February Blahs

I think February is the dreariest month of the year. Thankfully, it's short. It's not uncommon to hear locals lament that making it through February without sinking into depression is their winter goal. It is a very gray month.

We washed the car on Saturday. It was a very un-February-like sunny day. We were on our way to Spokane. It seemed like a good thing to do. We waited in line at the new, high-tech car wash in town. The car wash itself is not new, but the workings of the car wash are new. It's a LaserWash 4000. Impressive name! To introduce it to locals, the Exxon station in which it is located gave away free car washes for two days. It broke. In fact, it right after it washed my car. Then we had our sub-freezing temps, and it froze. I think it's been operational for a total of 7 out of the 15 days it's been in town. We did manage to wash all three of our cars for free, two of them twice. Saturday it wasn't free. It cost $8 for the mega/ultra/extreme/works (one of those adjectives) wash. This wash includes an undercarriage wash, a pre-soak, a rinse, another pre-soak, a wash, a rinse, clear coat polish, clear coat protectant, a spot-free rinse, and a blow dry. It takes 10 minutes. The Jetta looked stunning. It snowed on the way back from Spokane Saturday night and it's been raining cats, dogs, mice, fish, and every other ark creature ever since. I've apologized to my coworkers and most everyone else I've discussed the unending rain with. I know it's our fault. Every time we've washed the cars this winter, it has snowed or rained the very next day, if not the same day. I accept full responsibility for the soggy conditions outside.

I hope March is sunny! My birthday is in March, as is my daughter-in-law's, my grandson's, my sister's, my grandmother's, and two sisters-in-law. A fishy bunch (except my sis, who is an Aries). Well, off to buy groceries on the way home from work.

Eagles Ice Arena Rocks!

Well, we finally did it! Last Saturday we went to Spokane to hook up with our kids and their kids and celebrate Tom's upcoming (Feb 22) 56th birthday. We decided we would all go ice skating at the Eagles Ice Arena. Since Jonathan is now an expert ice skater after taking the ice skating PE class during Jan term, he has been bugging us to go ice skating. Things worked out perfectly for us to go last weekend.

Of our group, only Jonathan, Shana, and I have ever ice skated before. The last time Shana and I ice skated was probably 15 or 16 years ago, so I expected to be a bit wobbly. I didn't expect to be as wobbly as I really was, though! Shana surprised the heck out of all of us, skating around the rink like she's been doing it all winter. Maybe she's been secretly running off to local ponds and sharpening her skills, unbeknownst to us all. How else do you explain her ability to race around the rink with Jonathan with nary a bobble or fall? Jonathan was eager to show off his newly learned skills. We all had to admit, he is quite good for only having recently learned how to skate. He skated forward, backward, and did little spins as we all stood and watched approvingly.

Tom was hilarious. The natural tendency of someone who has never been on ice skates is to try to move the feet straight forward. You can't do that. You get nowhere fast, and you'll probably fall. For those of you who have never ice skated, imagine a clock with your body in the center from which the hands rotate. You have to put your weight on your right leg, bend your knee a bit, then push with your left foot pushing back toward about 7 o'clock and glide forward with the right foot going toward 2 o'clock. Then you shift your weight to your left foot, and push with the right foot going toward 5 o'clock and glide on the left foot going toward 10 o'clock. That's the movement. Well, Tom was having a heck of a time. He could barely stand, let alone attempt any sort of pushing and gliding. Jonathan was doing a heck of a job instructing him, barely keeping his mirth contained. While Jonathan was teaching Tom the basics, Ryan was trying to help Tyler stand on the ice and Shana was helping Olivia. Tyler was having a ball. He didn't care if he fell or not. He thought being on the slippery ice was the most fun ever. Olivia was getting a little frustrated. Jonathan, Shana and I all took turns with her, holding her hands and guiding her around while explaining what she needed to do with her feet. I kept going around the rink visiting each member of our party, trying to regain my skating skills. I was pretty pathetic. The skates didn't help. The left one was digging into my shin, no matter how loosely or tightly I tied it. The rental skates are made of hard plastic, not leather, and are pretty unforgiving. Tom promised to find my skates before we go again, which may be next weekend. We all had a really great time, despite our lack of ability. By the end of the hour we were there, the kids could move about without falling, Ryan was doing surprisingly well for his first time, and Tom could actually make it around the rink one full time without grabbing the side. We decided it was one of the best ways to spend a Saturday we'd run across in years.

After skating, we met up with Tommy and his family for dinner at Azteca, where the waiters and busboys put a silly sombrero on Tom and sang "Feliz Cumpleaños" to him after we finished our wonderfully delicious dinner. Tommy bought Tom a lightweight windbreaker for our trip. It was a great, great day!

So, here are the photos:

This is Tom with his skates on watching the grandkids get theirs on before we all head onto the ice:



And here's Tyler in the same area:



This is Shana helping Tyler skate:



And this shows Ryan and Jonathan with Olivia between them and Shana and Tyler in the background:



Finally, Tyler standing with no aid on the ice:



And one more of Ryan, Olivia, and Jonathan:



Sorry, no photos of Tom slipping and sliding around, and since I was the photographer, none of me. Maybe next time! It was so much fun, I can't wait to do it again! Maybe for MY birthday, which is in two weeks.

Catching up

I have some photos I have taken over the past few days that I've been meaning to post, but haven't had time to do. So, here you go:

First, this is a photo of the outside of the gym we belong to. It's pretty plain - a big steel building - which helps keep the costs down, I suppose. It has 24 hour access, which is really nice. We have a keycard that we use to gain entry during the hours no one is in the office. It doesn't have a bunch of fancy stuff like a swimming pool, racquetball courts, steam rooms, and such. It has a lot of free weights, a lot of machines for working every muscle in your body, and several machines for doing cardio exercises, like recumbant bikes, treadmills, stairclimbers, and whatnot. It now has a "studio" for classes like aerobics and martial arts, none of which I engage in. It is only about 3 blocks from work, which makes it very convenient. It costs us $39 a month for the both of us, which is pretty cheap. I try to go to the gym every morning at 6:30. I am not always successful. My husband almost never misses his workout, which takes place during his lunch break at 3:00 pm.




I took this photo on one of our brutally cold mornings. See how deceptively sunny and warm looking it is? Don't be fooled. It was about 10 degrees out on this morning.

The old plant

When I graduated from high school, one of the souvenirs I got at our Grad Night party was a clear glass mug with the, at that time, ubiquitous smiley face on it. I still have that silly mug. Part of the reason I still have it is that my sister, Kristi, planted a golden pothos in it shortly after I graduated. She is a plant goddess. Everything she touches grows like crazy. She has 10 green thumbs, at least. It's only fitting that she lives on an 80 acre farm with all sorts of things growing on it. She's as adept with animals as she is with plants. She is a dog trainer extraordinaire. Since we were in high school, she has obedience trained hundreds of dogs, some hers, most not hers. She is pretty darned amazing. Well, she planted this plant, and I carried it with me from home to my first apartment when I went off to college, and from there to every apartment, cottage, and house in which I ever lived. I finally repotted it about 10 or 15 years ago into a "normal" pot. It lives on my refrigerator. I have never cut it back, nor have I ever taken cuttings from it. It is the original, 34 year-old plant, just in a new pot. I suppose it should be a lot bigger, but I only have half a green thumb, so I'm just thankful it's not dead. Here is a photo of it growing up the wall in my kitchen above my fridge, my stainless pots, and around my beloved David Goines posters. Gosh, it has outlasted two husbands, countless dwellings, and is older than all my kids. I love this plant.



Cat nap

How can you not get all warm and fuzzy inside when you see a furry little bundle like this waiting for you to get home from work? Ali sits right here - the front door is to the right - and waits for me to come home every day. As soon as I open the door, she stretches, sits up, and waits for me to come pet her.



So... that's about it for now. I guess that catches me up. Next... ice skating!

Colder than a witch's.....

I can't finish that sentence unless I want to offend some of my readers. My stepdad used to say that all the time - and we only lived in California, where "cold" means you've had to put on a sweatshirt over your t-shirt and you might have had to trade in your flip-flops for sneakers. I've been mentioning that it was supposed to get cold here. Well, it did.

It began to cool off last night. As luck would have it, my car was on empty. Try as I might to talk myself into waiting until the next morning to gas up, the sensible person inside me realized there was a very good possibility I would run out of gas before I made it to the gas station the next morning. That person also reminded me that it was supposed to be even colder the next morning than it was last night. Reluctantly, I pulled into the gas station. The thermometer on my dash read 18 degrees Fahrenheit. (That's -7 for you "foreigners".)

As I opened my car door, the north wind lashed at me, whipping my hair into my face and instantly freezing the tip of my nose. The last thing I wanted to do was step out into this arctic blast, but the gas was not going to get into the tank on its own. How I miss the days of full service gas stations! You could opt to sit in your nice, warm, dry automobile while an energetic young attendant rushed to assist you, pumping your gas, checking your oil and fluid levels, and even putting air in the tires. Those were the days! As frugal as I can be, it would have been worth the extra cents per gallon the full service stations charged not to have had to get out of my car last night. Alas, full service stations have gone the way of rotary telephones, clerks who can make change without the cash register telling them how much to give you, and leaded fuel cars.

I pulled on my gloves, buttoned my coat, clenched my teeth, and slid out of the car (did I tell you my seats are heated and they were very toasty and warm?) The wind was brutal. It was howling at about 20 mph, making it feel more like, according to the national weather service's windchill chart, -2F/-18C. Frostbite was imminent. I chattered to the gas pump, my coat whipping about me as if trying to tear from my body and get back into the warm car. I didn't have a hat. I could imagine all my body heat escaping through the top of my head, like steam rising from a freshly baked bun, leaving me to die of hypothermia. I fumbled with my credit card, trying to figure out which direction it had to be facing in order to work the gas pump - my confusion a sure sign of hypothermia. I finally managed to slide it in and out of the slot quickly, as required, and waited for what must be the slowest dialup connection in Bonner County to connect and authorize my purchase. Finally, I pulled the nozzle from its holder, flipped the lever to start the flow of gas, squeezed the trigger on the nozzle, and watched as the dollars ticked off on the readout.

Something was wrong with the pump. At $2.29 a gallon, the dollars usually go by in a blur. I could almost match the passing of the cents with the second hand on my watch. At this rate, it would take almost 4 minutes just to put one gallon of gas in my car and I'd be a Gina popsicle. Sometimes the pumps get vapor lock - or so I've been told - and you have to stop the pumping, wait a few seconds, then restart it, sort of like rebooting your computer. I tried that - no change. I started trying to bargain with my sensible self. How about if I put in just two gallons? That will get me to work and back for a few days at least! The sensible me reminded me that it is not wise to leave the gas tank nearly empty in such cold temperatures - something about condensation and freezing gas lines (I could hear my husband's admonishments ringing in my ears). Well, then, how about $10 worth? The sensible me would have none of it. By this time, my hand was frozen to the pump handle anyway, so I may as well keep pumping until I could pry it free. Finally, the pump read $20 - that was nearly 10 gallons, which is almost a full tank, given that it holds 14.7 gallons. Even the sensible me agreed that was a sufficient quantity of fuel (I think she was frozen into acquiescence). I managed to release my grip on the pump trigger, remove it from my gas tank, and replace it in it holder in record time, despite being frozen as stiff as the wooly mammoth. I replaced the gas cap, closed the flap, and raced to get back inside the car. The heated leather seats went to work immediately, thawing my frozen backside in record time. Of course, I had them cranked all the way to 6 - the highest setting and higher than I'd ever had them set. Too bad I didn't have a heated nose warmer. The tip of my nose was numb and cold as ice to the touch. But I had 3/4 of a tank of gas!

Last night was just a preview. The wind howled all night, keeping me awake for most of it. It battered my house, making the shingles groan and slap and the walls creak. It's amazing to me how much noise a solid wall makes when the wind blows against it, moving it only millimeters, but sounding as if it has been shifted from its foundation. I felt like the little pig in the house made of sticks. I figured one or two more "huffs and puffs" and the walls would be crashing down on me by the sound of things. The pressure of the wind against my bedroom wall, which is on the north side of the house, pushes all the warm air right out of my bedroom, down the hall, and into the laundry room, the room on the south side of the house. I am thinking of moving our bed there. To counteract this heat loss, we have installed a small ceramic heater in our room. It is set to go on when the temperature in our room drops below 65 degrees. It was on all night long. I like to sleep in a cool room, but last night was ridiculous. I was sure I'd be breaking icycles off my lashes when I woke up in the morning. When the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m., I checked the outside temperature. 2 degrees, wind blowing like a someone blowing out birthday candles. A quick look at the windchill chart showed me that it now felt like -21F outside (-30C), and that frostbite would occur in 30 minutes. Since I had no plans whatsoever for being outside for anywhere near even 3 minutes, I knew I was not in danger. By the time I left for work, it had warmed up to 4 degrees, but the wind had not subsided at all. My car says it's warmed all the way up to 18 now. It is supposed to be even colder tonight, but not as windy, and then quite pleasant tomorrow - a balmy 30 degrees is predicted. Get out your sunscreen and beach towels! The wind and cold work together to suck every ounce of moisture from every living thing, too. Dry, cold, and windy equals a lot of static electricity. I keep shocking myself just walking up and down the stairs and holding the handrail. My nasal passages are as dry as the Sahara Desert and my lips look as though I've been lost in Death Valley without water. But hey, it's sunny!

Good stuff happening to good people

I slacked off today.  I got completely dressed for the gym, was ready to leave at 6 a.m., and then didn’t go.  Instead, I watched a show I had Tivo’d last night.  After the show was over, I flipped to live TV and stumbled across the Ellen DeGeneres show.  I watch it on occasion if I’m home slacking in the morning, but not with any regularity.  Today’s show looked interesting in that Betty White was to be a guest.  I love Betty White.  She’s hilarious on Boston Legal.  So, I decided to Tivo the show so I could watch Betty later.  While I was setting it up to Tivo, I saw a segment wherein three women were competing for a Quizno’s franchise.  Apparently, these three women were selected from among thousands of people who had emailed an essay to Ellen as part of a contest to win a Quizno’s franchise and change their lives.  Well, the real story was that two of the women were actually staffers of Ellen’s show.  The third woman, Stephanie, is a single mom raising six kids, some in college. She works two jobs, her kids all work two to three jobs to pay for their college expenses.  She obviously is deserving.  Stephanie has already been selected as the winner, but she doesn’t know it yet – and Ellen is not ready to tell her.  Stephanie is under the impression that she and the other two women are competing in the finals for the franchise.   They are to participate in a contest which entails them going to 3 different local Quizno’s and filling a sandwich order put together by Ellen, then returning to Ellen’s studio first with the correct order.  Naturally, as Stephanie is out getting this order, Ellen is calling her with changes to the order.  Then, things go wrong at the Quizno’s (the oven breaks), and other setbacks occur.  Stephanie finally gets back to the studio at almost the exact same time as the other women. Ellen decides the outcome will come down to a taste test.  She needs to taste the sandwiches that were made for her.  She takes a bite of the sandwich that Stephanie got for her and finds a piece of paper in it.  Stephanie looks concerned, looks at the paper, and then sees that it says she is the winner.  She, of course, goes crazy, cries, screams, etc., as her 12 year-old daughter comes onto the stage from the audience.  Now, the daughter already knew her mom was the winner – they told us that at the beginning of the show.  They hug and cry and it’s really wonderful.  Then Ellen reminds her that running a business is a lot of work.  Stephanie says, “I have six kids” – built-in employees – “and they all need good jobs.”  Ellen tells Stephanie that they have hired her first five employees, at which time all five of her other kids come out, dressed in Quizno’s uniforms.  The woman is stunned, ecstatic, overwhelmed.  Ellen’s show flew them all out from Ohio to surprise their mom.  I couldn’t help it.  Tears streamed down my face.  It made me feel really great to see such a wonderful thing happen to an apparently deserving family.  I love stuff like that.  Oh, and Betty White was great, but Stephanie was awesome.

Another day, another chocolate bar

I have succumbed to the holiday. I have devoured more chocolate in the past 24 hours than I have all year. That was not my intention. In fact, my loving children and my wonderful spouse did not buy me a single piece of chocolate this Valentine's Day, opting instead for Starbucks cards and dinner. I was doing so well. Then I got to work. My mailbox was filled with about 8 or nine Hershey's kisses. Okay, I could handle that. With a Kiss coming in at about 25 calories, I would be under my caloric allotment even if I ate all of them. Phew! Then, the kids arrived after school got out. There is one patron, a 14 year-old girl who just craves attention, especially from adults, who has attached herself to me. She is one of those kids who could as easily slip through the cracks, get pregnant at a tender age, and be a welfare mom for the rest of her life as she could become the school valedictorian. She's got potential, but her energy thus far has been focused on getting boys to notice her, dressing provocatively, acting out, and breaking the rules on a regular basis. Surprisingly, despite this behavior, she managed to get decent grades last semester. I have had many, many chats with her and her girlfriends, girls in similar straits, in an attempt to get them to see how inappropriate their behavior is and to encourage them to do something constructive and positive. I guess the fact that I actually speak to them with respect and try to work with them, rather than look down my nose at them, scold them, and speak them as though they were the last people I wanted to see, has made me their friend. Yesterday, to my surprise and delight, Megan brought me a basket with a little stuffed bear, a heart-shaped photo frame, and way too much chocolate for one trying to lose weight, as a Valentine's Day gift. I was humbled by her gift. I hugged her and asked her to bring me a photo of her for the frame, which I promised to put on my desk. She ran home to get one. She really just wants attention from an adult so bad it breaks my heart. I know her family situation is a confusing one. She lives with her father and his girlfriend. Her mother lives several hours away and doesn't want her to live with her. No wonder she needs my attention. So, thanks to Megan, I overdosed on chocolate yesterday. Then, today, the daughter of some dear friends came in selling candy bars to raise money for camp this summer. How on earth could I say no? I bought my favorite - a chocolate bar with almonds - and then ate every bit of it. Had to destroy the evidence. Too bad it will show up on my hips. :( Tomorrow, double duty on the treadmill!

Making Peace

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God." Matt 5:9

Charlie's post here got me thinking. I've often considered myself a peacemaker. Most people who know me would agree that I am the one who tries to get people to resolve their differences, who tries to see the other person's point of view, who strives to keep the peace as much as possible. But does that really make me a peacemaker? I wondered what it meant to be a peacemaker, so I Googled the verse. I found an interesting site that had this definition:

"Peacemaking tries to build bridges to people. It does not want the animosity to remain. It wants reconciliation. It wants harmony. And so it tries to show what may be the only courtesy the enemy will tolerate, namely, a greeting. The peacemaker looks the enemy right in the eye and says, "Good morning, John." And he says it with a longing for peace in his heart, not with a phony gloss of politeness to cover his anger. A peacemaker longs for peace, and works for peace, and sacrifices for peace. But the attainment of peace may not come."

Ah, so if I aim for peace, strive for peace, but do not achieve it, that doesn't mean I am not a peacemaker. The article quoted above states that peacemaking does not necessarily mean peace-achieving. Good news. Though I really do strive for peace with my coworkers, family members, friends and foes alike, I am not always successful. It's not that I hold onto animosity - quite the contrary. I am very quick to forgive - some might say too quick. No. It seems that, despite my best efforts, convincing or helping others to give up their grudges, let go of their anger, or forget their hurt feelings is something I find quite difficult to accomplish. It seems folks are often kind of partial to their grudges, to their pity parties, to the anger, bitterness, and resentment they've allowed to overtake their lives and their relationships. I wonder what sort of satisfaction it brings them. I wonder what they'd do if they ever had to deal with a real problem in their lives. I wonder if they'd handle a diagnosis of cancer as graciously as Edy has. I wonder if they'd set out to mend fences, to make peace, or if they'd wallow in their misery. I'd like to think the best, and imagine everyone making peace, but there I go, putting on those rose-colored glasses again. I must admit, the world looks so much better with them on.

There are no brilliant conclusions at which I've arrived, or which I have a burning desire to share. I haven't found the secret path to peace, worldwide or personal. I wish I had! I was just pondering, thanks to Charlie. Say, Charlie, would you maybe stop making me think so much, please? Thanks!

Peace out!

PS - Did I mention it's supposed to be -4 F tonight? That's -20 Celsius for your folks outside the US. Brrrrrrrrrrrr!

A losing proposition

Success!  I jumped on the scale after a weekend filled with self-denial to find my efforts rewarded with a five pound loss.  I was ecstatic, and filled with a renewed determination to stick to my diet and exercise routine.  Saturday, we went to Spokane to see Jonathan, go to lunch, and take in a movie.  We went to Chili’s, a chain restaurant that we frequent often.  They have really good food, and it’s easy to overindulge.  As I scanned the menu, I found myself leaning toward the Cobb salad, my favorite.  But I know the Cobb is laden with calories.  Filled with avocados, arguably my favorite fruit, bacon, hard-boiled eggs, bleu cheese crumbles, and smothered liberally with bleu cheese dressing, I’m sure it comes in at well over 1,000 calories.  I have been giving in to my gluttonous desires on the weekends, no doubt the reason my weight loss program has been a dismal failure.  With our trip to the UK just 3 months away, I had to start getting serious.  I opted for one of Chili’s “Guiltless Gourmet” items – all low fat, low cal foodstuffs with calories, fat content, and carbs neatly displayed beneath the description of the meal.  The lowest calorie offerings were a grilled salmon dish and a grilled chicken sandwich, both coming in at 480 calories for the entire meal.  I was in a sandwich mood, so chose the grilled chicken sandwich meal with black beans and “seasoned steamed vegetables”.  My husband had the peppercorn burger with fries, while Jonathan had the Philly cheese steak sandwich with fries.  All three meals looked delicious when they arrived at our table.  My chicken sandwich was accompanied by steamed broccoli and carrots, nicely seasoned with a seasoned salt, and a cup of black beans in a soupy sauce.  The chicken breast was smallish, but flavorful and juicy.  The bun was a whole grain bun, spread with a honey mustard sauce.  It really was a delicious meal, made even tastier by the knowledge that it was low calorie.  I was proud of myself.

Right after lunch, we went to the theater in the mall in which the Chili’s was located.  The movie we were seeing was Firewall.  While I am generally a fan of Harrison Ford, despite the fact that he pretty much plays the same character in every movie – the sort of bumbling, lovable action hero, I was really disappointed in the movie.  We all were.  The name is deceiving.  I thought it would be more “technological” and revolve more around circumventing computer security.  It doesn’t.  The characters are never fully developed.  You don’t really feel a connection to any of them.  You don’t really know why the bad guy is doing what he’s doing, except that he’s a bad guy who wants money.  You don’t get a feel for why the bad guys chose “Jack” as their target.  It’s just a very typical bad guy vs. good guy sort of action movie but not very full of action.  It was very disappointing.  It entertained, to a degree, but certainly wasn’t worth the $7 economy hour ticket price.  It would have been a good DVD rental, but not a $21 trip to the theater.  Thankfully, having just had lunch, we avoided paying even more by visiting the concession stand for overpriced popcorn, soda, and candy.  I give the movie two stars out of five.  Wait for the DVD.

I ended my day by having a salad with some cheddar cheese and fat free dressing when we came home – a mere 300 calories at the most.  I was rewarded the next morning when I stepped on the scale to reveal I’d lost 5 pounds this week.  Now, if I can do the same next week, I’ll be well on my way to my goal of 30 pounds by May 13.  Yay!

The haunted treadmill - conclusion

The moment of truth had arrived.  A choice must be made – go on to higher levels, or conclude my walk without attaining my goal.  Not one to shrink from a challenge, I hit the up button once again.  7% incline.  Music blaring in my ears, I walked along, bobbing side to side in time with the beat of the song – Gloria Estefan’s Conga, a great workout song.  I tried not to think about whether or not I could decline the machine.  Halfway through the song, I hit the up button again.  8% was grueling.  I had to lower my speed.  I was slipping backward a bit with each step at 4.2 MPH.  Fortunately, the speed portion of the treadmill worked perfectly.  I slowed a mere .1 MPH, but it made all the difference in the world.  I couldn’t maintain this steep an incline for 2 minutes, though.  I haven’t been working out long enough.  Time to see if the decline works.  I hit the down button.  The motor hummed, the incline didn’t change.  I tried again. Again, humming motor, no change in the incline.  I tried the up button.  The treadmill raised.  I hit it again, and it raised again.  I was now, theoretically, at the highest incline possible – 10% - though the computer showed only 8%.  I hit the up button until the incline showed 10%, then hit the decline button.  Success!  The treadmill lowered 1%.  I waited a few seconds, then hit it again.  Again it lowered.  Perhaps the secret was to wait a few seconds between attempts to lower the incline.  I continued this process until I got to 4%.  At that point, further attempts to lower the incline failed.  The treadmill was stuck at 4%.  Feeling smugly successful at having vanquished the demon that possessed the treadmill sufficiently enough to allow me a modicum of control, I finished up my walk at 4%, burning a respectable 366 calories in my half hour stroll.  The woman next to me smiled approvingly.  I had conquered my fear and, for the most part, the machine.  I hit the stop button.  The machine lowered into place, awaiting its next victim.  Perhaps I should notify the gym owner about the treadmill’s curious behavior.  Perhaps he could call in an exorcist.  To the showers….

The haunted treadmill revisited

After my weightlifting portion of my workout, I made my way to the treadmills. There are three in our gym. I had intended to use one of the other two - any one but the haunted one. Alas, a man and his wife had already claimed the other two treadmills, leaving me to confront the ghost in the machine once again.

Trying to hide my nervousness, I stood astride the machine. I punched in the program I wanted, the speed at which I wanted to begin, and my weight. I waited for the treadmill to get up to speed, and then, with the grace of a gazelle, stepped onto the moving tread, smoothly making the transition from stationary to walking.

I mentioned to the woman next to me that the treadmill had behaved peculiarly yesterday, relating to her the problem with the incline/decline mechanism. She offered to switch machines with me, stating she and her husband would only be on them for a brief time. I declined her offer. I knew what I was in for should the machine once again become demon possessed. I could handle it. I had vanquished the ghost yesterday. What if she were not similarly equipped, and the demon made its presence known, and she fell prey to it? I would never forgive myself.

After I declined her offer she asked "are you scared?" I thought for a moment, then replied, "yes, yes I am." She looked at me with admiration. I could tell she was impressed by my bravery.

I started slowly - 4.1 MPH, 0% incline. Two minutes later, I notched it up to 2% incline, 4.2 MPH. Every two minutes I notched it up another percent incline. I reached 5% incline and maintained my 4.2 MPH pace for about 5 minutes. Dare I go to 6%? That seemed to be the point at which the demonic possession had taken place yesterday. I hesistated, my finger hovering over the "up" button.

The woman next to me watched me the way you watch when you know a car wreck is imminent. She looked as though she wanted to shout, "No! Stop!" but no words came out. Had I not already been sweating from exertion, I would have broken out in a cold sweat. My mouth was dry - although it could have been a result of my exercise and not necessarily related to fear of the demonic treadmill ghost. I bit my lower lip, gulped, then hit the up button. The treadmill rose into position. I maintained my 4.2 MPH pace for another 5 minutes. I thought about testing the decline mechanism, but decided against it. I wanted to keep going up. I was ready for more, ready to go to the next level, but did I dare?

I had 12 minutes left in my workout. If I went at 7, 8, 9, and 10% for 2 minutes each, I could cool down for 2 minutes at 2% and 2 minutes at 1%. Perfect!

But what if I got stuck on 10 again? What if, this time, I could not vanquish my foe? Dare I chance it? To be continued....

February clear skies = Brrrrrrr!

The sun is out. The sky is the color of Paul Newman's eyes. The mountains to the east are snow-capped, standing out in stark relief against the blue sky. At first glance, you'd think you could don a light sweater, maybe even just a t-shirt, and head out for a brisk walk, dosing yourself with copious quantities of much-needed Vitamin D. Don't try it. Upon closer investigation, you will notice the frost-covered lawns, the windshields being scraped free of the thick layer of ice that accumulated overnight, and the breath of those poor souls walking to school hanging frozen in the air. Inside my garage, it was 35 degrees - balmy for February. As I dragged my garbage cans to the curb for today's pickup, wearing just a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans, I immediately realized it was much colder than that. A look at my car's thermometer confirmed what my senses had already told me. It was only 26 degrees out. True to form, clear, beautiful skies in the winter in this neck of the woods means you are going to freeze your behind off. Without that protective gray cloud layer, all the heat escapes, and this far north this time of year,the sun is so far away even it can't warm things up much past freezing. But heck, it's sunny, and that's always cause for celebration. Don your warm jacket, pull on a knitted hat, grab your gloves, and go for that walk. Oh, don't forget the ear muffs. You'll need them.

The haunted treadmill

If you listened to my audioblog post, you know I did actually make it to the gym yesterday, albeit not until closer to 8 am than 7 am. I got on the treadmill for a little more than 30 minutes - long enough to burn, according to the treadmill's computer, 344 calories. Considering I was not running on the treadmill, but rather walking at a brisk 4.2 miles per hour, one might wonder how I could burn so many calories in such a short time. Well, weight has something to do with it - I don't weigh a mere 105 pounds as does my girlfriend and workout partner. But the main factor in the high number of calories expended was that I walked at a rather significant incline of 5 to 7 percent. I have found that it actually hurts my knee less to walk on an incline than on the flat. It also works the gluteus maximus and hamstrings more. So I try to trudge along as long as possible at varying inclines, from 3 percent all the way to 10 percent (the treadmill's maximum), usually settling at about 5 percent for most of my walk.

Yesterday, the treadmill was obviously possessed by demons. I cranked up the incline to 3 percent for a few minutes, then to 5 percent, where I trekked along for about 10 minutes. I notched it up another percent for about 2 minutes, then notched it back down to about 3 percent for the last bit of my walk. The motor made noises, but the treadmill didn't lower. I hit the button to lower it again. Again noises, but no lowering took place. The pragmatic side of my brain realized that if the computer thought I was walking at a zero incline, it was not properly calculating my calories, given that I was still actually walking at a 6 percent incline, so I hit the button to incline it until the computer again read 6 percent. Oddly, the silly machine actually inclined even further! This machine was obviously playing games with me! How dare it! I would show it who was boss! So, I notched it up another percentage point, then tried to "dis-incline" it once again. It didn't lower. "Perhaps if I take it to its max, it will then have to lower", I said to myself (by this time I was saying a lot of things to myself). I told the computer to go all the way - 10 percent incline! It obeyed. Victory was mine! I directed the computer to lower the treadmill back to zero. The motor cranked and hummed, but the treadmill didn't budge. I was now climbing the equivalent of Mt. Everest at a much too brisk pace of4.2 miles per hour. I was burning calories at an insane rate, but the computer thought I was just strolling along the Bonneville Salt Flats. It was time for drastic measures. I hit the stop button. Finally, the treadmill began its descent. Finally, the surface was at zero percent. I had exorcised the demon. Since I had only hiked for about 22 minutes before the demonic possession of the treadmill, I hopped back on and continued walking for about 9 more minutes - long enough to listen to Barry White and the Love Unlimited Orchestra's Love's Theme twice on my CD player. I was careful to keep the incline in the Salt Flats mode for the duration of my walk, not seeking a repeat encounter with the treadmill demon. The end result was that I burned 344 calories, according to the computer, though the fact that I was hiking Everest while the computer thought I was out for a stroll through Central Park, means I certainly burned many more calories than even that.

Now, it's 6:39 am... time to head to the gym again. This time I'll lift weights, then do some walking. I think I'll try a different treadmill today.

On the way to the gym

Slacker

I am not here typing this right now. Really. I am at the gym working out. Honest! I packed my bag last night so I could zip right out of here as soon as Tom left for work this morning. Despite being so tired this morning I hit the snooze on the alarm and didn't even remember doing so, I was ready to go. Then Tom asked me to get out my laptop and check the stats on the Duke University vs. University of North Carolina game last night, and my plans went right out the window. He left, the computer was up and online, so I decided to check my email quickly before departing for the gym. Ooops. An email from Charlie...had to read that! Another from a girl who went to school with Jonathan from first grade through 6th grade, with whom he's had an on again/off again "romance", who is now going to school in France was the next must read. Naturally, I had to read Charlie's blog for the latest installment in his series of posts entitled A la recherche du bath mat perdu, which led me to the various links on his blog to other blogs. Now it is 7:03 a.m. I could still go, but it seems kind of pointless. It would be 7:30 before I'd get there. I'd have 30 minutes to workout before I would have to head to the shower. Hmmm... I guess 30 minutes is better than nothing, right? Okay, fine... I just convinced myself to go ahead and go. So.... see you all later! I'm going to the gym!

Super Bowl Sunday

We had an interesting weekend. First, we "babysat" our new "grandchild", my daughter's new puppy, Lola, a darling Shih Tzu pup. Shana and Ryan had longstanding plans to go play snowshoe volleyball in Priest Lake. It would be an overnight, adults only (lots of drinking going on) event, meaning the kids would be staying with friends while Mom and Dad went off for some grown up fun. On Wednesday, my daughter purchased a Shih Tzu puppy from the daughter of one of my coworkers. The puppy is absolutely adorable. I am whining and begging Tom to let me buy one of her brothers, but he's having none of it. We agreed to watch Lola overnight on Saturday. I decided this would be the perfect opportunity for Tom to fall in love with her and realize just how much happier his life would be with a puppy in it. Shortly before Lola's impending arrival, we received a phone call telling us we would also have Tyler for the night. Turns out he had decided it would be more fun to hang out with Poppy and Grammy than his sister and her friends. Tyler is almost 5, and as one might expect from a 5-year-old, is a bundle of pent up energy, waiting to be released. Additionally, Tommy and his family, including 3-year-old Alyssa and 11-year-old Sydney, would be arriving at about 6:30 PM, and Jonathan would be coming with them. It promised to be a noisy, exhausting night.

Lola and Tyler arrived at about 1:00 PM, along with detailed instructions for both. Lola is just 8 weeks old and is being housebroken, meaning she would have to be watched intently and taken outside at the slightest hint that she was going to piddle. My sister, the dog trainer extraordinaire, has trained her Shih Tzu to ring a bell when she wants to go outside. Shana is training her dog to do likewise. So, every time I took the dog outside, we stopped first at the door, put her paw on the bell sitting there and rang it, then headed out saying "let's go potty" or something along those lines, in a cheery, enthusiastic tone of voice. When the dog accomplished the task, she was to be enthusiastically applauded and praised, and then brought back inside. I never realized how often puppies have to piddle. Lola had a couple of accidents, which really means I didn't watch her, or anticipate her needs, as closely as I should have. All in all, though, we did quite well, Lola and I. Sometimes, when we went outside in the snow flurries, rain, and cold, Lola would chase leaves, play with the tufts of grass, try to dig to China, and bark at the rocks, before finally getting down to business. Other times she sat, shivering in the cold, looking forlornly at me as I encouraged her to "go potty, Lola! Go potty!" We wouldn't come inside until she at least looked as though she had gone potty. She really is an adorable little fluff ball, though. I didn't really mind one bit tending to her. She is a pup, though, and she loves to chew - on fingers, on shoe laces, on Duplo blocks, on candles, on hair especially, on pretty much everything. I'd forgotten that about puppies in the 19 years since I've had one.

Meanwhile, Tyler is getting bored and really wants to go in the hot tub. There is no way we can go in the hot tub and watch Lola too, so we put Tyler off, explaining that later, when his cousins get here, he can go in the hot tub. He agrees to wait. I put on every cartoon I could think of, hooked up his video games, fed him his favorite foods, and played blocks with him. By 3:00 he was roaming around, obviously bored. Tom and I had to get the bedrooms ready for the kids, so we set about doing that, asking Tyler to help us keep an eye on Lola. There is one rule Tyler has to follow - do NOT pick the dog up and carry her about. He can sit and have her in his lap, but he is not allowed to hold her while standing up. A fall could seriously injure her. Tyler was playing with Lola on the living room floor while we were making up the spare room bed, when suddenly we heard a thud and a yelp. I ran out of the spare room to see Lola limping and crying away and Tyler standing in the hallway, mouth open. Clearly, he had been carrying Lola and had dropped her. I ran to the dog to make sure she was okay, admonishing Tyler about holding Lola while standing, trying to get out of him exactly what had happened, what had hit the ground (her head, her feet, her back?), and getting nothing out of him but tears. The dog seemed to be fine. Tyler was bawling. I was yelling at him for not minding. It was chaos. Fortunately, a very short time later, we all sat on the sofa and I hugged Tyler, explaining why I'd gotten so upset with him, telling him we knew he would be very sad if he hurt Lola and that is why he is not to carry her, and reassuring him that she was okay and that we loved him. He sat with her on his lap for a long time after that.

Everyone arrived later that evening. I had to watch Lola even more closely to make sure she didn't get overrun by one of the kids, or have an accident due to all the excitement. Finally, we all went to bed. I knew I would have to get up with Lola multiple times during the night to take her outside, so set my alarm for three hours (1:30 am). I awoke at 1:15 am. I checked on her and she was sound asleep, so I went back to bed and shut off the alarm. Ryan had said she would whine if she needed to go out, so I just decided to wait for her to alert me. Suddenly, Tom's cell phone started ringing. I jumped out of bed to answer it. The caller ID showed "restricted"... I answered, heard a muffled "grrmmppphhh" and then it went dead. Some drunk with the wrong number, apparently. I climbed back into bed and tossed and turned for a bit before finally falling asleep. At 6:15 I awakened and realized the dog hadn't whined all night. I checked her to be sure she was okay. She was sound asleep. She had slept all night. I got her up and took her outside to do her business, and then went back to bed until everyone else got up - about 45 minutes later. I hadn't slept well, an ear cocked all night for Lola's cries, but I would be able to take a short nap later if I needed one.

Shana and Ryan arrived with a very tired Olivia at about 10:30 a.m. Olivia had been up until 1:00 a.m. with all her little friends, and had gotten up at 6:00 a.m. She was going to be cranky. The house was filled with the noise of running kids, the blare of the NFL pre-game shows from the TV, people talking at once, and food making. Little arguments broke out between the kids, one tattling on the other for something pretty much all day long. Someone was always hungry or thirsty. The dog needed to go pee. Chaos reigned. We set out all sorts of food - shrimp cocktail, chips, dips, fresh veggies, scones, muffins, beer, soda pop, juice, pizza, sub sandwiches, pretty much every snack you could think of - and kids and adults alike snacked non-stop all day long. I wasn't very hungry, limiting my noshing to a few tortilla chips, some celery and carrot sticks and ranch dressing, some shrimp, and a few mozzarella sticks. The kitchen was a disaster. The spare room was a disaster. The living room was a disaster. But we were all together and having a great time.

The game started. We were all rooting for Seattle. It was not to be. A few bad calls, some huge mistakes by the Seahawks, dropped passes, unconverted opportunities, and the game slipped away. The Seahawks lost, 21-10.

Then, almost as quickly as they came, everyone gathered up their things, and off they went. Shana and Ryan, as they always do, helped clean up the kitchen before they left. We discovered right after they left, that Tyler had rearranged some things in our bedroom, things he should not have gone near, and we couldn't find Tom's wallet, gas card for his work van, and a few other important things. A phone call to Shana didn't help, as Tyler claimed he didn't touch anything. Finally, we found the missing items stuck on top of some books on a bookshelf, where Tyler had put them. He is now banned from our room unless we're in there with him. He has gotten into a weird habit of taking things out of drawers, rearranging things, hiding things, even at his house. We thought he'd stopped doing that, but apparently that's not the case. Anyway, we finally fell into bed at 9:30 p.m., exhausted by all the noise and chaos. Family get-togethers are fun, but draining, especially on Sundays when you have to get up for work the next day. I think future gatherings should be at Shana's or Tommy's where they have better facilities for the kids. Our house is just too small and there isn't enough to entertain the kids here. We have the big screen TV though, so gatherings that involve watching sporting events on TV are usually better here. It's a dilemma.

Now... off to start another week of work.