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These Boots were made for walking
April 21st, 2010 | Author: Eric Hays-Strom

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!

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More on Our New Puppy
February 11th, 2010 | Author: Eric Hays-Strom

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!

Category: Eric's Life, Pets, Ramblings  | 2 Comments
Ophidiophobia
February 04th, 2010 | Author: Eric Hays-Strom

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.

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Princess Nikki
January 04th, 2010 | Author: Eric Hays-Strom

Scott and I share our lives with Princess Nikki.  Or is it Princess Nicky?  Or Princess Nicki? Or… well, we never have, really settled on a spelling for her name – but that’s neither here nor there.  For information how this little darlin’ came in to our lives, you can read about it here.

Perhaps I’ll just settle for Nikki.  That spelling is as good as any.

Nikki loves the three of us.  She dotes on me; she’ll bypass everyone else to greet me when we come home.  I like that.

Nikki has her challenges in life.  She’s a dear, sweet, timid little girl.  Scott and I and Gary are her little family.  But when anyone else comes in to our home, Nikki becomes very fearful.  She barks ferociously, but prefers to do so from her hiding spot behind my legs!  If Scott or I aren’t around to protect her, she will run and hide wherever she can, though preferably beneath our bed.

In addition to her fear, Nikki has some other little issues.  Nikki does not like to be watched while she… does her business.  We must turn our backs on her… but not too far… so that she can peacefully do her thing.

Nikki also does not like water, in any form.  When it rains, it is very difficult for her to relax enough to… do her business.  And, because of this, she really hates bath time.  It used to be that we literally had to tranquilize her in order to bath her.  We’ve overcome that, but bathtime is still a very stressful time for our little princess.

In my previous post, I told about the nearly 30 inches of snow we have on the ground (and are expecting another 7 in the next 72 hours.)  Snow makes it very hard for our princess to go out to do her business.  After the last big snow, it took her nearly 3 full days before she just could not contain herself longer.  Fortunately, she found a relatively private location on our driveway on the other side of our car.   When fresh snow arrived, we made sure to go and clear a path to the “dark side of the car” for her.

She has another issue.  Her paws are ticklish.  Because of this, she doesn’t like getting her nails trimmed.  But yesterday, we finally had to do get her claws taken care of.  We grind them with one of those “Peticure” devices.  She doesn’t like this, either, but she does tolerate it.

Unfortunately we put it off so long (we could hear her anywhere in the house because of her clicking, clicking, clicking claws) that we discovered her dew claws had grown so long as to curl back on themselves.  It even appeared that they had pierced in to her paw.

Nikki also is losing hair on her sides.

So, this morning, Nikki and I braved the –17 degree cold and visited another of her great fears… the veterinarian!

The visit was good and bad.  The dewclaws weren’t as bad as we feared, easily trimmed, no surgery needed.

But, the hair loss has a rather nasty treatment.  Our poor Princess Nikki must have her semi-annual bath tonight.  And Thursday… and next Monday… and next Thursday… for a total of four weeks!

I’m not sure who dreads the baths more… Princess Nikki or her Daddy!

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Mixed Feelings
November 30th, 2009 | Author: Eric Hays-Strom

It’s been a good Thanksgiving Weekend. 

Thursday morning, I made up three batches of Rum Balls for a Christmas Party Scott and I are having next month.  I think I was beginning to get drunk just from inhaling the fumes!  I finished with just enough time to shower then head over to Dad’s to pick him up for the family Thanksgiving at my cousin’s home.  On the way we stopped to see a friend who had borrowed our air compressor and nailers.

The dinner itself was fun, Missy, Jim, Uncle Lyle, David & Sylvia, along with Andrew & Scott & Becka (Andrew & Scott are Lyle’s grandsons, Beck is Scott’s wife) and Scott & I… oh, and Scott & Becka’s three children.  It’s so funny to gather with the Stroms… every single one of them looks cut from the same mold… the Kelly side of that family has pretty strong genes.  One look at one of the great grand kids, the grand kids, or any of the Strom kids and you just KNOW they came from the Kellys!

Friday & Saturday, Scott and I knuckled down to finish some long standing projects around the house, and to putting up the exterior Christmas decorations… good thing, as Sunday it started getting cold!

Sunday we put in our normal 5 hour stint at church, then stopped on our way home for our traditional breakfast at Village Inn.  And it is from that meal that the title of this entry hails.  As we were walking toward the cash register I glanced at the bill… OH MY GOODNESS!  Our waitress gave us BOTH a senior citizens discount!!!!!!  Village Inn’s “Senior Citizen’s discount” is for those aged 60 and older!

So, for all you out there who read my blog… go buy stock in Nivea!  Because I intend to sleep in a pool of Nivea skin moisturizer starting tonight!

60.  Ha!  I’ll show her!

(And our waitress, just so you know, wasn’t a high schooler, either, she was at least our age!!!!)  Maybe I should just credit to her as an attempt to be nice?

Category: Ramblings  | One Comment
Rambling
November 04th, 2009 | Author: Eric Hays-Strom

An Idea, an idea… my kingdom for an idea!

That’s what these past two months of silence have been like.  I mean, sure I’ve been doing lots of stuff… but none of it has seemed to be something I want to write about.  This past week, I’ve opened my “Live Writer” every day.  And every night I close it, nothing written.

It just seems that nothing has been weighing on me, or inspiring me to write about it. 

Over the past two months, since I blogged last, I’ve been on the run.  Of course, I’ve been to interviews… no luck.  I’ve been to Scottsdale for a wonderful family reunion.  I’ve developed a system for actually keeping the Hays-Strom household clean… something rather remarkable in and of itself!

But none of that says to me “Sit down and write about this.”  In deed, what’s being written right now is an attempt to jump-start my creative juices.  And I’m going to be NEEDING those creative juices! 

After a recent email to my family filling them in on my life, my job search, and Dad’s health, my aunt wrote me to tell me that she felt I wrote the most wonderful letters.  And she suggested I take a writing course.  And I jumped at the idea.  I start next Wednesday.  (And here’s a public THANK YOU Aunt Jeanie, for not only complimenting my writing, but making the suggestion AND then, topping it all off by paying for it!  You’re a very special lady, and I really really hope you know that.)

“A Writer’s Guide to Descriptive Settings” is the class I’ll be taking.  If it goes well, I may very well invest in another class.

My writing has taken me in some rather exciting directions.  Elsewhere out there in the “blogosphere”, a wonderful lady, a published author, whom I met online through conversations with a mutual friend, picked up an article I wrote some months ago and published it.  Another blogger in England picked up the piece from her and posted it with commentary.  A very lively conversation ensued between the 3 of us and several  other people.  One of those has even suggested I write a book!  Right now, that seems a bit unlikely to me.  But who knows?

I’m reticent to post that article here, or even tell my readers (all those thousands and thousands of you out there) where to find it elsewhere.  I’ll have to think about that.

Category: Eric's Life, Ramblings  | One Comment
time for a survey: stupid policies
July 13th, 2009 | Author: Eric Hays-Strom

May I take a moment to post a little rant?  I hope so.

As I begin my rant, let me say this quite clearly: Omaha World Herald, I hope you do some kind of daily yahoo or google search to determine what your readers think of you.  Why?  Because YOU HAVE A REALLY STUPID POLICY! 

I’m specifically writing about your online subscription policy.  I don’t mind paying for an online subscription.  I don’t mind paying full price for an online subscription.  What really has my shorts in a bunch today, you idiots, is that not only do I have to pay full price for an online subscription, but I also have… HAVE… as in AM OBLIGATED TO… take delivery of your paper daily.  So, for two weeks, your papers pile up on my front porch (where they are hidden from the neighbors view by a nice brick wall) until the bi-weekly collection of paper recyclables here in Council Bluffs.

World Herald Management, do you have ANY IDEA HOW INCREDIBLY STUPID THIS is?  Do you have any idea how WASTEFUL this is?  How many trees am I, through YOUR stupid, STUPID, incomprehensible policies responsible for killing every month?

I want the Sunday paper.  I faithfully read the daily papers online, but I want the SUNDAY paper physically in hand.  Why don’t you bozos save YOURSELF money, ME the hassle of tons of unwanted paper, the LANDFILLS the burden of my unwanted papers?  How hard is it for you to figure this out?  If you want, I’ll be glad to hire myself out to you for $100 an hour to figure out a method of working around this STUPID STUPID STUPID policy of yours.  I can guarantee you you’ll only spend $100.  ‘Cause I have the answer for you.  My neighbors 8 year old would have the SAME answer for you.  This is not rocket science.  I have a better idea.  Instead of complaining about the high costs of running a newspaper, and cutting off an entire section of the state of Nebraska from home delivery of your paper, since they seem to want it, why don’t you get off your rumpuses, DO YOUR BLASTED JOB, and fix this?  It is not hard.  Repeat after me: It.Is.Not.Hard.We.Can.Do.It!

You CAN do it! YES YOU CAN!

Sigh, since  the OWH is run by overbloated corporate executives with their heads up their… dark unsunny places… I doubt they’ll ever do it.  I dare you!  Prove me wrong!  Of course, my huge readership of, what… thirteen?… readers will be waiting with baited breath for your compliance.  No, wait, they better not.  I value them too highly!

Okay, now for the survey part of this: Faithful readers, tell me about your gripes with stupid, resource wasting, money wasting practices!  I’ll post them here!  Really.  I will!

UPDATE:  I decided to do something other than rant.  I wrote to 3 of the senior staff at OWH.  Their Circulation Director, VP of Sales & Marketing, and Executive Editor.  I didn’t rant.  I was nice!  Perhaps a little cheeky.  See for yourself:

Gentlemen,

First, I’d like to compliment you on the quality of your newspaper.  I think overall you all are doing a wonderful job!

Second, I’d like to compliment your circulation department for the high quality of service you provide.  I just got off the phone talking with one of your very friendly, very courteous people who, unfortunately was not able to help me.  I’m impressed because generally speaking, when one deals with big "faceless" corporations such as yourselves, courtesy and friendliness are frequently lacking.  But this brings me to the real point of my email.

I receive your paper 7 days a week.  I really only WANT to receive it on my front porch on Sundays, as I read it online the other 6 days.  There’s something nice about sitting with the paper and a cup of coffee with my partner on Sunday mornings.  The rest of the week, your paper sits, piling up in useless, WASTEFUL heaps on my front porch.

So, I called to ask how we could stop this waste of paper, but was told that if I want to be able to read the paper online Monday through Saturday, I have to also receive the hardprint version on those days.  Now, gentlemen, just about everyone I know from the age of 4 through 104 recognizes that this is a frivolous, costly waste of resources.  It really is, excuse the strong language, very, very stupid.

I would happily pay the full subscription fee for the ability to take Sunday delivery, but only have online access M-S.  Surely, you have bright, intelligent people on your staff that could figure out how to accomplish this.  You might suggest a brain-storming session to determine the best way to STOP wasting YOUR money, MY back, AND the landfill’s space, to STOP wasting the natural resources of this country.  To STOP killing unnecessary trees, to STOP wasting the fuel required to transport stacks of unwanted newspapers from your printer to my delivery person, from my delivery person to my door, and from my door to the landfill.

I’d bet you that brainstorming session would last less than 10 minutes.

If your bright intelligent people have better things to do with their time than figure this out, I am available for a small fee, to provide consultation services.

Sincerely,

Eric L. Hays-Strom

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saturday
July 11th, 2009 | Author: Eric Hays-Strom

Well, there’s still nothing happening on the job front.  There’s a tiny little ripple… we’ll see.

Scott and I had a great time at his family reunion last week.  I had hoped to blog about it while there but really there wasn’t much time.  The Hays Family Reunion differs from my own family reunions in that at the HFR, a room is reserved, generally a meeting type space, for everyone to gather.  And about 7:30 a.m. that’s just what the family does… they gather in the room, drink coffee, and chat.  They get caught up with each others lives.  About noon, we all mosey on up to the hotel’s restaurant for lunch, then afterwards stroll back down to the meeting room.

Little units drift off to one of the attractions Branson has to offer, but the core family stays in the meeting room, little circles forming at this table or that.  Conversation continues over a game of dominoes… or wahoo… or a puzzle… or a card game.  Or any of a number of different games.  We sit and chat.

Then around 5 different groups break off and go find dinner somewhere.  By 6:30 or 7 we’re all back together, chatting.  Playing.  This goes on for 2 days.  Towards the end of Saturday, we do pictures.  Pictures of each family.

The Hays Family Reunion is made up of the descendants of Merle & Ethel (Drumgoole) Hays.  There are 8 siblings remaining, children of Merle & Ethel.  These 8 siblings, along with their children and grand-children… and yes great grand-children are who make up the HFR.

So, on Saturday night, we take 9 pictures.  One picture of the 8 siblings, and one each of the families of each of the 8 children.  Did I say 9 pictures?  Well, what really happens is a bank of cameras take pictures.  So you generally have to sit for a photo while up to 20 photographers each take 3 or 4 pictures!  This year, Scott’s mother, Louise… Barb… (her name is Barbara Louise, and you’ll find folks at the reunion calling her either of those names) or Mudder as most of her family call her, asked me to join in the family picture.  Yay!  She said there were two reasons… one was that she’d looked back at all the pictures from the previous 10 years and realized I wasn’t in any of the pictures, and she figured it was wrong.  And the second reason?  Well… just as she was about to tell me, someone came along and interrupted, and I never did learn what it was!

On Sundays, family units start heading home.  The morning gathering has bout 2/3s of the family… then, little by little, the number goes down.  We have lunch, more people leave.  By mid-afternoon, there’s maybe 3 of the siblings, and their families still gathered.  By night, it was Scott and I, Mudder & Pops, Terry, Eleanor and Bethany, and oh-oh… Virgil and Alice, that’s right.

Terry’s a strange creature… she’s Bruce’s wife.  She was driver for Mudder & Pops and the girls.  At midnight we all went to bed.  At 2 a.m., she loaded up her charges and they all headed for Alamogordo.  Scott and I slept until 6, then loaded up and headed home.

I started off this post to tell what I’ve been doing this week, not about the reunion!  Frankly, the reunion is more interesting.

Just before leaving for the reunion, I bought a new trimmer for the yard.  So this week, I mowed the front yard.  Then I ran the trimmer around it.  It’s an electric trimmer, battery powered.  Came with two batteries.  One charger.

All the basic trimming got done Tuesday.  But, I’ve been putting in 2 hours a day of work on the front yard… that’s how long it takes to deplete the power in the two batteries, and in me.  Those who have seen my house may… or may not… remember that my driveway and front sidewalk has cracks in them.  And through those cracks grow weeds.  Pulling those weeds can be a daunting job… Scott and I once spent nearly 10 hours pulling them, and by the end of the day my fingers and his were raw and bleeding from abrading against the concrete.  Consequently, we don’t do it often… a mistake, I know.

So this week, for two hours a day, I’ve hacked away at those weeds with the trimmer until the batteries are too feeble to do anything but blow the leaves of the weeds around.  I have one stretch of sidewalk left to do… about 8 feet in all.  One 2 hour day’s work.  And then what?

I’ll do it again.  But first, we’ll be applying poison to the cracks.  And when stuff is dead, we’ll seal those cracks with tar.  Or something.  And then what?

It’ll be time for the back yard…. screeeeeeeech!  wait, I forgot!

After this weekend, I’ll be taking on the scraping of the front of the house… well, the trim anyhow.  I want to repaint the trim on the front of the house this coming week… it badly needs it.

Actually the whole house needs a paint job.  Just before they put it on the market, the previous owners spray painted the house a dusty blue.  I loved the color.  But, they used cheap paint.  Over the decade we’ve owned the house, the paint has faded, and washed away a bit, and now the house is dusty blue with the white underlayer showing through in many places.  But they ain’t no muny to buy house paint, so it’ll have to wait.  But the trim just can’t!

Dad wants to come over and help.  So, after an emergency dentist visit on Monday, I think that may just be what we do!

Toodles, all!

Category: Eric's Life, Our Life Together, Ramblings  | Comments off
thoughts on marriage
May 27th, 2009 | Author: Eric Hays-Strom

In just two short weeks (plus a couple of days) Scott and I will be getting married.  What started out to be a SMALL event, just a handful of people – most of whom would be my Dad and his side of the family – were expected to be invited, the anticipated size has grown to close to 50!  I was utterly stunned to receive an email from my Mom’s cousin Ron and his wife Diane saying that they were revising their summer plans in order to be in the area for the wedding!

The past couple of weeks we’ve made appointments with our pastor, arranged for a location… Castle Unicorn near Glenwood, Iowa, designed and printed invitations, and arranged for a cake.  This weekend, Scott and I will be picking out our wardrobe.  At this point, we’re planning on going the whole route and renting tuxedos… one of us will wear black, the other black pants with white coat.  Or so we think as of right now!  We still have to figure out the details of the reception itself (no champagne, bubbly cider instead.)

We are so excited by what’s about to happen.  We are getting married, as millions/billions of couples have for thousands of years.  But we’re also on the cusp of history.  We’re part of the MAKING of history.  That’s not lost on either of us.

But our joy is tempered today.  Yesterday, the California Supreme Court upheld Proposition H8.  I fully expected them to.  On the face of it, a court whose purpose is to interpret constitutional law, not impose it’s own will, had no other choice than to uphold this h8ful amendment to the constitution of California.  I am so happy that in doing so, the same court upheld the legitimacy of those 18,000 marriages performed prior to 11/4/2008.

What concerns me about this is the precedent set.  This proposition has permitted a small majority to relegate millions of people to second class status.  However you spin it, 4% is a small margin.  Frankly, in my opinion, far from protecting marriage from some imaginary threat, Proposition H8 diminishes marriage for all people, gay and straight alike.  It removes from the marital equation the concept of love, and limits the importance of marriage to mere biological breeding.

And I’d be less than truthful if I didn’t admit that the passing of Proposition H8 and it’s upholding by the CSS creates for me the spectre of what might occur in Iowa.  We now have legal same-sex marriage in this state.  So did California one year ago.  In Iowa, we know we have a minimum of three years before this right could face the vote of the people.

I have mixed emotions about that.  On the one hand, I do not believe my rights should ever hinge upon the will of a small majority of misguided people.  On the other hand, I also do not wish to prevent the people from addressing this situation.  The next three years must be, for us and for our allies, a time to educate everyone we know.  We can not afford to be silent.

Category: Our Life Together, Ramblings  | One Comment
Assignment 2
April 13th, 2009 | Author: Eric Hays-Strom

In our “Creating a Life that Matters” class that Scott and I are taking through our church, we have weekly homework.  This class is conducted in three “courses” (“Rediscovering Relationship With the Sacred”, “Rediscovering Relationship With Myself”, and “Rediscovering Relationship With my Passion”)  of 6 sessions each.  We completed the first course a few weeks ago.  Tonight we completed session 1 of the second course, “Rediscovering Relationship With Myself”.  The homework varies from week to week.  The first session had one assignment that involved journaling.  I wrote about that first assignment here.

This week’s assignment also asks us to journal.  We’ve read a piece from Care of the Soul by Thomas Moore.  The following three questions are what we are to write about.

  • Where do I come from?
  • Who am I and who am I not?
  • What might I do to strengthen the connections among the physical, emotional, and spiritual dimensions of myself?

I fear that the reading does not provide much guidance for answering most of these questions.  So, I’m on my own!

Where do I come from?
I think there are several answers to this question; they are not mutually exclusive.  First of all, I come from God.  I believe all of us are, whether or not we choose to acknowledge or believe this. 

And I know it sounds strange, but I come from stardust.  I think we all do.  The stuff of which we are comprised, the basic atoms and molecules have been here since before here was, and will continue after we are no longer here.

I come from Iowa/Nebraska.  I come from Bonnie Yates Strom and Louis Strom.  I am from Swedish, German, English, and a host of other nationalities.

And finally, for this journal anyhow, I come from 50 years of experiences that have created in me pain and ecstasy; happiness and sorrow; hope and at the same time a sense of hopelessness.  “I can do all things in God…” and nothing I ever do will change anything.

Who am I and who am I not?
The questions get harder!  Once upon a time in a land not so far distant from here/now I could have taken a stab at answering that more fully than I can today.  So much water under the bridge of life over the years though has taken it’s toll on my self knowledge.  I wonder these days, just who am I?  And because I do not know who I am, I have even more problems answering who I am not.

I suspect that to some extent my confusion on this matter stems from loss.  Things I’ve lost in life have robbed me of self-identity or more to the point, self-knowledge.

I am no longer employed.  I no longer serve in a leadership role at church, having chosen to rip those roles from myself.  I am no longer involved in the “international” retreat organization which I lead for some years… mainly because I lost to some degree my belief in that.  And the greatest lost, which contributed to much of those things I “am no longer”, is the loss of identity in relationship to God.

When I could put a label on my spirituality, on the way in which I believe in God, I could identify TO God.  In a very real sense, I lost God.

I need to label the compartments of my life.  I just realized that as I was writing the above.  Without labels, I am nothing!  At least can identify with nothing.  And if I can not identify with anything, then I can not know who I am – or who I am not.

I doubt much that anyone ever had any illusions that I “had it all together”, least of all myself.  But now, what togetherness I had is ripped from me.

Yeah, I’m skirting the issue of what it is that I am thinking.  Because, having made the decision to post this in my blog, and knowing who reads my blog, all of a sudden I’m fearful!  There are people who read this blog that matter much to me, and I want to keep the curtain between who I think they perceive me to be and who it is, or what it is, that I’m skirting.  Ahem, you know know who you are.

See, it’s like this.  I have lost my experience of my faith in God.  I don’t know how else to say that.  Once I could label my experience of that faith as Catholic.  I can do so no longer.  Once I could label myself as a “sort of rebellious evangelical type”, but I can do so no longer.  Once I could say comfortably to myself “I know who God is”.  I can do so no longer.  I honestly don’t know who/what God is.  I could blame the author of a book I once read; I could blame a spiritual director at a monastery I visited a few years ago; I could probably blame a bunch of others; but it’s on me.

See, God once upon a time made the Divine Presence known to me.  God made Himself known to me.  In many ways, small and large, I knew God’s Presence.  In the way a breeze caressed me.  In the way the atmosphere changed.  In the way God spoke to me.  But it’s been a very long time since I’ve experienced that.  I’ve tried so many things to recover that sense of God.  I have to content myself in struggling to be faithful and to acquiesce that, with or without experience, God exists.

You see, my life has been so wrapped up in God, and in my faith, and in the experience of that faith, that with it all gone, I don’t know who I am, any longer.  And worse, I don’t know who I’m not.

What might I do to strengthen the connections among the physical, emotional, and spiritual dimensions of myself?
Like the question of who I am and who I am not, this question asks of me something I can not provide.  The soul is utterly unique to each of us.  It arises from, and informs who we are.  It is that point within us at which our unique “usness” meets the Divine.  To paraphrase Thomas Moore’s reading for today, if I don’t know who I am not, I risk filling my soul with that which is bogus. And when that occurs, my soul has no way to present what is ultimately real of me.

So, what CAN I do to strengthen these connections?  I can but continue to strive to sustain the faith I do have; to continue to seek the label-less me, though of course, when I do ultimately find that, it will no longer be label-less.  Muscles unused wither, atrophy.  Faith not exercised also will atrophy.  Muscles are supported by our skeletal structure and our tendons.  The experience of my faith that is now lost was the skeletal structure and the tendons which sustained and supported my faith.  Without it, I don’t know how to sustain this faith.  But, of course, as all analogies must, the whole thing falls apart here for me, because a body without skeleton or tendons becomes a puddle of goo, whereas my faith, without the experience of that faith, can and will remain strong.  Perhaps it is the power of mind which sustains that faith that becomes surrogate skeleton and tendon.

In which case, I’m in deep doo doo!

Category: Ramblings, Spirituality, Stayings at home  | Comments off
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