Moderately speaking

I just finished reading a few posts on some of the blogs of my bloggy friends who hold political views that differ from mine. Actually, it seems most of my blog friends have different political stances than I have, and that's okay - at least, it is with me. I can't speak for them. Perhaps they think otherwise about me. During my perusal of these other blogs, I have come to the conclusion that I am not quite what I have thought myself to be for the past several years. If labels were being handed out, I would have opted for the "conservative" label. After all, I am a Christian and I am a registered Republican. Those traits pretty much mark one as a conservative. But the reality is, I'm a moderate. I can't help but wonder if that admission will make people think less of me. Does it mark me as wishy-washy? Is a moderate what the Bible is talking about when it speaks of being lukewarm? I hope not!

By nature, as far back as I can recall, I have been a peacemaker. I try desperately to see both sides of a conflict. If I am part of the conflict, I try to see the other person's point of view. If I am mediating a conflict, I try to get the parties involved to see things from each other's point of view. I just want peace. That is not to say I won't fight to the death for things I believe in, to protect my family, or for someone who is wronged and can't fight for themselves. I will and I have (okay, obviously not literally to the death.) I will also debate to the bitter end a subject on which I have a strongly held position, based on facts, evidence, and experience. I am quite tenacious, quite persuasive, and if nothing else, I can talk a lot, fast, and with great emotion. My opponents usually just tire out. :)

Seriously, there are some subjects on which I can debate for a long, long time. Curiously, those discussions are rarely on politics or religion. I've said this before; I don't mind respectful, meaningful, spirited discussions on these topics. But too often, my experience has been that discussing these matters devolves into little more than childish "I'm right, you're wrong" arguments that do nothing to enlighten either party on the other's point of view. That sort of "discussion" has a very negative physical affect on me. I tend to simply walk away, metaphorically and physically. So, my blog friends who are of the more liberal persuasion, please don't shake your head at me. I read your posts. I agree with some of what you write. I disagree with probably more. But I don't hold you in disdain because you and I have opposing viewpoints. I won't try to convince you to see things my way. I may ask you to clarify your position once in a while (thanks, Sara, for doing that when I commented on your blog), and I hope you will oblige me. I hope we can disagree respectfully, without shaking our heads and clucking our tongues behind each other's backs as if to say "poor idiot. What on earth is his/her problem?"

So, why do I think I'm a moderate? Well, as much as I think the media has a huge influence over our perception of politicians by showing them to us in a positive or negative light based upon their (the media's) political persuasion, I have to say I don't always agree with President Bush's decisions. I think the media has gone out of their way to portray him as an idiot, and giving him far too much credit/blame for things that Congress has much more influence over than he does, but he has made some decisions and statements that I'm not thrilled with.

Also, despite my Christian beliefs, I don't think the gay marriage issue is something to get worked up over. To me, it's just semantics. Gays are already living together in "committed relationships" and are allowed civil unions in most states. What's the big deal if they have a ceremony and are considered "married"? We've destroyed the "sanctity of marriage" in this country by allowing divorces to be granted so easily, so that argument carries little weight with me. If people are against gay marriage because homosexuality is a sin, and by allowing them to marry we are condoning their sin, well, I believe four things - you cannot legislate morality, no sin is worse than another, God is in control, and we are not God. Being gay is no worse a sin than cheating on your taxes, or gossiping about your coworker. Who are we to cast the first stone? If it's about sin, why is the outrage not there over heterosexual couples who live together without benefit of marriage - or famous people who have children without being married? I don't see us trying to pass laws against that. We need to stop judging others and focus on ourselves, our shortcomings, our relationship with the Lord, and our example to the world. Who did Jesus hang out with when he was walking the earth? Not the Brad Pitts and Angelina Jolies, not the Bill Clintons and Bill Gates. He hung out with the homeless guy you pass every morning on your way to get your latte. He hung out with the streetwalker in the red light district. He hung out with the ambulance chasing lawyer. I hope he'd have hung out with me.

There are other topics on which I have adopted a moderate stance. I can't think of any in particular at this moment, but suffice it to say, while I do have strong conservative leanings, I find myself adopting a moderate stance more and more often, to my husband's chagrin.

Possible hiatus alert

I may not post for a while - like more than a week. The reason? My boss just gave me an impossible deadline, which will leave pretty much no time for blogging or commenting on the blogs of my friends. I will likely become a shriveled old shrew over the course of the next several days as I attempt to meet this deadline. Since this deadline involves computers, rest assured that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. And that from me, a technophile. What is the world coming to?

I am also, despite almost a year of research and planning, beginning to freak out about our upcoming trip to the UK. I am suddenly convinced that we will have no clue what we are doing, what sights we want to see, how we will get around, or what we will eat, and we will sit in our cottages bickering the entire time while it pours outside. I'm also convinced we will not pack the right things, will forget important items, and everything will go horribly wrong. Why am I getting like this? I don't react this way when we travel in the US. Is it because this is such a huge deal and because we are flying somewhere "foreign" on an actual airplane over the Atlantic Ocean? I don't know. All I know is my stomach is churning out enough acid to devour a Highland cow in 3 minutes flat just because I'm thinking about the trip. Lord help me!

Life is a merry-go-round

First of all, some minor adjustments to the recent spate of good news. Jonathan, because he has never taken any French in his life, is going to have to forego the Christianity in Britain course that he was selected to participate in during Jan Term 2007 so that he can take French 130 - a French immersion class. He's bummed, since the professor for the CiB class is Keith Beebe - a really amazing prof the kids all really like, and also because he was hoping to just go right from the CiB class into the France Study Program, with a few days on his own between sessions. But he's okay with the situation, since the FSP was the program he really wanted to do more than anything. Also, because he will be in France for a semester earning credits he really doesn't need for graduation (he's fulfilled them all except the communications requirement), there's a good possibility he will not graduate in May 2008. It may be possible if he can take some summer classes or some May term classes, but he will probably end up taking a couple of computer science or physics classes during the Fall of 2008 in order to graduate. It's worth it, though, in order to have the experience he will have during his semester in France. Today he registers for Fall semester classes. He has to take French 101 and French Civ in order to go to France. He'll also be taking two computer science classes, and either physics or Core 250 (a western civ sort of class), and also newspaper, so he'll have a busy, 17 credit schedule. He's getting to the point where most of what he takes will be those required by his major now - computer science, physics, and math classes - as opposed to general ed classes, with the exception of the Core classes (he has to take 250 and 350 yet).

On another note, we were hoping to maybe coordinate a week's vacation to coincide with the week he'll have off next March, so he could show us the sights in Paris. Alas, since my husband and his coworkers have to bid their vacations a year in advance, and the bidding period just ended before we knew about Jonathan going to France, the week in question is taken, as is every week in March, April, and May. We could probably go in February, and may do that, but we have some pondering to do before making that decision. I guess we'll wait to see how our upcoming trip goes.

Speaking of upcoming trips, it's only 25 days away! I can hardly believe it's so close! I also can't believe I am still so far from my weight loss goal! I am really going to have to step up my efforts if I want to get close to achieving my goal. We had a scare yesterday. My husband was notified, along with all the other couriers, that they needed 10 people to work on Saturday, May 13 - the day before Mother's Day - so everyone should plan on working. Well, we leave that day. No way he can work. He told his boss that we were flying out that day so he couldn't work and her reply was "well, then you'd better sign up for a Saturday between now and then so you're off the draft list". Every Saturday between now and then is already fully staffed. Thankfully, other couriers know we've been planning this trip for a year and were not going to let this be a problem. Ten of them volunteered to work, so he doesn't have to worry about being drafted. Phew!

Easter was great. We had the whole gang over (all the kids, grandkids), had a great brunch (I made ham), and the kids hunted for eggs Jonathan and I had hidden. The weather held, though they had predicted snow. It was a great day, especially when one paused to remember what it was we were celebrating.

Work is so busy today that I have to end now and get busy. More later, I promise. Oh, Jonathan has many photos published in his school paper. Some are here: Mac Hall in Concert, though wrongly attributed to Kyle Bisch, and also here: WhitPics. He got to use the school's new digital SLR setup, a Nikon D70s and some amazing lenses, and had a great time taking the photos.

Boo hoo... I just checked JoAnn's blog...and it's no longer. She warned me she was probably going to stop blogging, and I understand her reasons for doing so, but it makes me sad. Time to delete the link to it in my blog. (sniffle, sniffle) Well, in the words of Porky Pig - th-th-th-that's all, folks!

A Banner Week

This really has turned out to be a banner week. Jonathan got into the FSP (see below) and our board voted to adjust our salary scale to bring all the wages paid to staff up to market value. For some on staff that means a 20% increase, for others, a little less, for a lucky few who were already being paid at market value for their positions, it means no increase at all. For me, it's a 9% increase, effective April 26. My director is getting the largest increase - nearly a 30% increase. He deserves it. He's been sorely underpaid for years. He is the director of the third busiest library system in Idaho and yet his pay has ranked far below that of directors of much smaller library systems. With Jonathan's upcoming trip to France, I'm going to need every bit of that raise. What an amazing week.

The most awesomely awesome news yet!

I am about to explode with happiness! Jonathan got accepted to the France Study Program!!!! There are not enough exclamation points in the world to express how ecstatic I am for him and he is for himself!

He gets to spend 3 months studying in France with 19 fellow students and 3 faculty from his school. He will be there from February 2 to May 1st next year. They will spend 6 weeks in Paris. They will spend the remaining time in various other parts of France, part of that time living with a French family. They will have 8 days on their own, to go wherever they want, do what they want, whatever, the first week of April.

This is a really competitive program, so to have been selected...well, it's really, really an honor. I feel like Sally Field - "they like him, they really like him!" I am so proud of him I can't contain myself. What an incredible experience this will be for him.

He had to interview for the program on Tuesday as part of the selection process, as well as submit 3 faculty and one peer reference. He told me what he had said during the interview, and I was pretty impressed with his answers. Apparently, the panel was too! One question was "why do you want to go." His answer was, apart from the obvious reason - to live in a France - he really felt that living in a foreign country helps you to learn things about yourself you might not learn if you are always surrounded by the familiar sights, sounds, and people of the US. He told them he also wanted a chance to live among the French, to see their culture firsthand, so that when people talk about the French, especially in a stereotypical fashion, he could say "they're not like that. I know. I lived there" or "you're right. They are like that, but they are also like this...". I thought those were good answers, especially the one about learning about yourself.

So... we're really, really, excited here! I was, literally, in tears when he told me. I wanted this for him so much. It will be a life-changing experience for him. I couldn't be happier. God is so awesome! I was on pins and needles all night, couldn't sleep, prayed pretty much non-stop all night, and was just so blessed when he gave me the news. NOW, the whole not getting the RA thing makes so much sense. Why do I insist on trying to tell God how to work things out when He has such a better plan? Some day I'll learn.

Photobucket

I posted a few more photos in my photobucket. There are new photo stamps on the left now. I'll be posting more photos this entire week. A lot are from the two trips we took last spring and summer to Seattle, Vancouver BC, and Victoria BC. Some will be from around my town and neighborhood over the course of this past, very odd, winter. And I may follow Charlie's lead, and post some childhood pics. So, just keep checking it out over the next couple of weeks, if you're interested.

Today I will be away from my computer, so you won't hear much from me. I know, I know. How will you survive? I'm sorry. I know this will be very difficult for you, but you will manage. ;)

It's all been worth it

It seems, when it comes to your children, there is always one moment that stands out when you realize two things: one – they actually were listening to you all those times you admonished them, warned them, encouraged them, or advised them, despite the fact that their eyes glazed over (when they weren’t rolling) and they had a look of utter disdain on their faces, and two – they realize you were right, and that you were only trying to teach them what they needed to know to succeed in life, and they really do appreciate you for doing so.  With our oldest, that moment came when we read an essay he wrote about who was the most influential person in his life.  He wrote that his parents were the most influential people in his life, and went on to explain why.  It was very touching, especially because he is not one to show his emotions much at all.  He is a very quiet, private person.  He said things in the essay we had no idea he felt.  We were proud of the young man he had become, and we realized that he was a lot more mature and level-headed than we’d realized.  Sometimes, dealing with your kids on a daily basis can blind you to how much they’ve matured.  It requires taking a step back to see them for the people they have become, or are becoming.  That essay helped us take that step back and see him for the amazing young man he had become, right under our noses.  

With our daughter, the moment came watching her with her children.  They were fighting and being horrible to each other, and she dealt with them with such patience and gentleness, (I would have been more inclined to holler at them and send them off to their rooms to cool down) and got them apologize to each other, to hug each other, and then play nicely together.  The things she said… the manner in which she said them… well, I was impressed at her calm.  I was never that calm when my kids were growing up.  But her dad was.  When I complimented her on how well she’d dealt with the kids, she explained that she remembered how sad it made her when her older brother was mean to her when she was little.  She remembered how much she just wanted to play with him and be his friend.  She understands that her youngest just wants his older sister’s acceptance and attention, and so she tries to make her daughter understand that.  But she also gives her daughter some time without her brother bugging her so she can feel older and special.  She reminded me that we used to do that with her and her brother when they were little.  So, she was paying attention.  Amazing.

With our youngest, that moment came yesterday.  During my brother’s visit, as I mentioned, he picked Jonathan up and took him along with them to visit some friends.  I didn’t know this, but Jonathan spent some time with my niece, the 14 year-old.  Apparently, she’s been in trouble at home.  She told Jonathan what she was in trouble for (talking to a 17 year-old boy on her cell phone all night).  She went on to tell him that she really didn’t like her dad (gee, really?) and that he was always on her case.  She also confided about some other things she’s done that a 14 year-old shouldn’t be doing.  Jonathan apparently doled out some “big brotherly” advice to her, telling her “you really shouldn’t be doing that, cousin, and if I hear of you doing it again, you’re going to have to deal with me.”  He went on to tell her that, though she thought her parents were mean and didn’t like her dad right now, they really were only looking out for what was best for her.  He explained that they know the consequences of the mistakes she was making, or might make, and were only trying to help her avoid them and guide her to better decisions.  He shared some of the stupid things he had done, and the consequences of his actions, and told her that if he’d listened to us, he would have avoided a lot problems, and he regrets not having done so.  He urged her to listen to what her dad said and told her to stay out of trouble.  He also gave her his phone numbers so she could call him any time she needed to talk.  My niece now adores her cousin.  She went on and on to me about what a neat guy he is, how nice he was to her, and how much fun she had with him.  Jonathan told me what he had said to her, and how he had tried to encourage her.  I told him I was really proud of him.  Wow.  He’s been listening.  He gets it. He IS growing up, and I am pretty sure he’s going to turn out great.

Jonathan's good news

Jonathan called lsst night. He was bored. I guess calling Mom is a good choice for relieving boredom. I'm not complaining! I am glad every time he calls me. While we were on the phone, talking about his guild in World of Warcraft (an online game with which he is consumed) he decided to check his email. Suddenly, he shouted "YES!" and read me the email that had elicited that response. He has been accepted to the class Christianity in Britain for Jan Term 2007. That means he gets to go to Britain to study about the history of Christianity. He was ecstatic. The next email told him the faculty selecting students for a semester in France wanted to interview him! YES! He may be accepted for that program as well, which means he will leave the first of January 2007 and not return until the first of May 2007 if he gets into both programs. After being turned down for Core 250 in Europe Jan Term, and for an RA position, he was pretty disheartened, fearing his low cumulative GPA was dashing any hopes he had of being accepted into any study abroad program. Now, he's in one for sure, and maybe in two. Now it makes sense that he's not an RA. He couldn't be an RA and leave for Jan Term and Spring Term. God always has a plan. Sometimes we just need to be patient to see it unfold. So... smiles abound in our household. Hopefully, he'll get into the France Study Program too. I'll let you know when he finds out. For now, we're happy with Britain. He's going to go thank the professor today. Then, we start figuring out how to pay for it. He says he'll work two jobs this summer if he has to. He'll have to. But it's for a good cause. I'm really happy for him.

So....YAY!

Brothers and stuff

I realized I had not yet posted about my brother's visit. It was great. It was much too short, though. He arrived at my house shortly before noon, family in tow. The kids have grown so much, as kids are wont to do. My brother's namesake, the middle child (as was he), reminds me so much of my brother when he was a teenager. He looks very much like a darker version of my brother and has the same droll wit.

His daughter, the eldest, is very much a teenager, in every sense of the word. She seems constantly annoyed with the world, especially her brothers and parents. As a young child, she was a very happy, bubbly little girl who adored her Aunt Gina. I think she still might adore me a little, but the adoration is buried beneath her facade of boredom and disgust with everything. I am sure it drives her parents crazy. Once my brother snapped at her about her attitude. I wish I could give them some sage advice on how to deal with her attitude. All I could say was, "she'll outgrow this eventually. She doesn't really hate you and her brothers. This is perfectly normal." I know that doesn't help. It didn't help me when my daughter was behaving the same way. It took everything in me to keep from slapping her silly most days, especially after being on the receiving end of one of her long sighs accompanied by eye rolling and a look of utter disdain for what I had just said. I usually resorted to a verbal slap, letting her know just how little I thought of her behavior and attitude. It didn't help. It just made life difficult, stressful, and contentious. I wish I could make that point to my brother, but it's like someone saying your grief over a lost love or a death will subside if you just let time take care of things. You know it in your head, but hearing someone tell you that doesn't change how you feel. I know my brother knows his daughter is behaving normally and will outgrow this phase, and me telling him so won't make him "get it" any better.

The yougest is delightful. He is adorable, fun-loving, and sweet. He's only 9. Give him time. He was just 6 the last time I saw him, so he barely remembered me. I hope I made a more memorable impression on him this time.

Arriving so close to lunchtime, everyone was starved. We were going to just go for a burger at McD's (it's cheap), but I hate their food. I decided we should go to Serv-A-Burger, our locally owned burger joint that makes amazing burgers and the best onion rings in the whole panhandle of Idaho, maybe thte whole Pacific Northwest. On our way to S-A-B we started talking about Mexican fast food. They frequent a place in Medford called Muchas Gracias. That made me think of Joel's, a Mexican food place here that started in a little stand like an espresso stand, but due to incredible popular demand, had to move to larger quarters with seating for about 25 people. Joel's is run by Joel and his wife, Rebecca. They are both Mexican, from the part of Mexico that is closest to Cozumel and Cancun (I forget the state) but both have lived in the US for most of their lives. Rebecca told us about their heritage, but I don't remember the details exept for the fact that they have Aztec in them, which not a lot of Mexicans do, and they look very different from most of the Mexicans I grew up around in that they are not very dark-skinned and have very different features. I guess it has a lot to do with which Indians are in their line. Anyway, Joel and Rebecca are the coolest people, and they make some amazing and cheap Mexican food. So, I decided we had to eat there instead of the burger joint. At Joel's, a carne asada burrito that is enormous - almost too big for one person to eat - is only $4.25. At the local Mexican restaurant, it's $9. The one at Joel's beats the other one all to heck. The 6 of us ate, with drinks, until we were stuffed, for just $25 - my treat. I think even McD's would have cost us close to that much and wouldn't have been nearly as good.

After lunch, we went to my daughter's house and hung out there for a couple of hours. My husband stopped by on his lunch break to hang out with us. After my son-on-law came home, we headed back to our house so my brother could take a nap. While he was napping, my sister-in-law, the kids, and I watched some shows I had Tivo'd. My sister-in-law, by the way, has managed to stop time. She looks as amazing and beautiful now as she did when they got married 24 years ago. I don't know how she has accomplished this. She does have some gray hair now, but she does what all women our age do - she highlights and colors her hair - so you'd never know she had gray. She has no wrinkles. She's as thin as ever (I hate her for that), and she's just as sweet and caring as ever. There isn't a mean bone in that woman's body. I adore her and just wish I had more time to spend with her.

Time... it went by much too quickly. All of us (me, my hubby, daughter and her gang, brother and his gang) gathered at another Sandpoint landmark - Second Avenue Pizza - for dinner. This place makes the most amazing pizzas you will ever eat. Whereas one large Domino's or Pizza Hut pizza is almost not enough to fill up two people, one large Second Avenue pizza will feed 5 people to full capacity, no problem. One piece is almost all you can eat. They are loaded with toppings and have the best crust in the world. I ordered three pizzas - the usual fully loaded one, a Mexican one (soooo good!), and a pepperoni one for the kids. We had the equivalent of an entire pizza left over, and that was with 3 men, a teenage boy (we all know how much they eat), 3 women (we eat our fair share), and the rest of the kids (4 more) eating. After pizza, my brother and his family returned to our house to spend the night. We visited for about an hour before we all had to hit the hay. The next morning I had an early appointment and they headed out to see my dad. After their stop at Dad's, they came by work and said goodbye to me. It was a whirlwind visit. I felt like I was talking 1000 miles an hour the whole time. We decided they would come back the week of July 4 for a week (we'll be off work) and spend some quality time together. That is, if it doesn't conflict with their mission trip to the Dominican Republic. I'm praying it doesn't. I didn't really get enough of them.

When they went back to Spokane, they did hook up with Jonathan, picking him up and taking him with them to visit some friends of theirs from when they lived in Spokane. They spent the evening together, which was a nice change of pace for Jonathan. My brother couldn't believe how much Jonathan has grown in the past three years and how big he is. Jonathan couldn't believe how big my brother's kids are. Kids remind us of how fast time is flying by, and how old we are. Sigh.

I can see clearly now

I've worn soft contact lenses since 1973. I am blind as a bat without corrective lenses. I had the requisite tortoise shell horn-rimmed glasses throughout high school - though nowadays they are considered cool "emo glasses" - and just hated them. As soon as soft contacts were readily available, I got them. I had no idea the world could look so sharp. I enjoyed the unframed view so much that I've never gone back to glasses, and have always had a hard time understanding why anyone would wear them if soft contacts were an option. I have a slight astigmatism in my right eye. I've gone for decades without correcting it, and it hasn't proven to be a problem. But I'm over 50 now, and presbyopia has set in. Thankfully, because I am so nearsighted, it has taken ten years longer than it takes most people. A blessing in disguise, I guess. Now that I need reading glasses, my astigmatism has become a problem. So, I started wearing a toric lens in my right eye. Toric lenses are designed to correct your astigmatism and are weighted to keep them positioned correctly in your eye. At first, I wore them with great success. But for the past two years, the stupid lens will not stay in place. Rather, it rotates about 5 degrees off center. So, I was constantly fiddling with the lens, trying to rotate it back into position, to no avail. AFter struggling with this problem for over two years, I gave in and got glasses - progessive lenses, no less. I was officially a member of the old fart demographic.

Everything I used to hate about glasses back in high school, I found I still hate about glasses. They get dirty just sitting on your face. They fog up when you open the oven. They fog up when you come inside from chilly outside. They get raindrops on them when it's raining. They make me look old and geeky. I started contemplating Lasik. Two weeks ago I went to the eye doctor for my annual checkup. Due to changes in our insurance provider, I had to see a new optometrist in Spokane. I talked to him about my toric problems. He said I could probably get away with not wearing a toric lens since my astigmatism isn't that bad. Then he went on to suggest something new and different - bifocal contact lenses. He explained that they work for 60% of the people who try them, so they may not work out. I figured I'd give it a shot. He had to order them. They would come in the following week. He and I discussed Lasik. He informed me that, if I had it, I would need reading glasses, period, no exceptions. That didn't discourage me, but the literature I read that said I would need reading glasses even to read the computer screen did. If I'm going to wear glasses pretty much all day long at work, why get Lasik? I was crossing my fingers that this new contact lens option would be the answer to my problems. I left his office with two non-toric temporary lenses and an appointment for the following week, during which I would test out these bifocal lenses.

When I got home, I tested the theory that the bifocal lens would eliminate my need for a toric lens by wearing my distance vision correcting only lens with a pair of reading glasses. Amazingly, I could read the computer screen just fine, could read any printed material, and didn't seem to even notice that I had an astigmatism. I had high hopes.

Saturday dawned dark and rainy. We headed to Spokane to both get my new lenses and see Jonathan. I entered his office with both excitement and trepidation. If these lenses didn't work out, I felt doomed to wearing glasses. I sat in the chair. His wife put the new lenses in front of me, asked me if I've worn contacts before (are you KIDDING? I'm an old hand at this!), and left me to insert them while she went to get the doctor. The minute I put the lenses in, I knew they would work. I could SEE. I could READ! I was free! He told me to wear these for a week, and if they work out for me, to call and order a year's worth. Well, they are working! I don't have razor sharp vision at distance, but I can see at least 20/50. Up close, I can read anything. No more reading glasses! I feel like I did when I first got contacts. I feel ilke a whole new glasses-free world has just opened up for me. I don't know exactly how they work (where the bifocal part is and how it stays where it's supposed to stay) but who cares? I can see!!!

Okay, this is just too cool

You have to check this link out. It's a live streaming video of a bald eagle's nest. There is a bald eagle chick in it. It is way, way cool. (FYI, the link is the title of this post, so just click it.)

Housekeeping

My husband is a perfectionist.  Poor guy.  He’s married to me – the anti-perfectionist.  Well, I suppose that’s not entirely accurate.  I am very much a perfectionist about some things, but one of those things is not housework.  

My house is clean, but not spotless.  I don’t have an eat-off-the-floor clean house.  Dirty laundry is in the hamper, dishes are in the dishwasher waiting for the cycle to be run, stuff like that.  Once a week I do laundry.  Three or four times a week the dishwasher is run (with only two of us, it takes a few days to fill up).  The problem is the clean stuff.  Clean laundry often sits on the sofa, separated into piles (his work clothes, his t-shirts, towels, my stuff, etc.) waiting to be folded and put away, sometimes for the entire workweek.  The pile naturally gets smaller each day as clean clothing is retrieved to be worn, but finding the time to actually fold everything and put it away is a trick I’ve yet to master.  Same goes for the clean dishes in the dishwasher, although I usually do end up emptying it within two days of the dishes being washed, mostly so I have somewhere to put dirty dishes.  

And then there is the stuff waiting to be read.  On the end table next to my “spot” on the sofa is a small pile of magazines and books, all in various stages of being read.  Right now I have four magazines, two books, and one newspaper sitting here.  I will get to them eventually.  Or not.  Sometimes, the magazines get tossed without being read thoroughly.  The books may end up back in the bookcase, bookmarks firmly in place, to be finished at a later date.  The newspapers get perused quickly, then go to the trash usually each week.  

My husband hates this pile.  He hates the mound on my dresser worse.  It is comprised of stuff to be filed – bills, bank statements, owner’s manuals or recently acquired items, and who knows what else – all stuff I have deemed necessary that must be filed in the 4-drawer filing cabinet next to my dresser. About once every three months I attack the pile.  It drives me crazy, but I just don’t look at it.  

Clutter is my biggest enemy.  And my poor husband has to put up with it – or clean it himself – which he does every now and then.  Last Sunday was one of those “now and thens”.  In anticipation of my brother’s arrival, we cleaned house.  The place is almost spotless.  The clutter on the kitchen counter is gone.  The laundry is put away.  The dishwasher is empty.  The pile is still on my dresser, though.  

The biggest thing I did, though, was clean the fish tank.  It was pretty sad.  Algae covered the sides.  I was down to three fish – a killer opaline gourami who single-handedly killed 30 other fish that used to live with him in the tank, a cory catfish that somehow escaped the gourami, and a golden plecostomus that started off about 2” long, but grew to over 8” long in about 4 months.  (It is huge, ugly, prehistoric, and does a pretty terrible job of keeping the tank clean – the only real reason to have a plecostomus – but I’ve had it for two years, so I can’t bring myself to part with it.)  

Sunday I attacked the tank.  I vacuumed it, removing over half the water.  I took the plants out (fake ones) and washed the algae off them.  I completely cleaned the filter, the hood, scraped the algae off the glass, and filled it with clean water.  The tank had always suffered from way too few plants.  My husband liked a Spartan look.  Unfortunately, fish don’t.  I was finally able to convince him of this, reminding him of the beautiful tanks we had seen in the doctor’s office a few months ago and how full of plants they were.  I told him fish need to be able to hide and we didn’t have enough plants for them to do that.  We do now.  It’s really beautiful.  I then bought more fish – two dwarf gouramis, 6 tiger barbs, 6 neons, and 2 zebra danios.  The Killer Gourami is going away.  The fish store has agreed to take him in trade for more fish.  When I put the new fish in the tank, KG immediately went after them, reaching out his little feelers/antennas to touch and antagonize them, especially the new gouramis.  Sadly, today three tiger barbs were dead, but they were Wal-Mart fish. I don’t usually buy fish from Wal-Mart – there are usually more dead fish in their tanks than live ones – but I wanted 6 tiger barbs and the fish store only had two in stock, so I took a chance.  3 of 4 have died.  Oh well.  I’ll get a refund and check to see if the fish store has had a new shipment come in yet.  The other fish are doing great, despite constant harassment from KG.  He has got to go.

So, my house looks awesomely clean.  My fish tank is in the best shape yet. I have the day off, though the projects in which I am embroiled are nagging at me, and I have been working from home since 6 AM.  My brother will be here in a couple of hours.  They’re showing dolphins playing in the water just 100 yards offshore in Hermosa Beach, CA on Fox 11 Good Day LA.  Dolphins!  In Southern California!  How cool!  How come I never saw dolphins in all my years growing up at the beach?  Global warming.  Must be the reason.  The dolphins think they’re in Hawaii, or Miami.  It’s not warming here.  It’s supposed to maybe snow mixed with rain today.  No dolphins in Lake Pend Oreille.  Rats.

Brotherly love

I adore my brother.  Growing up – not so much.  He is the lone boy in a family of four children.  He falls #3 in the lineup (I am the much revered #1, of course).  He was the most annoying, aggravating brother in the world.  The three of us girls had, at varying times, signs on our bedroom doors that said “KEEP OUT – Michael, this means you!”  He had a talent for breaking things, especially my things.  If he managed to worm his way into my room, he invariably picked up something that was sitting on my dresser and started “messing with it”.  The moment I saw him pick up my stuff, I started yelling at him to put it down.  It usually went something like this:

“Michael, put that down. You’re going to break it.”
“I am not.  I’m just looking at it!”
“You look with your eyes, not your hands.”
“I’m not going to hurt it.  I just want to see it.”
“Put it down NOW or I’m going to tell Mom.”
“Go ahead and tell.  I haven’t done anything.”
“MICHAEL!  Put it down!!!”  

At that point, I generally grabbed for the item, trying to rescue it from certain breakage.  I’m sure you can envision the altercation – me grabbing, him pulling it out of my reach, me grabbing more, usually trying to subdue him and rescue my item from his grasp while yelling at him… finally culminating in him throwing the item at me with a “Fine! Here!  I was just looking at it.”  This scenario was repeated several times a week, often several times a day.  Now you understand the reason for the door signs.  Needless to say, I avoided my brother as much as possible during my teen years.

But a strange thing happened once we all grew up, which none of us girls can explain.  Our brother somehow became cool and fun and all three of us adore him.  We can’t seem to get enough of him.  He and I became very close, talking on the phone several times a week.  He lived in Spokane for about 5 years, so we saw each other a lot.  He actually became kind of wise!  I found myself going to him for advice on more than one occasion.  I am still not sure how that happened.  Maybe credit should go to his wife.  She is amazing, and how she puts up with his antics on a daily basis is beyond me.  She deserves a medal – or a special place in Heaven.  You see, Michael, despite his intelligence, wisdom, and age (he’ll be 50 next year), is still very much that annoying, aggravating kid a lot of the time.  He is zany, spontaneous, witty (a talent I sorely lack but that he has in spades), and unabashedly outspoken.  Did I mention, I adore him?
He has three great kids; the two boys miniature Michaels.  At ages 13 and 9, they already share his sense of humor and wit.  I hate them.  Talking to them on the phone is an adventure in hilarity.  His daughter is a typical teen, totally into fashion, friends, and fun.  So…why all this about Michael?  He is coming to visit!!!!  I haven’t seen them for almost four years, so I am really excited.  They will be here tomorrow, so I will be taking the day off to spend it with them.  They are on a whirlwind tour, visiting friends in Spokane, as well as me and my family, during their kids’ Spring Break from school.  Did I mention I am really excited? I’ve spent two days cleaning my house in preparation for their visit.  I adore my brother!  Now, if only my sisters could be here too…..

Oh… big  news… Edy is cancer free!!!  Check out her blog (link to the left – Hodgepodge).  God is so awesome!!!

Today is a great day.

The perfect morning

As I've mentioned before, I am not exactly a morning person. I've been forced to become one because of my husband's work schedule, dragging myself from slumber at 4:30 a.m. weekdays. Though I'm up, I don't like to interact with anyone for at least half an hour, maybe an hour. I just need time to wake up. There is one exception. I love it when Jonathan is home and he gets up when I do. He is the only person I don't mind talking to in the mornings. I don't know why that is. Maybe it's because he's pretty chatty in the mornings when he gets up, though his chattiness is generally directed at cajoling me into making breakfast for him. This morning it was cheesy hash browns. He absolutely loves hash browns. I think if he could figure out how to arrange it, he'd have hash browns every day of his life. He had talked me into buying these Ore-Ida frozen cheesy hash browns for him when we were at the grocery store last weekend. He didn't know how to make them, so actually set his alarm to get up with me so I could make them for him. I pointed out the location of the directions on the package to him and he set about making them himself, with some oversight by me. They looked pretty tasty.

During the course of making his hash browns, while I made his dad's lunch, we chatted about all sorts of things. Now, we are sitting on the sofa watching American Chopper and drinking chai tea. I can't really imagine a more perfect morning. It's a great way to start a day which will include a second, undoubtedly more squishing, mammogram and an ultrasound. There is not much better than just sitting with your kid, hanging out, chatting about random stuff - exept maybe doing that in, say, the UK, as we will be doing in less than 8 weeks!!!!

Oh, and the thyroid seems to be having a postive impact. I've lost 6 pounds in two weeks without changing my diet. This week I have set out on a better eating plan, so I'm excited to see what the effect will be now that it is coupled with the thyroid. Maybe I'll finally have some success at weight loss!

This is a great morning!

See-saw emotions

This has been a week of ups and downs.  I got permission to hire a young man who was one of my son’s friends in high school, though a year ahead of him in school.  He just returned from his Mormon mission.  The timing couldn’t have been better.  I needed help getting those 34 new computers installed, and this young man is one of three really bright computer geeks my son hung out with throughout high school.  Before leaving on his mission, he had worked for the school district rolling out computers and setting up classrooms.  My boss agreed to hire him on a contract basis for 40 hours.  We’re over halfway through the project and he’s only put in 23 hours so far.  

My mammogram apparently showed some areas that needed “further evaluation” so I am going back on Tuesday for more views and an ultrasound.  Yippee.

My son got two crushing blows on Friday.  He had applied for two things – a study abroad opportunity for next January and to be a resident assistant in one of the dorms.  He didn’t get either.  He was eliminated right away from the study abroad trip when the professor decided to make his first cut by eliminating those with a GPA lower than 3.5.  Though my son will get a 3.5 this semester, a disastrous first semester last year has dragged his cumulative GPA down.  The RA application was more hopeful.  He did really well in the first two phases of the application process, and his resident director told him that he had a really great interview, but he was still not selected.  She told him that he needs another year – for what?  To improve his GPA?  To just “mature” a bit more?  He will try to get some pointers from the interviewer as to where he fell short so he can work on that for next year.  He really was crushed, and it broke my heart to see how hard he took both negative outcomes.  I hope he uses these disappointments as motivation to do better and work harder, and doesn’t just give up.  His disappointment really makes me hurt for him.  Amazing how much seeing our kids in pain hurts.

My grandson turned 5 last week.  His party was today.  He got a nifty new bike, about which he was ecstatic.

The sun is out and it’s supposed to be fairly nice all week.

My son is home for Spring Break.

Duke University is in the NCAA Sweet Sixteen.

I got a really great new waterproof, breathable windbreaker for my trip to Scotland and England for my birthday.

Ups and downs, but mostly ups.

So much to say, so little time

Well, I have so much to post about, but I have NO time to do any posting. So, please everyone, forgive me. I will try to catch up as I can, but for the next few days, I may be more absent than present. Sorry in advance.

I did go to they gym, by the way

So, you know, back when I wasn't posting and wasn't on my computer, and you weren't reading a post that wasn't there? Well, I actually did get dressed and go to the gym. I only managed a pathetic imitation of a workout, but I suppose even that is better than nothing. Unfortunately, aside from a hellacious leg workout on Sunday, which left me so sore I could barely walk, I haven't been to the gym since. I had good reasons.

I had a birthday Wednesday. Last Saturday was my daughter-in-law's birthday. We went to a Mediterranean restaurant that has been highly recommended. I was disappointed. I anticipated Greek food. The only thing that resembled Greek food was the feta cheese in almost every dish, making them unpalatable to my husband, and the fact that many dishes contained lamb. The food resembled someone's idea of what Greek food might be with an Italian influence - sort of. The food was okay - nothing to write home about. I doubt we will ever eat there again. My husband sat on the edge of his chair the entire time, appearing to be searching for an escape hatch through which he could flee. The odd smells of feta, lamb, and garlic were almost more than he could take. At the meal's end we did have some baklava - again, their interpretation of baklava. The "real" think is multiple layers of phyllo and a nut and honey mixture, and is cut in small pieces - maybe 1 inch by 2 inches. This was a large square about 3 inches square that had one layer of a pistachio/honey filling between two layers of phyllo. My husband did like that, and said, after hesitantly tasting it at my prodding, "okay, I do like Greek food". I think he would like REAL Greek food. Sadly, we had none of that Saturday.

Yesterday, my daughter made me breakfast - a nice frittata. Then, at work, a coworker blessed me with an amazing chocolate espresso caramel cheesecake. I had two pieces and didn't share with anyone at work. My husband hates cheesecake, so I rarely get any. This was amazing - and it's all mine. Then, my husband and I went to a local restaurant that gives you a free meal, including pie and a beverage, on your birthday. My daughter and grandkids met us there. I had a great Reuben sandwich and got peach pie to go. My husband ate it later that night. I was too busy downing another piece of cheesecake to care. I got some nice gifts from coworkers, including a bouquet of tulips and one of asiatic lilies - a bit of spring right on my desk! Then it snowed. It always snows on March 8. It snowed more than it has snowed all winter. School closed for the snow today for the first time in two years. The power went off twice last night, waking me up both times. I got about 4 hours of sleep. Today, the day after my 51st birthday, I had my first mammogram in 16 years. That was fun. Now I am on my way home to watch American Idol, The OC, and House. I may take a sick day tomorrow - especially if I eat more cheesecake tonight.

The results are in

So I got blood tests back. My LDL is higher than it should be, but my HDL is really high too, so that sort of negates the high LDL. The total is 228, which is high-ish, but with the high HDL, no one is really worried about that part. My thyroid is on the low end of normal so.... the doc prescribed levothyroxine for me. It will be interesting to see how it makes me feel. A friend in the gym said she's been taking it for years. She said she was always tired and had gained weight (sounds all too familiar) and when she started taking the thyroid, she had much more energy and the weight just melted off of her. She was never fat - just about 20 pounds overweight, like me. So, I'm excited to see if I have more energy and if I find it easier to lose weight. I have to go back in for a blood test in 8 weeks and the dosage will be adjusted at that time if needed. I'm going to pull out my last blood test from three years ago and compare all the other technical stuff to see if my blood profile has changed at all, but overall, it looks good - very healthy. Yay!

I'm not really here, and you're not really reading this

Look, I'm supposed to be on my way to the gym. I promised my best friend I would be there this morning. So, I'm not really here blogging, okay? If anyone asks, you did not read this post. It's 6:45 a.m. I'm really at the gym on the treadmill or stairmaster. I am not on my laptop reading blogs, commenting, and posting. Seriously.

Physicals, Photobucket, and Psychology

First of all, you may have noticed the latest addition to my blog - the photo montages in the left sidebar. I finally created a photobucket account to which I can upload my photos. It allows me to create these photo stamps and insert them into my blog. Pretty cool. The photos I have uploaded at present are just a few from a trip we took last spring to Seattle and Victoria, BC. I have some amazing photos of Butchart Gardens that I will be uploading in the next few days. What an amazing place that is. You'll have to be sure to look at the pictures once I get them online. Not that my photographic skills are anything to brag about, but honestly, it's almost impossible to take a bad photo at Butchart Gardens. If the shot is in focus, you will have a stunning photo. It is just that amazing there.

Secondly, I had a physical Monday morning. The head-to-toe, blood drawing, peeing-in-a-cup, EKG taking kind. I haven't had one like that in ages. When I took my son in to have an ingrown toenail cut out, the doctor looked at me and said "are you okay? You don't look well." Gee, thanks doc. This is a guy I've known for over 10 years, but he hasn't seen me in at least two years, so I think the weight gain and the bad hair day I was having (see below) surprised him. Last time he saw me, I was working out regularly, I was about 30 pounds lighter, and probably having a good hair day. Anyway, his comment pushed me to say "okay, I'll come in for a physical". They had an opening Monday, so I went in!

The results of the physical are that, overall, I'm a very healthy person. I am waiting to hear the results of the blood tests, which I should get this morning. The doctor actually called me Tuesday with the results, but I was in a meeting, and when I could call him back, he was gone for the day. So, today I will find out if my thyroid is a bit on the underactive side, which I suspect. I know my cholesterol levels will be higher than optimal. That's a family thing. We make a lot of cholesterol, so mine is always around 200, but my rations of HDL to LDL are always good, so docs haven't been concerned in the past. Three years ago, though, my cholesterol was 228 and my ratios weren't so perfect. Since I've gained weight since then, I am expecting them to be even less wonderful. I did recently read, though, that high cholesterol is often a sign of an improperly functioning thyroid, so if the doc fixes my thyroid levels, my cholesterol levels should improve as well. My little sister was put in thyroid a few months ago and said it made a big difference in how she feels. She's 5 years younger than I am, and we are very similar in body type, except I'm about 4 inches taller than she is. Neither of us has ever had a weight problem to speak of - sure, we've battled 10 or 15 pounds off and on as we've gotten older, but nothing major - so when we both started having trouble losing weight, and when I found myself gaining much too easily, it made sense that the thyroid might be a factor. I'm interested in hearing what the doc has to say.

Thirdly, I am in one of those "I hate my hair but don't know what to do with it" modes. It is amazing to me how a bad hair day can affect your entire mood. Last week we went to get our passports. That entailed having a picture taken. I was having the worst hair day ever. My photos looked sooooo terrible, mostly because my hair looked so bad. Okay, partly because I looked so bad too, but a lot because of my hair. Usually, I can blow my hair dry, not curl it or anything, and it looks pretty good. I'm lucky. I have great hair. I have hair women would kill to have. And usually I can "blow and go". The last haircut I got ruined that. Now, if I just blow it dry and don't do some curling, it looks awful. It is fly-away, frizzy in parts, and flat in other parts. It just looks hideous. I don't like having to curl it every day. I just don't have that kind of time, nor do I like spending that kind of time on my appearance on a daily basis. It's one thing to spend a lot of time making yourself beautiful for a special occasion, but daily? Not me. My routine, from showering to makeup to hair to dressing, generally takes 30 minutes. This new "do" adds about 15 more minutes, and it's making me aggravated. So, I decided to go back to my regular hairdresser and have her cut my hair back into the shorter style I had it in up until about a year ago. It's easy, attractive, stylish...everything a hairstyle should be. Then yesterday, I had a really good hair day. My hair, which is about shoulder length now, looked great. All of a sudden, my plan to cut it was in doubt. I can't decide now whether to go back to the shorter, easy, perky look, or stick with the longer, growing it out, needs to be curled at least a little but looks HOT when it is, look. Such a dilemma. I'm so glad I have such trivial things to worry about. Really, I can't help but ask myself "gina, what does it matter in the grand scheme of things?!" "Not a whit", is the answer, of course. And yet, hair, as Edy has discussed in her blog about her fight against cancer, has such a big psychological impact on us. Yesterday I caught the tail end of the Today show. They had all these people on the show who were cutting their hair for Locks of Love. One woman had not cut her hair in 42 years. She looked amazing after it was cut off and she got her new hairdo...much better than she did with 5 feet of hair...but she was almost hysterical when they did the cut. Hair... it plays such a part in our lives. Ask any bald guy. Ask anyone who has lost it due to chemo, or alopecia. Ask a child who has lost their hair for some health-related reason and who is mercilessly teased. That's what Locks of Love is all about. So, as stupid as it sounds to worry about a bad hair day or whether or not to get a new haircut, it does have an emotional and psychological impact on us. Hair... long beautiful hair, shining, gleaming, steaming, waxen, flaxen... heck, a whole musical was made about hair!

I am so clever...in my head

I write such awesome, witty posts every single day - in my head. I "write" these posts while I'm on my way to work, or while I'm in the grocery store, sometimes even while I'm drifting off to sleep. I amaze even myself with how well written they are. I can't wait to get to a computer so I can type them out, verbatim, and post them. And then I get to a computer....and can't, for the life of me, remember a single word. I try to recreate these literary gems, and all that appears on my monitor is a bunch of inane babbling, barely worth typing, let alone prevailing upon anyone else to read. It is so sad. You are all missing out on such great writing, such humor, such wit. I'm so sorry. You'll just have to make do with what I can whip up from the fragments of literary genius I can recall during the few moments I actually have time to post. So sad.

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!