In 2011, I posted a total of 12 blog entries. And so, today I thought “Self, in 2011 you successfully quit smoking (yeah!) – what can you do to top that as a New Years’ Resolution?
Wanna know what I came up with? My New Years resolution for 2012 is (drum roll please)…
To post a minimum of three blog posts a week!
That’s a lot of posts.
Happy New Year to all my friends, family and fans!
It’s interesting, really, how memory can play games with you. I have a memory… I won’t claim it’s a strong memory… of being told by my mother how hot it was when I was born. I also vaguely recall that I was born in the pre-dawn hours. So, it’s hard for me to reconcile these two memories.
The one claim, that I was born around 4 a.m., is easy enough to check out. All I have to do is take a look at my birth certificate, which I’m pretty sure is in my files at home.
The second claim is equally easy to check out… was it a super hot day the day I was born? Was it indeed the 104 degrees I recall – or think I recall – being told?
Alas, that claim is definitely not true. It turns out that June 5, 1958, was a delightful day. A little rainy, perhaps, medium winds. And a high of 78 degrees. That hardly fits my recollection of what others told me!
And yet, somehow, those two facts (which on their face appear to contradict each other) are kind of core facts I’ve always carried around. That it was cool, not hot… or perhaps that I was born at 4 p.m. not 4 a.m…. that doesn’t really effect who I am or how my life has turned out. Really they don’t impact me now, 53 years later, in any significant way.
But, it’s odd to me. Leads me to wonder about other things I THINK I recall. That super sharp memory of standing in the front yard, holding Dad’s hand… at less than two years of age? Is that real? I know I was less than 2, ’cause I was in my diapers.
Or the time I rode into Messina at the head of a conquering army? Was that real???? No, that one I’m pretty sure of…
It’s really hard for me to believe that so much time has gone by since my last entry here!
First just to wrap up from my last entry (entitled “Ouch”), Scott diligently packed my wound every morning, and became an old pro at it in no time! By June 8th, there was nothing left to pack, just a little hole. The doctor said “Stop the packing. No need to come back.”
By today, even that little hole has closed up.
Scott and I have been having a lot of fun these past weeks. This past winter was a very cold winter in Council Bluffs. One of the problems we’ve had is that we live in an old house, nearly 95 years old. The windows are all original. The sealant around the edges of the glass panes… I can’t remember what that’s called… has become all dry and brittle and is falling out. And so, around many of the windows, are great gaping crevises through which the frigid air can blow. Chunks of cardboard can be passed through them! On windy days, the drapes on some of the windows can be seen to billow out!
When we returned from our March trip to California, Arizona and New Mexico, we discovered that in our bedroom, one of the panes had completely fallen out! Thank goodness winter was over by then.
Oh, and one more thing… we have NO storm windows! Or even screens on most of the windows!
In addition, the windows have become so old that the glass is no longer clear! When looking out through our windows everything is distorted. And that really is a problem, especially when the neighbor is having his house reroofed, and there are cute guys on his roof and we can’t see them clearly!
So, we knuckled over and put new windows on the house. Yup, we replaced ALL of them! Twenty-five new windows! And they look great! And the house feels nicer!
But, you know, you can’t put up dingy old curtains over brand new windows! All the blinds had to come down, too! Our bedroom especially has been the beneficiary of new curtains. It’s getting ready to undergo a total remodel… painting, new headboard for the bed (built in to the wall) new wainscoting (hmmm, wonder if that’s spelled right!?).
Our room currently has white walls, with forest green wainscoting. The walls do not rise to the ceiling in 90 degree angles, but rather curve near the top. This makes painting a challenge. What to do.
We’re going to paint the walls grey… not super dark, but pretty dark. Then, we’re putting in wainscoting in STARK, glossy white. The headboard will be floor to ceiling, also stark, glossy white. We’ve already bought a new coverlet for our bed in blue. It’s hard to describe this blue, so I won’t try very hard… it’s a shimmery blue… yeah, that’ll have to do it until I can get a picture.
The curtains are gold, with a merlot colored sheer under them. It’s going to be nice, if not a little dark… but that’s okay. We kind of want that look. Relaxing… sexy…
Well, guess that’s it for now!
Gosh, has it been nearly two weeks????
At last writing, I had thrown in the towel on my Walking Challenge… only to have several of my readers pick it up and throw it back at me! So, now there are several of us involved in the Challenge… and today is the last day of the first week, so I’m anticipating receiving their step counts either tonight or tomorrow! And each of you know who I’m referring to, so you BETTER get those step counts in!
To my other readers, it’s not too late to join us… while the Challenge ends on October 1, 2010, you can join at any time before that. Do you walk from your sofa to the frig once a day? You can join us! Do you walk from 7 a.m. to midnight with out stopping? You can join us! (But if you’re in that latter group you might have a bit of a problem showing “progress”!)
One of those joining the challenge is my niece from San Francisco. She is going to be using the Challenge as a means of preparing for the Susan G. Komen 3 Days for the Cure walk being held in SF in October… coinciding with the last day of our Challenge.
Her mother was one of four great women who have impacted my life. At a time when I was sure I would have to carry my secret by myself, Bonnie stood with me, and supported me and, amazingly enough, continued to like me in spite of me! Bonnie holds a special place in my heart because of that. And so, when her daughter announced she was going to walk in the Susan G. Komen 3 Day, I thought… “What a marvelous idea!” So, I signed up too!
So, here’s the deal. Between now and October 1, 2010, I have to do two things. The first thing I have to do is train, train, train. I need to be able to walk 20 miles, give or take a tiny amount, a day for three consecutive days. Training is Task 1. I’m hoping this won’t be a problem, though right now, I have severe problems with shin splints when I hit the 3 mile mark… stretching is Task 1, Subtask a!
Task 2 is the harder part. I’ve paid my non-refundable $90.00 registration fee. Now, I have to raise $2,300.00 in contributions or they (the organizers) will not allow me to walk! These contributions are non-refundable as well. Those donating on my behalf have to know that, should I not raise enough funds, or for some other reason am unable to start/complete the walk due to injury, illness or whatever, their contribution is final.
What that really means is, a contributor needs to contribute to the Susan G. Komen Foundation because they believe in that cause, not solely because they are betting on me. Capiche?
Now, I’m turning to you, my readers, to help me make this small little goal of $2,300.00 by October 1, 2010!
For more information on the Susan G. Komen Foundation visit the web site for The 3 Day Walk for the Cure.
To actually make a contribution on my behalf, go HERE: http://www.the3day.org/site/TR/2010/SanFranciscoBayAreaEvent2010?px=5154462&pg=personal&fr_id=1470
Oh, and one more thing. I’m aware that some of you may already be supporting my niece on her walk. Please don’t feel like I’m asking you to contribute to both of us!
Okay, I have to admit to being a little disappointed. I had hoped that more than one person would take me up on my challenge.
When one gets enthused about something, something that really really fires them up, I think it’s easy for them to lose sight that not everyone is as excited as they are. I suppose that’s what happened here. At this point in my life, walking is what fires me up. It did once before, and it did good things for me then. Maybe it will now. And maybe, in 6 months, walking will just be a distant memory.
In the end, the only person I can really challenge is myself.
So I’m withdrawing my challenge. (And Tony, I’d be honored if you’d still join me in my walking. We’ll keep the challenge just between the two of us!
I’ve set myself two challenges. The first is to walk 500 miles between now and the first of September. The second is to walk 100 miles in the next 30 days.
And I’d created a KILLER Challenge program to track everyones’ progress. Sigh.
And that’s just what they’ll do…
A long, long, long time ago, in Eric Years anyhow, I was diagnosed with Diabetes… this was back in April of 2005. I remember the day. It was “Donut Day” at work and I’d just had about my 20th donut (slight exaggeration for hyperbolic effect) when I started having chest pains. I’ve been no stranger to chest pains since 1999, but these seemed just a little worse than usual. So, a friend drove me to the hospital. My heart, as is always the case, was fine, but the doctors suggested I see my personal physician about getting checked for diabetes. And that is enough of THAT story… I serve it up here for the sole purpose of setting up what follows!
One of the recommendations that came about as a result of “Diabetes Awareness Classes” that my MD sent me to was the importance of losing weight, and getting good exercise. It was at this class that I was introduced to the “10,000 Step Program”. I say that as if there is but one such program… there isn’t. Google “10000 Step Program” and you’ll see that everyone has one.
The concept is simple really… anything is better than sitting around watching TV. So, go buy yourself a cheap little pedometer, and clip it to your belt. You can find them for as little as $5.00. Put it on each morning, and each night before you go to bed record the number of steps you took that day. At the end of the first week, take all those steps and get an average. (So, look at this little table for an example of how to get an average:)
| Sunday | 3215 | ||
| Monday | 2976 | ||
| Tuesday | 3043 | ||
| Wednesday | 3427 | ||
| Thursday | 1233 | ||
| Friday | 1034 | ||
| Saturday | 3340 | ||
| Total | 18268 | Divide by 7: | 2609 |
First of all, the individual walking those steps is NOT a couch potato. But he’s close to one! Assuming you have a 2.5 foot pace (the distance between the toe of your right foot and the heel of your left foot when both are on the ground while walking) then 2112 paces, or steps, is equal to 1 mile. For the purpose of the 10k step program, we say 2000 steps is 1 mile… and therefore 10000 steps is 5 miles.
Okay, then, take that 2,609 average step and round it up to the nearest 500, in this case, 3000 steps. This is your goal. Each day during week 2, try to walk at least 3000 steps EVERY DAY… no averages this time.
The next week, add 500 steps (3,500) and that is your target goal for that week.
If you’re really out of shape, not in to walking, then set milder goals… or strive for a single goal for a longer period. You might, if you are the guy that walked those sample steps up there in my table, set a goal of 3000 steps per day for a whole month, and then move up to 3500 for the next month.
Back to my story. In 2005, I began the 10000 step program, and my average steps weren’t too far off those of the sample I just cited. On the day I was diagnosed with diabetes, I weighed in at 249 pounds. I set my goals low, and for a month at a time. My goal was to get to 5000 steps by end of summer. I found the more I walked the more I WANTED to walk. And soon, I was a walking fool! By mid-October, I was at 10000 steps a day, I was down to 200 pounds and things were going good. (By the way, it wasn’t ONLY exercise that brought the weight down)
And then the midwest winter hit. So I bought a treadmill. Then “Treadmill Boredom” hit. And from there on, my steps started going downhill. I quit walking, for a bunch of reasons, and I really don’t remember most of them! By 2009, I was back to being almost but not quite a couch potato. My weight had crawled back to about 240. I joined weight watchers, my weight dropped but I didn’t exercise more. I dropped back to 220. I got laid off, I quit Weight Watchers, I exercised a little more, and managed for the next year to keep my weight in the low 220s.
Just a note on the diabetes here. It’s under great control, even when I eat foolishly. My high numbers really don’t get in to dangerous territory… they approach, but they don’t make it. On a high day my level 2 hours after eating is under 150, generally around 145. High, but not dangerous.
Walking, walking… yes, back to topic. In March I got a job in Downtown Omaha. Scott and I carpool… which means he drives me to 19th and Dodge and drops me off. I then walk the 4 blocks to my office. At lunch, to find food, I have to walk… there’s lots of good food in downtown Omaha and a walk can be anywhere from 1 block to 10.
After work… I get out of work at 4:30. This is a mandated EOD for me. Due to contracts and unions and such and the fact I’m a contractor for 2 more months, I am not allowed overtime. And while I’m fine working an hour or two overtime every day with out reporting it… that’s a big no no… so I have to leave at 4:30… or the 8 hour mark. (That’s why I’m writing this at noon on a Wednesday. I worked 6 hours last Sunday, and 4 hours 2 Sundays before that, so I had to take a day off to get caught up!) Scott gets off work at 5, and takes 25 minutes to get down town. What to do?
I walk! I’m back to participating in the 10000 Step Program. I set a goal of 5000 steps a day for April. In May, I’ll up that to either 6000 or 6500 steps a day. That shouldn’t be too hard, as I’m close to that for April… and just yesterday I put in 10,075 steps! I’m loving it!
So there you are. That’s what’s going on in my life.
Now, here’s my challenge to you all! Who wants to join me for a “Community Challenge”? The idea is, as many people as email me or make a comment (it has to be approved by me, which means I have to know who you are) I’ll take that number, and we’ll set an arbitrary “Community Steps” count… say, if 10 people sign up, we’ll set a target of 500,000 paces by September 1. Everyone will email me their daily steps either daily or weekly. I’ll put a Cumulative Step Count up here on my blog every Sunday or something. And we’ll see how it goes! I’ll spend some time today refining this idea and post more if I get any takers. How’s that sound?
If you’d like, email me and I’ll try to help you set up a “plan of action” for the purpose of this challenge.
I bet I can walk farther than YOU can!
We’ll set up a prize or something. What d’ya say?
Man.. these boots are gonna walk all over YOU!
Most of my regular readers will actually know this already, due to a flurry of emails I sent out earlier (but not MUCH earlier!)
As of today, I am no longer unemployed! At about 3:30 p.m. today local time, I accepted an job offer from a local governmental agency. Once things are really secured, I’ll post an update on what I’ll be doing and the agency name.
It’s been a LONG drought for me! And the really good part is, they want me to start the Monday AFTER Scott and I were expecting to return from our vacation, and so the vacation is still on!
I’m as giddy as… I don’t know what!
I collect minutiae. I don’t recall it, but I do collect t! Well, at least when I travel.
When I was growing up, we took lots of road trips. We drove to the east coast, and to Canada. We drove once to Mexico City. Days were filled with traditions. We always started early. Very early. Dad liked being on the road by 6 a.m. We’d stop about 8 for breakfast. When they came along, the tradition changed ever so slightly in that breakfast would be Egg McMuffins at the first McDonalds we came to. Dad loved those Egg McMuffins! We’d drive through the day, long drives, til nearly 8 at night.
Mom always liked stopping at places of interest. Dad not so much. You get in the car, and you drive until you get to your destination. Interesting sites along the way do not constitute “your destination”, so you do not stop at them. In the ongoing battle between turning trips in to something somewhat educational by stopping at historical markers and the like, and driving without stopping until the destination is reached was not a hard fought battle. Mom won. Almost all the time, Mom won. But she learned to temper her requests. Dad got long stretches of driving, Mom got to stop and see things.
As I grew older, I helped with the driving somewhat. I learned that one drives until one gets to the destination. It’s the way I am. I’m not big on sight seeing all the little roadside museums along the way. And with the interstate system, driving to the destination without stopping at those little museums is so much easier. I suspect I’ve missed lots of interesting stuff along the countless miles I’ve driven.
One other thing I learned at the seasoned hands of my father on those long road trips is the collecting of minutiae. Driving minutiae, to be precise. Dad and I kept simple logs of our trips. Mileage of each segment of the road. Cost of gas. Gallons of gas. Time on the road. All these little tid-bits of data were carefully collected, written down, surveyed and then forgotten once the destination was reached. The FINAL destination, that is… HOME.
Dad was also very inclined to detailed planning. He knew what time we’d depart, precisely the roads we would take, which towns we’d stop in along the way for gas and for eating. He never quite caught on to planning for those sightseeing forays of Mom’s. And yet… and yet, even with those unplanned stops, we always made our planned stops. And almost always on time! It just dawned on me. Just now. You don’t suppose he was smarter than I thought, do you? Maybe he didn’t bother planning the stops, but he must have taken them in to account. Those detailed planning sessions began a day or two before the trip began. And the detailed plan for the return trip began almost the very moment we arrived at our goal!
Today, we have so many more tools at our disposal. In those days, planning involved stacks of maps. Dad was not opposed to going to AAA for their Triptiks. He loved Triptiks.
I no longer begin my roadtrip planning with stacks of maps. Or with Triptiks from AAA, though I DO love those tools. No, I might not ever even look at a paper road map during my planning.
Google maps, and MapQuest, and RandMcNally online provide my mapping needs. But, like Dad, each leg is carefully planned. And there’s no room for sightseeing!
Planning for our currently planned California trip began 3 weeks ago. All potential permutations of the drive were considered. Some of these didn’t include driving. I looked in to driving the car and staying in hotels. I looked in to flying out and renting a car and staying in hotels. I looked in to taking the trailer along. The trailer won. Of course.
I looked in to driving I80 to Sacramento, then south to Orange County, stopping at Yosemite along the way. I looked at the possibility of driving via Denver, St. George, UT, and then through Las Vegas on to Orange County. And I looked at the “southern route”. South won out (the weather, of course!)
Next I planned each leg of the journey, taking in to consideration hours of daylight, speed and expected miles per gallon. Finally, I set about making arrangements with campgrounds along the way.
Next, I assembled my own version of a Triptik. This is a one inch binder with tabs for each day of the trip. In to each tab, I inserted the appropriate form of camper checklist (Departure list, Arrival list), a printout of the email from the campground confirming the reservation. And (drum roll please) my Minutiae Form.
This is a printout from a corresponding Excel spreadsheet. Each page has places for the starting location for the day, the name, address, phone, website and cost of the day’s destination campground, a place to enter the starting time and the ending time. There’s a section for recording data about each fill up along the way (place, miles drive, gallons purchased, cost per gallon, total cost & time of stop). There’s a segment for entering other, non-planned purchases. All this goes into the binder. At the end of each day, this information will be typed in to the Excel Spreadsheet, and the mpg for each leg of the day’s trip as well as the overall mpg for the day will be automatically calculated, along with the cost of the day.
And finally, the GPS is pulled out, and each leg of the journey is input so that each days journey is at our fingertips.
And when the trip is over, I’ll never look at the data again (except to enter the pertinent data in the trailer’s log book.)
Okay, as I’ve said before, he’s not a puppy. But it’s hard not to think of him as a puppy. He’s got the most charming personality, and loves to give doggy kisses!
As I mentioned before, Gary wasn’t sure he liked the puppy’s name, and was considering changing it. Monday, Gary says “I really don’t like calling him Buddy. I can’t remember that! Besides, it’s a dumb name for a dog.”
“Well, Gary, what do you want to call him?” I’m thinking ‘Buddy’s a dumb name? It’s one of the big 10 for dogs!’
“I’m thinking Pookie.”
I give Gary a stunned stare. Surely he’s kidding! Pookie? POOKIE???? All I can think of is ‘talk about stupid dog names!’ (My apologies to anyone reading who may have named their dog Pookie. It’s just stupid for US. Really.)
“Uh, no. We will NOT name this poor dog Pookie.”
“Okay, I guess you’re right. We’ll keep it Buddy.”
And so it was done, I thought. No name change for Buddy. Tuesday, I tell one of my best friends “We have decided not to rename him.” The chapter is closed. The End has been posted to final page of the book. It’s decided.
Tuesday afternoon, Gary says “I just can never remember Buddy’s name. I want to change it.”
“Don’t EVEN mention the name Pookie. It is NOT going to happen.”
“How about Buster?”
I like Buster. It’s a good name, and it REALLY fits this puppy. So, Buster it is. Name change is now a fait accompli. So, as promised consider this your Puppy Name Change Notification. Pictures still pending! In about 5 years when his dynamo runs down, and he’s calm, I’ll see if I can get one!
Oh, and poor Nikki. She just doesn’t know what to make of this interloper in her life. I’ve been getting lots more cozy cuddly time from her. She’ll come around!
My last post briefly referred to the “snakicidal tendencies” of my earlier years. I really was quite surprised at the number of people who have commented on that portion of my post, a post primarily about a new dog!
Those snakicidal tendencies… probably better referred to as herpetocidal tendencies… stem from the fact that I really have a problem with ophidiophobia. Ophidiophobia is a variety of herpetophobia, a generalized fear of reptiles. Wikipedia says “an ophidiophobic would not only fear them [snakes] when in live contact but also dreads to think about them or even see them on TV or in pictures.” That pretty well describes me.
I have held snakes. That didn’t gross me out or anything. But the reality is I fear them at a very basic level. Like the definition, I have problems watching them on TV… my hands sweat, my heart rate increases, my breathing gets fast and thready. I get jumpy, having a hard time sitting still. My body tenses like rock. I used to hate thumbing through the “S” volume of our encyclopedia as a kid. When I would push myself and come to the snakes, if I turned a page and discovered that my finger was on a picture of a snake, I’d darn near wet myself! Scott loves going to the herpetology displays in zoos. I tag along. I hate it. When we finally finish, I have to go to the bathroom, then drink huge quantities of water. Then go to the bathroom again.
Where does it come from, this ophidiophobia? I suspect it came from my mother. I think she genetically implanted it in my DNA before I was even born. Mom was terrified of snakes too. She came by her fear a little more naturally. She often told me a story about how that fear developed. It seems that back in the 30s, the lake she lived by with her family (Lake Manawa, south of Council Bluffs, Iowa) came very close to drying out. Of course, being the 30s, it was the pit of the depression. Mom tells that she was out playing on the dried lake floor. Maybe she was with her sister, my Aunt Jeanie, I don’t know. As I recall the story, she stayed out later than she was supposed to, then went running home. On the way, her foot caught in a deep fissure in the dried mud (you know how mud dries… in a jig-saw design?) and her shoe came off. Arriving home, my grandfather, her dad, was extremely upset with her over losing that shoe, so he made her go out with him to find and retrieve the shoe (remember, this was the Great Depression; I’m sure the expense of having to buy a new pair of shoes would not have been greeted warmly by Grandpa.) Anyhow, at some point they stepped over a log and there was a snake. As I recall the story, the snake was large, and grandfather grabbed mom and jerked her away from it, thus implanting her fear of snakes. Also, as I recall the story, the snake was a rattlesnake. But I am not sure of that part.
And so, from my earliest memories, snakes were very much NOT liked by mom. I remember Dad taking snakes caught in our yard, little garden variety snakes, never longer than a foot, foot and a half, down to the sewer grating where he killed it then dumped it down the sewer.
Years later, while working at a Boy Scout Summer Camp as a young man (21) I had two more experiences (in about 3 days) with snakes. The first one was while out hiking. I startled a snake, and the sound of it slithering off made me jump. I followed the snake, getting relatively close to it, fascinated, and trying to overcome my fear. Later, I had the Camp instructor who was teaching about snakes and reptiles help me to hold a snake. It was ok. Even managed to keep my terror under control. But, then, the next morning, any progress I made was erased.
It was my habit, as the person in charge of the aquatics program, to get up before my staff, go down to the pool, do a walk around making sure everything was okay. Then, against all safety rules, regulations, and common sense, I’d go for a swim. The morning following my snake handling break-through, I decided to forego my walk around, and just dove in to the pool and started swimming. I was about half way across the pool when I heard a shout. It was the camp ranger, a big burly man, standing on the edge of the pool off to the side waving and motioning for me to swim towards him. “HURRY! HURRY! Swim like you’re in a race for your life!” So, I swam toward him as fast as I could. As I neared the edge of the pool he reached down, caught me by one wrist and yanked me out of the water.
I was sure I was in big trouble! He just set me down and pointed. There, in the pool, not far behind me was a rattler.
“We’re having a bit of a dry season up here. They sometimes come to the pool, drawn by the water and the mice that come around here. They sometimes fall in. You should look before you leap.” He scooped the snake out, killed it, then left, taking the corpse with him. Nothing more was said about my irresponsible swim. And I never swam alone there again… much to the chagrin of my staff, as I thenceforth made one of them wake up early with me and watch while I swam. And I ALWAYS looked for snakes!
But that didn’t end my experiences with snakes. When I moved back to Council Bluffs in 1998, we lived about 6 houses from a big creek that runs through town, under the 16th Street Viaduct. One day, coming home from work, I tromped up the stairs to our apartment on the 2nd floor. As I entered the room, I thought I sensed movement, and reached to turn on the light. There in the middle of the floor was a garden snake, about 18 inches long.
I screamed.
I turned, and ran down the stairs to the living room, and sat with my friends until Scott could come home and go get the snake out of our apartment for me. A few days later, there was another smaller snake. Again, I screamed, and ran downstairs, and waited for Scott. This soon became a pattern. I finally got smart, and waited for Scott to come home before going upstairs. It wasn’t long before we discovered the walls of the house were infested with snakes. And can you believe it? I lived there for 10 months knowing that!
One night, I awoke in the middle of the night, feeling the call of nature. Not thinking I trudged through the apartment, and in to the bathroom. I stepped on one of them.
I screamed.
