of confidence and its relationship to the dog ignoring his “stay” command, Johanna began to use a technique called, “anchoring”. She asked the boy if he recalled a moment in life where he was most confident. “When I play the organ, ” the boy explained. Johanna then prompts the boy to close his eyes and picture himself playing the organ. From there, the boy is asked to replicate the feelings and emotions associated with playing the organ and then ask the dog to stay. “In less than one minute, the dog obeyed the stay command from his owner, ” she said. Teresi mentions that she sees these kinds of “shifts” all the time and says that dogs usually train up to four times faster while utilizing this technique. “The owner’s commitment level equals results in their (dogs) ability to be trained, ” she said.

Seiki and Johanna taking a walk.

In addition to coaching owners to be empowered to establish a positive relationship with their dogs, Johanna highly encourages positive reinforcement. “Give the dog what he or she wants. ” she said. In addition, Teresi recommends head collars over choke, pronged or shock collars. She also suggests using front-hook harnesses with a soft touch application. Some brand names she mentioned were Easy Walk, Halti Gentle Leader and Comfort Head.

Johanna will hold group classes with no more than 8 people and one dog per person, once a week. She also offers private sessions and currently her case load is 4 private sessions per month with room in her schedule for 8 more private sessions. Ms. Teresi recommends 6 to 8 week training sessions at 1 hour per week. Johanna will also extend the training sessions to focus on trainings that may require more time. She is quite clear about her dedication towards successful outcomes with dogs and their owners. She is an expert at offering positive feedback and the results seem favorable. Keep an eye on her website for special offers and important upcoming events.

To find out more about Johanna and her trainings, visit: http://www.fourleggedscholars.com/

Black Diamond Lodge Hangs New Sign

A new custom-made sign hangs above the main garage door at the spectacular Black Diamond Lodge located next to Snowpark Lodge at beautiful Deer Valley Resort.

Though the lodge is consistently booked during the ski season, the sign is hung to attract skiers and Deer Valley Resort guests in the Snowpark area who might want to explore premium lodging available on the mountain.

The lodge’s exquisite location provides the ultimate “ski in and ski out” experience for its owners and guests with many “extras”.  Black Diamond’s 29 luxurious units range in size with its largest unit boasting 4500 square feet.

Guests enjoy two and four bedroom accommodations complete with private indoor and outdoor jacuzzi tubs. Other amenities on the property include complimentary ski valet, a rich wood paneled ski locker room, continental breakfast,  state-of-the-art workout room with sauna and steam rooms for that added touch of class. In addition, a  fabulous apre’s ski is served daily in a cozy lounge furnished with deep leather sofas and rustic fireplaces.  This lodge truly epitomizes the vision of excellence Deer Valley Resort continues to provide.

The lodge is located at 2280 Deer Valley Drive, East. Look for the driveway leading past the funicular. Reservations can be made through Deer Valley Lodging or book online at deervalley.com.

All this time skiing and never had I enrolled in any instruction until recently. I was “extremely” lucky to have found an open space in world renowned, free skier, Kristen Ulmer’s, “Ski to Live” training held at Deer Valley Resort, Utah earlier this month. What I discovered was a unique approach to learning that could be applied to most any circumstance in life and I uncovered some beautiful flaws in the way I ski.

Perhaps the most profound lesson I learned wasn’t at all the usual technical corrections seemingly inherent to most ski instruction. The “mindset”, something Kristen Ulmer considers the most important aspect to athletic brilliance, I was utilizing when I skied was potentially dangerous. I discovered I was skiing to relax and to escape the rigors of day-to-day life. Subsequently, I learned that I placed heavy emphasis on skiing as an internal experience. What does this mean and why could it be dangerous for me?

I think I was the only person in our group who placed so much internal value on the sport. I never thought of skiing as an “external” aggressive sport that requires athletic prowess and the ability to reach outside myself. In fact, I thought skiing was a way for me to get into nature and ultimately into my own nature. As a result, this mindset I indulged in showed up in my skiing. This manifested into skiing in the “back seat” while constantly avoiding the flow of the fall-line. I was running away from life in the form of skiing, therefore, skiing would run away with me if I kept in the same mindset. This is exactly where serious ski injuries occur, hence the “danger”.

“Ski to Live” and Kristen Ulmer helped me to discover the simple fact that if you want to stay on top of your planks, let alone improve your skiing, you had better be conscious of your level of participation in the sport.  Before “Ski to Live”,  I never thought about speed, control, accuracy and constant adjustments. Kristen did a terrific job in letting me know, in no uncertain terms, skiing requires me to show up in my body while incorporating the flexibility of mind and spirit. What? Did I say that?

Who would have “thunk” that brilliant skiing, something Kristen Ulmer has and continually achieves, requires mind, body and spirit integration? Suddenly, all the important technical aspects of good skiing seem distant when one considers the implications of emboding a holistic approach to skiing. Actually, “holistic” is a term reserved for “New Agers”.  More accuratly, Kristen Ulmer utilizes Zen philosophy as a back-drop to her “Ski to Live” trainings.

Zen, quite simply, is the ancient eastern philosophy of being “one with everything” and its more recent western roots reside in Salt Lake City, Utah at the Big Mind Western Zen Center.  Kristen Ulmer’s Zen  teacher and mentor, Genpo Roshi founded “Western Zen” by merging eastern philosophy with western psychology.

Out of respect for future “Ski to Live” trainings, I’m going to refrain from divulging certain incredible details  surrounding the techniques Kristen Ulmer uses. All I can say is if you want to blow open entirely new ways of looking at the sport of skiing, take this training and prepare to be surprised! I am and I’m having more fun on the mountain based on what I discovered.  Thank you, Kristen!

Visit KristenUlmer.com for upcoming trainings.

I recall snickering at a cartoon I saw in a local newspaper depicting a family stuffed in a mini van. They had arrived at the Grand Canyon and the parents were mortified to see their children totally disinterested in the grandeur of the canyon as they frantically popped the keys of some electronic device. Funny cartoon but the underlying notions are two-fold: Electronic games and phones are more important than the outside world and we missed the richness of a real-life encounter.

I’m not a social scientist nor am I a psychologist but I’m concerned what may become of human interaction as we once knew it: more face to face encounters, more experiential with respects to direct environment; visually, kinesthetically as well as auditory. What I mean to ask is, I wonder what synthetic experience takes away from organic experience? Take the neighborhood I grew up in as a case and point.

For one thing, the adults begged us to get outside and play and play we did! The streets I grew up on had kids galore outside playing with one another. We played games we either made up or had been passed down from generation to generation: hide and seek, tag, red light/green light, dodge ball, kick ball, street hockey and the list goes on and on.

From these real time interactive games I believe we learned how to use our imaginations in a real situation, with real people.  This must make a difference in how we deal with one another as human beings, today. For example, consider conflict resolution. With games come cheating and with cheating, arguments arise. We didn’t have the luxury to hit a reset button to start the game over. We had to solve our differences on the spot. The results weren’t always favorable or amicable but regardless, the raw human experience of face to face interaction created bonding. We formed ideas about one another based on how we played. We learned how to earn and give trust to one another and I think that is a huge importance in socialization.

Perhaps the biggest benefit of playing with who and what you have in the real world is economic. I’m sure the latest digital games are expensive! In my neighborhood, we often made things from the ground up further engaging our creative minds. What’s more is we built things that existed in the physical world adding value to the overall experience. For example, my older brother and I built a go-cart out of an old baby carriage. This started a wave of creativity in our neighborhood. Go-carts of every style, function and color began to appear out of the garages of many. We held races, contests and entered the go-carts in local parades. No A.D.D. here! Just plain-old ingenuity and real time fun! Another example of creativity in action: one time, several boys and myself found a trash barrel full of round, blunt-ended curtain rods which of course, became swords. Who brandishes swords? Pirates! We ended up building a pirate ship out of scrap wood and dressed up in total pirate garb and proceeded to create an entire world of characters and scenes based on a simple find in the trash! Another trash “score” had a friend and I spray-painting one another totally silver. From there, we became visitors from another planet and punished for almost “suffocating our skin, which kills aliens” according to Mom. Again, chock up real time exploration to the experience of learning!

Just as my generation turned out “OK”, for the most part, I’m sure the digital age kids will be just fine too. After all, rock and roll didn’t turn us into the total anarchists as many adults believed. However; rock did change my generation to a certain degree. Some would argue rock had a negative influence and some would argue rock was a great way to learn how to question authority. Regardless, it had an effect on an entire generation. I just hope today’s generation and future generations have the opportunities to experience the richness life has to offer outside a blue screen As I finish typing this blog message on my laptop, I realize that I have become “digitized” too. Perhaps we should all pay more attention to real time!

http://www.livestrong.com/article/532976-how-has-texting-affected-the-social-lives-of-teens/