This is the example a leader should set?

Our new president continues to be hard to understand or believe. Still, the ease with which people can push his buttons can be entertaining.

Honestly, I'm partly horrified and partly pleased with every silly thing that sets off a Trump storm. The pleasure comes from the fact that few people deserve the irritation more than he (that, and it keeps him from doing more damaging things with that time). The horror is fueled by the example he's setting. How many millions think this kind of childish behavior is acceptable in an adult? I don't believe that leaders used to be without flaws--far from it--but there were certain expectations and levels of respect that were understood to be a requirement of such positions.

But this behavior? The way this man behaves would have gotten me in trouble as a child, let alone as an adult. My parents weren't old fashioned in most ways. In fact, they were very open, accepting people, but they did expect certain standards to be observed, particularly in public. For example, when I was a kid, I was taught that if I were lost or in trouble, I should look for a police officer. And then there's that title, police officer. I remember once using the term "cop," and I was nicely but quite firmly reminded that this is a person who works to protect the rest of us and is entitled to respect. I was to say police officer. RESPECT mattered.

Okay, that example may be a little out of date--different times--but respect still matter. Certain levels of civility and respect are vital. In the latest Trump bad behavior, he is showing his disdain for the courts, because judges have dared question the Constitutionality of his actions. This is unspeakably damaging to the Republic. No president before this one would do this. He is signaling to millions that it's okay to disrespect the judiciary. Not that judges don't make bad decisions--no one is perfect--but respect for the courts' role is vital. The three branches must respect each other's role.

This man isn't fit to be president. Anyone who could act as he does is simply unfit. So keep torturing him via Twitter and wherever else. He deserves every bit of it! Sadly, none of that is going to measure up to the damage he may be doing to our country!

Sources of satisfaction

As you may know, I lost my job about 8 months ago. Nothing I did to deserve it. My CEO retired, and the new one wanted to bring in her own people. I (and some other people) were in the way. That's life, unfortunately.

Since then, I've been looking for work. Given my experience and credentials, prior periods of unemployment (like when St. Vincent's went bankrupt and we all got laid off) were relatively short. A month or so. Not this time!

I've had some nibbles, but really very few interviews for this much time. No new job, either. Along the way, Marc and I talked about my starting my own business. I'd certainly seen others do the same.

So I went through the process to create an LLC for some protection, got myself insured, and I'm figuring out what to market and how. Luckily, my husband is a marketing guru!

Did I mention that it's unnerving and depressing to be unemployed? And every rejection for a job is a rejection of you as a person? Maybe I shouldn't take it that way, but that's how it feels!

Half our income is gone, but we've been careful over the years, so we're not buried in debt. Our care is being rewarded now. We have to budget much more carefully, but we're okay!

Back to the main thought behind this post--in the midst of disappointment, frustration and self-doubt, working on this business idea has been a real mood booster. We don't have the first penny of business yet, but building a structure and watching it come together has made me feel so much better!

All I'm doing this evening, as I watch the Super Bowl in the background, is sketching out more of the services we can provide, and it's so satisfying to see it down on paper! Not doing business yet, but I'm getting something done. That's enough for now!

Maybe there is no complete healing

Marc has told me many times that grief over the loss of a dear loved one is something you get through but you never really get over. He may be right.

Like so many of us, I've suffered terribly painful losses in my life. My Dad. My Mom. A number of others dear to me. I've realized over the years that my reaction to grief is to try to bury it as deep as I can. I was raised to be strong for those around me and not cry. That was my Dad's advice. He was a very loving father, and he meant well.

In any case, I did that with the biggest losses in my life. But I've realized over time that the pain doesn't go anywhere. It's buried in there, just waiting for something that makes it leak out. 20 years ago, I might have been moved by a film I saw but never would have been brought to tears. But now? Push the right buttons, and I'm all choked up.

What really brought this home today was a reminder of Jet. She was our dog when I was a boy. She was two years older than me, and she died when I was in elementary school. Here's a photo of me and Jet when I was 3 and she was 5:

Today's reminder brought me back to a day in 1978. I came home from school as usual. When I got here, the TV was on, and there was a commercial on for the Bronx Zoo. There was a lion on the screen. I said to Mom, "speaking of lions, where's Jet?" And Mom told me... Jet was gone. I remember I cried then, but in the years to come I got better about burying it, even as the losses piled up.

I'm crying as I type this, remembering that day when Jet died. That's almost 40 years ago. So when does the pain fade away? I guess maybe it doesn't. I'll always miss everyone. Dad, Mom, Uncle Allan... everyone. And the doggies... Jet, Hoyt, Bernice, Mandy and my baby boy Dodger. It seems the pain's never gone. I've just hidden it away. I guess it's how I am, and I need to make the best of it.

I'm busy enough to retire

After these months of unemployment, I'm now sure. I could retire right now. I just need someone to give me a big pile of money, so Marc and I don't need to work anymore. If I could just get that pile of money, I have plenty of non-work things to fill my day!

Whether I'm running errands, tending to household repairs or any of the many other things that fill my day, I continue to be amazed by how full these days are. As busy as when I'm working? No, I suppose not. But busy enough that I could accomplish enough each day to feel like I'm getting things done. Throw in a little of the volunteer work I'd enjoy doing, and I definitely feel ready for retirement. Now I just need that money! Any of you nice folks want to help us out? Don't be shy! ;-)

Thunderstorm Asthma? Is that like my "Extrinsic Asthma"?

‘Thunderstorm Asthma’ Kills 8 in Australia

This story got my attention, not just as an interesting story but because it may shed some light on a personal mystery. Years ago, I started having some trouble getting a full breath. I had medical tests done, saw specialists and they found nothing. One doctor's best guess--and it was very clearly a guess--was what he called "extrinsic asthma."

I've had allergies all my life. As a kid, I spent 8 years going to the allergist every Friday for shots. Yes, allergy shots. Every Friday after school. That helped, but eventually we were told I was as good as the shots would get me. The severity of my allergies varies, but they're always there. I'm allergic to pretty much anything that can float through the air--pollen, dander, dust and on & on. The doctor's guess was that when my allergies sufficiently irritated my lungs, my bronchial tree would get inflamed. While not meeting the technical definition of asthma, the effect is the same. Fortunately, it's never been so severe that it has threatened my survival, and I hope it never does! But trust me, not being able to get a full breath is quite a distressing feeling. On top of that, it always takes weeks or months to go away.

My "extrinsic asthma" recurs every few years. In the past, I've been through all manner of tests. I've had more cardiac tests than I care to remember. (When you're obese, they immediately think anything like this is cardiac.) After two rounds of those, a few years apart, I stopped them from doing it again the next time. We just went with a simple EKG--no thallium heart scans, stress tests, etc.--and ruled out heart issues.

I've been to pulmonologists a couple of times. The last guy put me through lots of tests, including one that determined I have 127% lung capacity. Not sure what that compares to--127% compared to what?--but he clearly had no idea what was going on. (I wasn't actively having my issues right then, so...)

Anyhow, this "thunderstorm asthma" makes pretty clear that an allergy attack can drive asthmatic symptoms. Actually, this is pretty scary, since this thing killed people. But it validates the "extrinsic asthma" theory. Maybe it's that simple. My allergies irritate my lungs, and eventually they rebel. Now, if I could just figure out how to tell when that's building up, so I can take Benadryl or whatever and head it off. No luck with that so far, but I think I have more faith in this answer now.

Two years without our Dodger

If you know us, you probably know Dodger. Maybe you met him or maybe you knew him through this blog or Facebook. In any case, you know that he was a very special part of our lives.

Two years ago today, he died. We helped him in that process, and I still feel guilty about that. Don't get me wrong--on an intellectual level, I know his time had come. His body was failing him. We'd done everything we (and the vets) could. The night before he died, he couldn't even get up to go out, and that was with meds and his special harness to help him walk. He'd been having serious trouble, on and off, for months. But we'd reached the point where he really was done.

Logical thoughts are not what haunt me, however. Emotions do. Deep down, I feel like I failed him. I feel like, if I looked hard enough, I could have found some other way to help him. He would have given his life to protect me, and I had a hand in taking his life. It feels so wrong. I'm sorry, Dodger! I wish I knew what else to do!

I loved all of our dogs--and I love this crazy girl we have here today--but Dodger was very unusual. He was smart, but others are smart. He also had a personality that was very human. He showed his opinions, and he had a sharp wit. I know... wit in a dog? Oh, yes. You could see it in action if you lived with him. He was quite amazing.

By the way, he didn't always have that white face, but that's how some knew him and many of our friends remember him. Here's a shot from when he was about four-and-a-half years old:

From the look, he either was in no mood to have his photo taken or I'd done something wrong. :-) Most of the time, he was ready with a smile!

We say that Bernice was the one who defined all the things a dog is supposed to be, but Dodger combined dog traits with an amazingly human personality. He also had great judgment. We knew our friend Sid was someone we were likely to keep in our lives for the long run. A couple of months before Dodger died, we barely knew Sid from rugby, but he needed some portraits done, so I agreed to shoot them.

Now, one of Dodger's traits was that he wouldn't welcome just anyone into his home, even if we did. Rather, he'd observe them for a bit and then decide if they were worthy of his attention. He exercised his judgment freely, and his judgment about people tended to be sound. Well, when he met Sid, this is what happened virtually the instant Sid arrived...

For Dodgie, it was love at first sniff. That's all we needed to know. And sure enough, Sid became and remains a close friend.

As I got in bed last night, with Lexi between Marc and me, I remembered how Dodgie spent his last night in that same spot. We knew the end was coming, and we wanted him to be as comfortable as possible. Really, we always did. But once that thought entered my mind... well, I didn't sleep much last night. Today marks two years without our sweet, wonderful little boy. I'm starting to cry again as I type this. I do try to remember all the joy he brought, but I miss him so much! I'm sorry, my Dodgie! I wish you could still be here with us, happy and healthy! Rest in peace, my little boy!

A dog after my own heart

Lexi has this thing she does in the morning, called "going back to bed." Marc gets up earlier than me. That's not unusual, as he's a morning person. He also has a job. I got up not long after, but Lexi knows there's about an hour that she can come back, hop on the bed and curl up against my legs after she has gotten her breakfast and yard visit from Marc.

But now we've reached a new level of canine accomplishment. She may be a full-of-energy less-than-two-years-old pup, but she knows the value of a comfy bed! After I got up this morning, she watched me go brush my teeth, get dressed, etc., and then she just watched me leave. The look on her face seemed to say, "I'm good right here. You go have fun! I'm here if you need me."

After a while, she came downstairs, but I had to laugh. She just watched me go, while she relaxed on the bed.

Patience may be a virtue, but it isn't easy!

Six months ago today, our new CEO called me in to tell me she'd decided to eliminate my position. She claimed my job--and some others--had to go, due to budget problems. It sounded like a lie, because I knew they'd still need HR leadership for such a large organization. Also, I handled legal matters, in addition to my HR work, and sending those to outside counsel certainly wasn't going to save money!

Sure enough, my suspicions eventually were confirmed when she hired someone she knew well after I left. She just had to "reorganize," so she could bring in her guy--after a "lengthy search" that magically selected the person she already knew.

C'est la vie! Ironically, right before the layoff meeting, Marc and I had given a friend a chunk of money to help him with expenses as things were very tight for him. No regrets there. Helping friends is one of life's joys. But the timing was unbelievable.

Marc has been the best support I could ask. He's encouraged me to be patient. He has told me not to jump at just anything--that I should wait for a job that's worth it.

Still, it's so hard to be patient. I've been searching every day. I've been on interviews. I've seen jobs that I decided weren't worth it. I have more opportunities coming up. I'm also looking into building a consulting business. Whether it's a side business or becomes something bigger, we shall see. In the meantime, I'm hoping I'll get a job sometime soon. We have been careful about money and debt over our years together, so we're okay for now, but I really don't like this. I hope my 6 months' patience is rewarded soon! Send good thoughts my way!

That would have made Star Trek: The Next Generation even better

Time to revive my poor, yet-again-neglected blog. And what better reason to restart it than the sighting of a hot man? This afternoon, as I was doing chores, I was watching an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, called "The Outrageous Okona."

When I saw Captain Thadiun Okona, I was... interested. Marc is the one who remembers actors, their names, etc.  I'm pretty bad about such things. Anyhow, the actor was Billy Campbell. He looked like this in the episode:

Looking him up, I was reminded of some of his roles. I also read that he was the first choice to play Commander Riker. No offense to Jonathan Frakes, but... wow, he could have been Commander Riker? I was and am a Trek fan anyhow, but looking at this every week wouldn't have been too much of a hardship!:

Come on, would that have been so much to ask?

Musings on stuff blowing up

So the explosions in Tianjin, China, got me thinking about the forces we can unleash and how puny we are in comparison to the mess our efforts can make. The estimates I heard were that it was equivalent to 21 tons of TNT. Pretty damn big, since that's 42,000 pounds, and one pound of TNT would do plenty of damage. For reference:

But going back to the China explosions. 21 tons of TNT, you saw that horror on the news. And then think back to the A-bombs. Hiroshima was hit by the equivalent of 15,000 tons of TNT. 30,000,000 pounds equivalent.

And then when the big countries really play like boys with new toys... Ever hear of the Czar Bomba? During the really entertaining part of the Cold War, the Soviets came up with that one. They scaled it back, because the original yield was so big that the plane dropping it couldn't have escaped, even with the drogue chute slowing it down. The scaled-down version had a yield in excess of 50 megatons. That is, comparing to the China explosions' 21 tons of yield, 50,000,000+ tons. (The pre-scaling back plan was for a 100 megaton bomb.) If you want to know more...

And the really fun part? Have you heard of the explosion of the Krakatoa volcano? That would be nature showing us that, yes, we remain mere ants in the grand scheme. The Krakatoa volcanic explosion is estimated to have had about 4 times the power of the Czar Bomba. Take that, humans!

Nice upgrade

I'm traveling for business. Alas, Marc couldn't tag along, and I can't stand being apart from him. But that's not what this is about. Rather, it's about the plane I'm in as I type this. I've never been a fan of the 737. It should have been a creation of Airbus, because that's how it always felt to me--like a flying bus.

Well, this plane is a 737, but it's not what I'm used to. It's a newer model, the Boeing 737-900ER, and it's quite a difference from what I usually think of as a 737. Many upgrades and modern touches, from the seats to the cabin lighting to the entertainment systems.

Nicely done! I hope more airliners get this kind of treatment!

The mysteries of life

I'm flying to Savannah to meet Marc at our new vacation/rental home. (Due to work schedules, he was able to go yesterday.) I couldn't get a nonstop flight at a good price, so I'm going to Atlanta where I have a connection to a Savannah flight.

As I type this on my iPad (for posting later--in airplane mode now, of course), I am waiting out a mystery. The flight attendant, Javier, has a lovely accent, but his accent was enough for me to be unclear as to whether dinner is beet salad or beef salad. Either may turn out to be interesting from a culinary point of view, but I honestly don't know what to expect, despite hearing him say it several times as he addressed me and the nearby passengers (and told us that he was sorry but it--whatever it is--is the only thing available today). 

But at least this is a distraction from the guy across the way who has spent the entire flight, thus far, playing solitaire with real cards and shuffling the damn things loudly several times before each hand. That may sound minor, but after a while, the urge to beat him with the drink cart sounds reasonable!

-------------------------

Update: Beef it is. Really, three small pieces of roast beef with some dressing. It'll do!

A canine life well lived! (Not that she's done!)

Looks like she's still having lots of fun. She and her relatives in this piece remind me of our girl Mandy.

Facebook

Today, I deactivated my Facebook account. It may not last--some friends won't be happy with this--but I've toyed with the idea for a while.

While Facebook can be great for reconnecting with people you haven't seen in years and keeping tabs on others, it's a huge time drain. Yes, I could just limit my use of it, but that doesn't really happen, even when I tell myself it will. It's like a Siren, calling me to crash on the rocks of wasted time. I definitely have better things to do.

Also, friends who I know don't mean harm (I know them in real life, so I know them well enough to be sure) post things that upset me. Why would I want more of that? So it was time to shut it down. The negatives outweigh the positives. Who needs that?

Picking up and moving forward

No, this isn't another post about mourning for our lost doggies. Rather, this has to do with yesterday's accident at LaGuardia Airport, where a landing Delta plane slid sideways and slammed into a fence near the water.

I saw on last night's news that they had a crane starting to remove the plane, but I still couldn't figure how they could finish the NTSB investigation and get the airport reopened by this morning (as they said they had). It's not like LaGuardia has lots of spare capacity. Their old runways are barely enough to do the job on a normal day.

Then today's commute to work showed me how they had adapted. My commute takes me right by the airport. It's fun (for an airplane geek like me, at least) when a jetliner flies right overhead, as it touches down on the runway that starts right next to the parkway. Since I'm heading roughly west at that point and the airplanes pass from my left to my right, I'd say that's runway 04 (yes, I've even looked up LGA's runways). My commute also gives me a good view of the other side of the airport, as I drive along the Whitestone Expressway for a short distance. From that, I know (and gather this is common, except at really small airports) that they use one runway for landings and another for takeoffs on a typical day.

On a typical day, my close pass by the end of runway 04 will either let me see planes coming in to land or planes lined up to take off. In the latter case, as each one takes off, the next moseys up (a technical aviation term) for its turn, a nice slow taxiing to the threshold of the runway.

Today, however, I saw both planes coming in and planes waiting to take off from the very same spot. I could see the line in the sky to my left and the line on the ground to my right. As I sat in traffic (did I mention it can be a lovely commute on the Grand Central Parkway?), I saw a plane land and then one of the ones on the ground taxi very quickly into position, followed by the immediate roar of its engines as it started its takeoff roll.

I guess that's the answer for now. They're doing a tightly choreographed dance, with takeoffs and landings on the same runway. The coffee machines must be working hard in the LaGuardia Tower and TRACON in Westbury. As exciting as it sounds, I'm glad it's not me in one of those air traffic controller seats. The stress level must be huge today! (And I doubt the passengers even realize--at least most of them. In fact, I'm sure any number of the passengers have been grumbling about delays, without giving a thought to what all this takes. Anyhow, I'm impressed!)

The time it takes to heal

My last post shared the news of Dodger's death. Even then, the news was weeks old. At this point, over three months have passed, but it still hurts. Still, I'm trying to cling to the happy memories and let the heartache go. It hurt when the girls died, but I feel like I dealt with those losses better. That may be because I still had canine love in the house to help me through.

For a lot of reasons, we're not getting another dog now. We will, someday, but not now. I just wish I could stop hurting so much. And one of my silly little joys related to the dogs has now become a bit of salt in the wound. I'd rewrite song lyrics around the dogs. In the past couple of years, mostly around Dodger.

These days, the Dodger songs run in my head all the time. I'm not a religious person, but I sometimes feel there's more. I honestly don't know, but I hope there's a spirit that lives on.

Today, I said to Marc, "do you think Dodger's spirit is here with me?" Marc said yes. I said that I feel like he must be. I know my love for him may just have me obsessed with him, and maybe it's that simple. But maybe, just maybe, he is here by me to this day. Actually, right as I was having that thought--and right as I was getting ready to say that to Marc, a little bundle of Dodger fur blew across the floor in front of me. I don't know where it came from after all this time, but it was in some little corner somewhere, and then there it was in front of me at just the right moment. A sign? It sure seems like it.

Worrier that I am, I then asked Marc if Dodger will be upset when the day comes that we get another dog. Marc said that Dodger will understand, because he knows how I love doggies. Still, now I'll worry about that. *sigh* It's not easy living in this head!

In the meantime, I'm trying to remember how he had so much more happiness in his life than pain. I guess I'm getting there, but my own pain is still there. Still, this photo, taken late in his life with his new friend Sid, is a good reminder of what a happy boy he was...

The best little boy in the world is gone, and we are crushed

If you read this blog, you may also be connected to me on Facebook. If you are, you know this already. But just in case...

Anyone who knows Marc and me knows how dear our pups always have been to us. You also know that we lost the girls in 2012. Thankfully, our wonderful boy, Dodger, kept on going. I could go on and on about Dodger... how smart, sweet, loyal, tough, wonderful... but no words could do him justice.

On November 28, 2014, we lost our boy.

His health had been failing for a long time. We did everything we could, got him every kind of help we could find, but in the end, some things are beyond everyone's power to stop.

It got to the point that his quality of life was gone. As the vet told Marc, with the amount of pain and other meds he was on, if he couldn't even sleep--which is where he was at--his pain and discomfort were severe enough that the meds couldn't control it. He was "maxed out" on the meds. He couldn't get comfortable, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't stand without help (he even had a special harness to help us help him without causing pain), and even then he couldn't stay up long. He'd even gotten to the point that he couldn't get from lying on his side to his belly.

Still, getting myself from saying those things to really feeling that we'd done that right thing has taken a lot. We've both been suffering, but this really has been an amazingly crushing blow for me. I think it's more than just losing our boy, but more on that in another post. For now, farewell to our sweet, wonderful boy! You'll be in our hearts forever, and I hope there's something after this life and that I get to hold you in my arms and pet your pretty head again! I love you, baby!

Refugee Thanksgiving

Next week, we're hosting Refugee Thanksgiving! What's that? Well, in case the name doesn't make it obvious, that's what we call the dinner we host for friends who... well, who have nowhere else to go, because their families are far away or for any other reason. While we invited lots of friends, many do have places to go. Still, a handful have accepted our invitation, and we know it's going to be lots of fun, as well as a great feast! (We do throw a pretty good party, you know.)

In related news, I just noticed that our guests are going to be such a rough looking group. (Okay, maybe not.) I swear, I didn't invite just hot friends, but here are the confirmed guests so far...

Peter

Rumen

Sid

Chris

Rumen's partner, Neil

Aaron

Five rugby players and a dancer. All of them handsome.

I have to endure such hardships in my life!  ;-)

How about some rugby photos?

I think I should add a little color to this blog. Color and some men to look at!

(Click them for larger versions)

I was going to add captions to these, but what's the point? But if anyone ever wonders why I head out so many Saturdays to photograph the boys on my rugby team, well... that's because they're my friends. Nothing more than that.  ;-)

If you want to see more, the full set of photos (101 photos of hot men) is here: http://www.brownhoundphotos.com/Sports/2014-Rugby/Gotham-vs-Montauk-Rugby/

Slowly turning into Dad

Marc was up very early to go supervise a 5k race his hospital was running, so he had Dodger out early. Once Dodger was up, he spent the next hour or two nagging me to get up and feed him. Despite my insisting that he go back to sleep (really, it is Sunday!), he kept at it until I surrendered. That canine persistence always prevails!

Since I was up early anyhow, I got an early start on chores, paying some bills, throwing out junk mail, etc.  One big accomplishment was scanning a bunch of documents and then shredding them.

All in all, it has been a very productive day so far. The house is a lot neater, and I feel inordinately satisfied. Being this satisfied with chores--as well as marching around in slippers--makes me feel way too adult! Granted, lots of the guys on the rugby team probably see me as an old man. Still, in my head I feel like a kid. But between the hair (not) on my head and a variety of other things, I think it may be true. Somewhere along the way I grew up, despite my best efforts to avoid it!

It's hard to see a loved one getting old

Dodger worries me. He's very old. I know that. We've gotten him through all kinds of things where other dogs' humans would have given up. But as long as we can give him a good quality of life, we'll get him whatever care he needs. Not living just to draw breath, but if truly have good days he can enjoy, that's worth it.

Lately, his back legs--long a source of trouble--have gotten very weak, a problem exacerbated by a balance issue called Vestibular Disorder. He also cries sometimes, particularly at night. Marc is worried that he's feeling pain, but Dodger is smart and has always been good at getting people to do what he wants (and he was the same with his sisters when they were still alive). So I think he's just complaining and demanding things. That often seems to be the case. Many nights when he cries, if you open the bedroom door and let him go to his water bowl to get a good drink, the crying is done. The other night, I thought he might want to hang out with us (he was acting that way), and sure enough, we put him on our bed, he cuddled up between us and was asleep in no time. The crying stopped the moment he was lifted onto the bed.

Even so, he takes a number of medications for arthritis, related pain, and dizziness (from the vestibular disorder), as well as vitamins and probiotics. He needs those to get by comfortably, and I do worry that somewhere along here we'll run out of things we can do for him. While I realize we all have to depart this earth eventually, and he's about 14 years old now, so I won't really be justified in claiming it was "too soon" when that day comes, he's my boy, and I'll be devastated whenever it happens.

There's an old line (Shakespeare?) that says a coward dies a thousand deaths, but a brave man dies but once. I'm not saying the idea of my own mortality doesn't give me pause, but the thought of losing a loved one troubles me more--and I am way too good at imagining that day. Earlier today, when Dodgie was really out of it, as he sometimes is, I found my eyes filling with tears. I'll cry when we lose him, but even seeing him this late in life can be tough.

The randomness of life and chance meetings

Today, we had our friend Andrew over for a visit. Actually, we have a few friends Andrew. This Andrew is a friend from Toronto, and now that he's headed back into NYC, we were just discussing what a sweetie he is and how glad we are that he's our friend. Then I was remembering how random our initial meeting was and how life--and friendships--can turn on moments that could easily never have happened.

We met Andrew on a train from Manchester to Edinburgh when we were in the UK for the Bingham Cup rugby tournament in 2012. We'd finished the tournament and were heading to Edinburgh for some sightseeing. We found our car on the train, and the conductor took us to our seats. After we all were seated we found ourselves sitting with two nice looking young men (never a cause for complaint!), friends named Andrew and Tom, who were wearing what looked like rugby clothes. So we asked if they happened to be coming from a tournament. Sure enough, they'd been at the same tournament, playing with their teammates from Toronto.

We introduced ourselves and had a lovely conversation on our way to Edinburgh. Once we got there, we parted ways, wishing each other well and saying we'd keep in touch online. Later that day, we went to take a tour bus around Edinburgh (something we often do on the first day of a visit to a new city, so we can orient ourselves). When we got on the bus, who was there? Andrew and Tom. After that, we decided we all should enjoy Edinburgh together.

Since then, the NY welcome mat has been out for both of them. Tom hasn't visited us yet (n.b., they aren't a couple), but Andrew was in town with friends for a couple of days. He decided that today he'd head out our way, and we had a wonderful time!

What amazes me is that a chance encounter led to a friendship with a wonderful guy. How easily could we have been seated in the next set of seats? Or the next car? Or on a different train? Or we could have flown. Or they could have. Or any number of ways that things could have gone differently. But that didn't happen. We all sat together. And then to see them on the bus later that day?

It's even less likely than our unlikely connection with our dear friend Keir. If our teams hadn't been paired up... No, it's not even that big. If Keir hadn't run late to the joint dinner of their team and ours, he wouldn't have wound up sitting with us. But he did and he did, and now we have a close friend we otherwise wouldn't have gotten to know. Funny how those things work!

And hey, Tom, when are you coming to visit?  :-)

Friday fun--and TMI, I'm sure

Blogs started as online diaries, and this may be more of that than anything you actually want to read. After all, this could be a useful reference for me down the road. (Sorry!)  :-)

Okay, so Friday wasn't really fun, but I was relieved to be done with it. "It" being a medical procedure. Tests, actually. A colonoscopy and an upper endoscopy. I started colonoscopies in my early 40s, because of family cancer history. The upper endoscopy was new. That was done because of recent issues that made my regular doctor think I could have had an ulcer or a hiatal hernia or any number of other possible issues related to some unsettling feelings after eating--including a feeling like an irregular heartbeat at one point. It's been a fun year so far!

And what made this day really fun? Well, a couple of things. For one, I am scared of anesthesia. I worked in hospitals a long time, and I heard too many nightmare stories of anesthesia gone wrong. Logically, I knew the odds were very much in my favor. Also, I was having these tests done in Marc's hospital, so he asked the Chief of Anesthesiology to watch out for me. The result was one of their top anesthesiologists taking care of me, with the Chief standing there, too, as I went under. Another fun thing? I've been having on-and-off diarrhea for a couple of months. (Glad you're reading this yet?)

Being the great worrier I am, I was thinking things like, "if it's cancer, I just hope it's stage 1." These thoughts kept popping up, despite negative occult blood tests and the fact that I had a colonoscopy 5 years that was fine (and you normally wouldn't go from nothing to cancer in 5 years). Still, I can torture myself with such thoughts. Logic is nothing when faced with neurotic worry!

And when it was done, what did we find? Nothing. Well, nothing bad. It all looked great. My esophagus and stomach are fine. My colon is fine. In fact, the doctor told Marc to tell me (I was still slightly groggy at that moment) to keep using fiber, because "the beginnings of minor diverticulosis" that he'd seen 5 years ago had disappeared. (What he saw 5 years ago was minor but, if allowed to keep going, could turn into diverticulitis eventually, and that's bad stuff.)

So what was causing the diarrhea? No idea. But it's been slowly (very slowly) improving, so maybe it was a virus or something. While doing the colonoscopy, he took a couple of biopsies. He said the tissue looked fine, but he'll check for "microscopic colitis." Apparently, that's unlikely, but he's being careful to rule out all possible concerns.

Overall, a very good result and a very smooth procedure. And one bonus: that top anesthesiologist I mentioned? Well, he also turned out to be HOT! Wow, that was a nice treat. Hey, I can be a scaredy-cat patient and still appreciate a handsome face in well-fitting scrubs!  ;-)

Priorities

Some things just matter more than a small chance of being hit by lightning. This post is being dictated into a little pocket recorder while standing on a Manhattan street corner in the middle of a thunderstorm. Someone else might take shelter somewhere.

However, Marc is making his way up here. We're going to see a show at Café Carlyle. Melissa Manchester. Should be fun!

Thing is, he may have trouble finding me if I don't stay in this one location. I've been standing out here quite a while, as he makes his way to join me. Yes, I could find a place to hide, and then I could send him a message. But he's coming up on the subway. He might not see the message until he came wandering out here. He might start walking around, looking for me. While the lightning isn't a huge risk, crazy drivers are. And crazy drivers in wet weather are not a good thing. So I will wait here where he can find me.

He'll get here soon enough, and then we'll walk to the show together. In the meantime, I am much happier knowing that he should have no problem finding me, rather than taking some risk with his safety. That's just the way I want it. I think it's a better way to live! At least, I'm happier this way!

I miss my Dad

You shouldn't take the wrong message from this video. There was nothing unsaid between me and my Dad. No disagreements we didn't solve. Still, this song's message is a good one--don't let disagreements drive a wedge between you and someone you love. If you can heal the rift, do it before it's too late.

The reason I'm posting this is because it's the song that broke through and let the pain from losing my Dad finally start to come out. When he died, I did virtually no crying. I did what he taught me--I was strong for the family.

I could go on and on about my theory of how, since that day, I have a well of pain in me that can be tapped easily and unexpectedly in certain emotional moments. The first time I felt that was some time after his death. Marc and I were driving on the NYS Thruway. I don't remember where we were going, but this song was playing on the radio. As I said, there was nothing left unsaid between us. I had a wonderful relationship with both my parents, and there were no quarrels to fix. But then the song got to the line (around 3:46 in this video) that was factually accurate for me: "I wasn't there that morning when my father passed away." And with that, I burst into tears.

I wasn't there that morning when my father passed away. He had just begun home hospice hours before. It was about 2:30 or so in the morning (we got the call around 2:45), and he was in the room where I'm typing this now. Again, no guilt for me. There was no reason I would have been here. We didn't even know he'd go so fast. But I don't think whether I was there or not was the point that hit me. It just took the right thing to poke a hole in the balloon of pain I'd built up. A sufficient reminder from a song full of emotion.

It seems that some of that pain will always be there, but as wonderful a Dad as he was, I suppose that's to be expected. And did I mention that today is his birthday? That's what made me think of this.

Happy Birthday, Dad! I miss you!

Clap for the Dodge dog!

Does that title make a song run in your head? If it does, you're both of a certain age and way too well versed in esoteric songs of a certain era. But let's talk about something more important--Dodger!

He's doing much better. From being so bad several days ago that I was literally in tears, thinking we were going to lose him, he's come back to pretty good health. Over the past several days, he stopped falling down, and he seemed to regain the use of his back legs, even if they still were a bit shaky (hey, he's an old guy!). It looks like it was something called Vestibular Disease. It's a balance disorder that's not uncommon in older dogs. It happens at other ages, too, but in an older dog, it's usually just a temporary condition that will right itself with time.

As I said, he's been making progress. Last night, he even took himself up to bed (with me right behind him the whole way to support him and make sure he didn't fall). But it still was lots of work for him.

Today, after I got home, we went out, he had some treats, and I left him to hang out on the first floor while I went upstairs to change out of my suit and put on comfortable clothes. The plan was that he'd wait for me to come back down. At least that was my plan. While I wasn't anxious for him to try the stairs unaided, I nearly jumped for joy when I turned around and saw this sight in the bedroom door...

Yay, Dodgie!

Where are things heading? No one knows.

Dodger is having quite a time. The vet has been of limited help, but that's how it is with human doctors, too, often enough.

He's having a hard time, but he's not suffering. Just a bit tired and weak. Also having diarrhea now. That's happened in the past, but we may have to take him in to address that. For now, we have left over Lomotil we're giving him, but he may need an anti-diarrheal shot. (We have way too much experience with this!)

At this point, we're taking it a day at a time. His kidney measures are a little high but not too bad. To try to keep that in a good range, we're getting him off his anti-inflammatory, because it's hard on the kidneys. Instead, we're upping his pain meds. But that has him groggy and a bit spacey now. Not easy. We're also starting him on a biologic supplement called Azodyl that's supposed to help kidney function.

Anyhow, we're doing our best with him. We hope he gets past his current issues and powers on to lots more quality life. We shall see!

That was scary

While we're at work these days, Dodger spends his days in the kitchen. He has his bed, and we have fabric runners on the floor, because he's not so stable on his back paws now, so tile floors aren't the best for him. He stays in the kitchen, because he sometimes can't hold his bladder for what can be 10 to 12 hours. After all, he's pushing 14, and that's up there for a doggy.

Well, a couple of the runners were in the wash today and weren't ready to go back out when we left for work. In hindsight, I see that we should have found something else to lay on the floor. When I got home, I found that he'd walked across the kitchen for a drink and fallen. From his condition when I found him, I think he'd been lying there, backs paws uncomfortably crossed, for hours.

I understood if he couldn't get himself up on that floor, but lying there had hurt, apparently. Even when I got him up, he couldn't stand. He couldn't even get his back legs in the correct positions. After a few tries, I carried him out to the yard. When I put him down out there, he staggered sideways. He tried to pee and then fell over sideways.

I was so upset, but I kept helping him and he kept trying. Slowly, he started to get function back. He managed to poop without falling over--and for that, I am very thankful! That could have been messy. Then I went and got his leash, and we walked the block, so he could try to work the kinks out of his paws. That seemed to help.

I know it's a one-way trip through life for all of us, but it's so hard to see someone you love having a hard time in old age. He's fine now, and I hope he surprises us with his resiliency!

Medical concern? Sometimes the simple answer is the right one

On three different occasions over the years, I have found myself with some breathing trouble. This is not the usual allergies and related issues that I’ve had all my life. Rather, it is a feeling that’s akin to asthma. In fact, one doctor once called it “extrinsic asthma.” By that, he meant that I didn’t actually have asthma but had similar symptoms. Either way, it is very distressing.

The symptoms started again a few months ago, but when I went to see my doctor, I made clear that I did not want batteries of tests like the other two times this happened over the past 12 to 15 years. In those cases, they did cardiac tests and pulmonary tests, but they never found anything wrong. In essence, the diagnosis was a well-educated shrug.

So this time, the doctor just did an EKG, bloodwork and a general exam. Again, nothing was discovered. No one ever really put a finger on what the issue was.

In each case in the past, the symptoms eventually went away. Still, it took a few months and was distressing whenever it was hard to get a full breath. It also was tiring and quite aggravating. Then, in the past couple of weeks, something occurred to me. Several months ago, I changed jobs. When that happened, I changed insurance. This wound up being a good thing. I will get to that in a moment.

Going back to several months ago, under my old insurance, the co-pay for a prescription medication called Nexium (which reduces stomach acid) went from $20 to $100. At that time, I asked the doctor to switch me to something else, since a $100 co-pay for a reflux medication seemed exorbitant. So she switched me to a generic medication called omeprazole. I didn’t start the omeprazole right away, because I still had some Nexium on hand. What occurred to me just recently is that I started the omeprazole a few months ago, right about the time the breathing problem started. Thinking back, I remembered that the last time this breathing issue happened, a few years back, I wasn’t on Nexium or any acid reducer, and the pulmonologist commented that reflux can cause breathing issues. Was the omeprazole not working well enough for me? Also, I took a look at a few weeks ago at the side effects of omeprazole. One of them was “bronchospasm.” So maybe that was the issue—or part of the issue.

So I e-mailed my doctor and asked if I could be switched back to Nexium. While the cost is higher, if it either is better at controlling acid or has less side effects (or both), at least for me, then it’s worth the extra money. She congratulated me on my analysis and “detective work” and wrote the new prescription right away. The extra bit of nice news with this is that I have found out that the new place’s health insurance has a co-pay of just $50 for Nexium. So it’s not quite as bad as the old one became.

Regarding the other possible cause for my issues, I found reinforcement for what the pulmonologist said a few years ago in all my reading—that acid reflux can cause breathing problems. Even if you’re not feeling the burning, there can be a certain amount of acid being quietly brought up which gets into the lungs. This bit of acid can be enough of an irritant to cause problems in the bronchial tree.

Granted, this is somewhat theoretical for now, and I don’t even have the Nexium yet. However, I am off the omeprazole, just to be safe, and I’m taking over-the-counter Zantac 150 in the meantime. It’s possible that the results are coincidental, but I definitely seem to be doing better for now. I sure hope that I have found the answer. I guess the main lesson in this is to keep digging and not take “no” for an answer (or a diagnosis) from medical providers. I don’t doubt that the doctors did their best and made their best guesses when this happened in the past, but if the answer is this simple, then all of them, including cardiac specialists and pulmonary specialists, missed a simple explanation while they were doing all of their fancy tests.

Yes, distracted driving is dangerous

The driver just ahead of me and one lane over, as I drove to work this morning, was having trouble holding her lane. I couldn't see exactly what she was doing, but something (a smart phone is likely, but I can't say for sure) was distracting her. So she wandered from her lane.

When she realized she had, she over-corrected and briefly started to skid. She then over-corrected the other way and wound up smacking into the concrete divider. A number of us cut our wheels and braked hard to avoid her out-of-control car. Fortunately, it remained a one-car accident.

She smacked up the front left section of her car pretty well, but she appeared unhurt. By the time we all started moving again, she was getting out of her car. Still, that was yet another example of what constitutes dangerous driving--anything other than watching the road and keeping your hands on the wheel!

Stay safe, everyone!

From the neighbor kids' point of view

Today, I took Dodger for a walk. We don't go far. He's not a kid, and the block is long (at least, at his age). But he loves getting out, sniffing things and seeing people.

At the start of our walk, and again at the end, we spent time talking to the kids who live next door. They're 6 and 10 years old. They always want to tell me about things they know, and that's a joy. They also like to ask about Dodger. The 10-year-old girl has known Dodger since her family moved in when she was 2. Her brother has known Dodger his (the brother's) entire life.

They also knew Bernice and Mandy. After the girls died, we skirted the truth when they asked, "where are the other dogs?" From their mom's reaction when it came up in her presence, it seemed that they didn't know about death yet. So we'd say something like, "they're not here now" and then quickly move on to a new subject.

Today, she asked again where they were. When I said they're not here, she asked what happened to them. I said, "they got old."

"Oh, they died?"

"Yes, they died."

And her brother said, "oh, they're dead."

Then--and this is where things got much better and even funny--they asked what happened to the big red dog. She added, "the one my brother used to call 'the wolf.'" (That always made us chuckle--"the wolf" is Dodger.) And she indicated how big the wolf was--quite large. Twice her size!

I said, "he's standing in front of you, but you used to be this big," holding my hand at a level about half her height.

It's all about perspective, isn't it?  :-)

A thought on being poor

Since starting this job, I have been spending many of my days in a building that is largely subsidized housing (our offices are in the lower level of the building). Because of where I work, something occurred to me about the many concerns and difficulties that poor people face. As I was coming into work today, I noticed a woman walking her dog out of the building.

It's then that it occurred to me that what would probably upset me most about not having a decent income would be the inability to fully care for the ones I love. I don't mean care for them in an emotional sense, as I don't think that type of caring knows any economic or social bounds. What I mean is "care for" in the sense of providing physical care for their well-being. Dodger recently needed surgery. Fortunately, we were able to afford surgery to make him better. But what if we couldn't? What if the only good solution for him was something that we simply didn't have the money to do?

I can't imagine anything that would hurt more than that. Not being able to care for him, or care for Marc, would be horrible. I don't know what the solution is, of course. After all, poverty has resisted a cure for a lot longer than I've been around. Still, that really struck me this morning. All the more reason to continue efforts to help those less fortunate, of course.

I guess it's just how that really smacked me in the face that prompted this post. I work for an organization dedicated to helping those in need, and Marc & I do what we can ourselves. Still, I hate to think what so many people face.

Almost five months in...

I started my new job at the beginning of August. Overall, it has been great. Something I noticed after I'd been in the new job for a while was that my Sunday night depression went away. For a long time, I'd noticed how I got down in the dumps practically every Sunday evening--but that was when I was in the old job.

I did good work in the old job, but I was dealing with one person in particular who... well, let's just say I could count on no support from one important quarter. I realized, in hindsight, that I was feeling down because I had to head back to a job I didn't like anymore. Happily, the new job is good, and I am happy to be working there.

So since the new job, I feel fine on Sunday. As I sit here and type this, I'm content. Granted, a day of work isn't as much fun as a day of leisure, but it's good work with good people.

The change was good! I'm glad it happened!

A weekend without things we have to do? Wow, that's a treat!

I sit here on the eve of a free weekend, and it's almost too much to believe. I always feel like I'm not one of the cool kids (and I'm not). Not the kind of person with a busy social life, or at least I've always thought. Still, it has been a long time since we last had a weekend with nothing planned. No commitments to go anywhere or do anything.

I do have to go to the dry cleaner, and we have plenty of chores to do here in the house. But there are no parties to attend, no shows to see, no work events to go to. I might even get to sleep late tomorrow!

Truly honored

Almost ten years ago, I learned that a friend played rugby for a gay rugby team called the Gotham Knights. The "gay" rugby team really is an inclusive team, open to all, but the main idea was to have a place for gay athletes to be accepted.

I started out taking photos of matches, and over the years we've made many new friends through the team, any number of whom are friends of ours to this day. We've even traveled with Gotham to tournaments as far away as England and Ireland. Still, neither of us ever played. If I'd ever considered playing, it would have been at a younger age than when we first joined Gotham. Even so, the team came to consider us part of the family, and they said quite clearly that I'm a full member of the team a long time ago.

Fast forward to this fall. I was talking to a friend from the team, and I suggested that he run for team president. He said he'd been talking to another dedicated member of the team and was going to support him for president. Then he proposed something I hadn't even considered: "If I were to nominate you for the Board, would you accept?"

I know these volunteer positions can be a lot of work, so I asked him to give me a couple of days to think about it. In the end, my love for the team won out over the possibly-thankless work. Still, there was an election, and more people were running than there were seats available. I felt like there was an excellent chance that I, as a non-player, would get blown out of the water. After all, these things can be popularity contests. Well, I should have given my teammates more credit!

The election results came in. Guess who won? And then we had the first Board meeting. We're all elected as at-large Board members, and then the Board works out who will fill what particular role.

My role? Chairman of the Board. Me? Chairman of the Board of the Gotham Knights Rugby Football Club? I'm so honored and, frankly, blown away that my rugby mates have put such trust in me. I won't let them down!

The was amazing!

Amazing stuff today. When Dodger found me on the street in Brooklyn, 12 years & 1 week ago, I was standing there with my boss, Raquel. Raquel and I haven't worked together in years, but I've seen her now and then. Dodger, on the other paw, hasn't seen her at all since that day.

That day, September 28, 2001, was a momentous day in Dodger's life. He went from struggling to survive on the street to having a safe place to stay, food in his bowl (even having a bowl!), and people who care about him. Still, he met Raquel for maybe 5 minutes and hasn't seen her since, a lifetime ago.

Today, Raquel came over to the house. And Dodger remembered her. It was clear. He reacted to her like he reacts to no new guests. It was amazing! I guess it's one of those amazing dog things--maybe her scent reminded him of that day. Whatever the case... it's like an 80-year-old remembering a one-time, brief encounter from when he was 5. Wild!

Here we go again!

I try not to complain about work. What's the point? We all have our headaches and challenges. But if you're wondering about the title of this post, it refers to something I've been through once or twice before in my career.

My job is soon going to disappear. It's a long story, but after over 6 years with this hospital network, they've decided they need to do cutbacks and they can live without me. I was just promoted from my hospital VP job to a corporate position a few months ago. At the time, I knew that might not be good. They have a well-known history of moving people to corporate and then moving them out. In my case, the position was brand new. So when they decided to make cuts (because they're losing huge amounts of money), I figured this was a major risk. "We didn't have that job before this year. Do we really need it now?"

So I have a couple of weeks left, and then off I go. Knowing it's coming, I've been reaching out to contacts and floating my resume for jobs that look interesting. I have one place that actually looks like a good place to work with a job I'd enjoy. I've been through a telephone interview and an in-person interview by a panel of five management people from that organization. It seemed to go well, and I hear I'll make it to the next round. But I also have no idea how many other candidates are going to that round, too, so I'm trying not to get my hopes up.

So maybe I won't be unemployed for long, or maybe this will go on for a while. But this is why Marc and I are careful with our money. Yes, we have our trips and enjoy various fun things, but before we get to such "disposable income" things, we set aside money for savings, make extra payments on our mortgage, etc.  Friends may think we spend all we get, because we try to splurge on friends (like the barbecue we're doing for our Gotham rugby mates this weekend), but we actually are pretty careful. So if I'm out for a while, we'll cut spending and be even more careful, and we should be okay for a while!

With that said... think good thoughts for me!

Skidding in sideways...

There's a saying that life isn't about finishing in a well-preserved body. Rather, the smart way is to go skidding into the grave sideways, thoroughly worn out and finishing with the thought, "wow, what a ride!"

That's a wise view. When we were at my alma mater for my 25-year reunion (and where did those years go?!) a few weeks ago, our last event was a lovely brunch on Sunday morning. We sat with two older couples. They were from the class of 1958, so 55 years past their graduation.

These people were busy, engaged in current events, active (they were talking about going kayaking) and seemed to be living life to the fullest. They really were inspiring. No one can say how long anybody's stay here on Earth will last, but these people were a reminder that age is just a number. If you have good health, then the rest is up to you. Live your life! Enjoy the days you have, and at the end skid in sideways, exhausted and marveling at what a ride you had!

Internal clocks

I know people who can wake up at a certain time without an alarm. I've seen all kinds of excellent grasps on time that didn't require a timepiece. But what really amazes me is how a dog--Dodger, in this instance--without cues that I can see, is able to tell time with pretty good precision.

He will ask for certain things to happen at the same time every day. A few minutes ago, he went over to Marc and made clear he wanted something. Marc and Dodger can go through a question-and-answer thing where Marc will ask if he wants things and he'll bark when Marc gets to the right one.

Marc was starting the question session, but then Marc turned to me and asked, "what time is it?" I told him it was 9:09. At that, Marc knew Dodger was ready for his treats. Dodger calls for biscuits at 9:0something every night. Most nights, the demand hits at 9:03 or 9:04, but it can vary a few minutes.

How can he tell? Nothing else he does is anywhere close to this time, so he's not judging one off the other. And we don't watch the same shows each night. In fact, lots of nights, we don't even watch TV, and tonight we'd put in a DVD.

We make a mistake when we underestimate the skills and intelligence of non-human animals. Dodger reminds me of that often enough!

A new hobby

If you know me at all, you know that I love photography. In fact, I've loved it since I was a little boy, and I continue to consider it my main avocation.

But recently, I've felt the itch to try something new. I love music. I can't sing to save my life, but I love music. In school, I played the alto saxophone, but that was long ago. More to the point, I don't want to try that again. Instead, I got the idea that I might like to learn how to play guitar. That's why the item you see below (at least I think it's below--I'm doing this from the iPad app, and I'm not certain where the photo will appear) is on my desk at work. I know, that's not a guitar. Just as well, since I doubt playing the guitar at work would be considered productive.

No, that's a device to exercise my fingers when I'm on calls or doing something else that would leave my hands free. It seems one must press down rather firmly on guitar strings to make chords sound right. They have to be pressed all the way to the neck of the guitar and contact the wood. Believe it or not, it's not as easy as it sounds. So I'm doing finger exercises.

Other challenges include pressing one string without touching the one next to it. Again, unless you have skinny fingers, this isn't easy! Also, it seems I need to develop calluses on my fingertips. Soft fingertips don't work too well for guitar playing.

I just started, so I have lots to learn, but I'm trying! At some point, I'll need to take lessons from someone. In the meantime, I'm trying to learn some basics. Hey, it keeps me off the streets at night! ;-)

Such a bad blogger!

I keep telling people that blogging is a superior format, at least in terms of quality, to things like Facebook. Blogging allows for the recording of more thoughts and a far easier way to look back and review life events.

With that said, I intend to make a real effort at being a better blogger. I do enjoy my blog, and I need to share more!

More snowstorm photos

So let's go to the morning after the storm. Having been out in the Explorer the night before somewhat limited the amount of snow built up on it...

Well, the clean windshield is because I'd used the remote start before I walked outside. That let it warm up some, so the snow could be pushed off easily.

I usually clean the walks in front of our house and our neighbors' houses, but a neighbor down the street did the first pass with a large snowblower he has. I still had plenty of work to do, but that first pass helped! This is after I'd done more work...

Then I had to clear the way to the front steps...

See someone supervising the operation? Here's a closer look...

Our street was a mess, but everyone was out, cleaning around their homes. The plows got around to the street later!

The main street got cleaned sooner, fortunately...

I guess that's it! I hope you enjoyed the photos!

Some storm photos

I took some photos during and after our recent snowstorm. I thought you'd like to see a few. First, I'll post a few from when the storm was first starting...

That's what it looked like on my drive home. Yes, I took a photo while driving! I had the DSLR on the seat next to me and picked it up to snap a quick shot through the windshield at a relatively calm moment.

Later, after I got home, Marc and I went back out to do a little shopping before things got really bad. We cut through Eisenhower Park on the way back...

It was getting a little messy. The snow was even starting to stick to the signs...

After we were back home, we watched the storm's progress. It picked up slowly, but by late evening, we already could see more coming down...

That's in the back yard.

But business must go on...

It may be easier to tell the rate of snowfall from the evidence left on someone after his quick visit to the yard...

That's it for now!

Weighty matters

I got a recent reminder that I haven't posted in a long time. So let me get things back on track and share an interesting development.

I've battled my weight for most of my life. I'd lost a lot before I met Marc, and this poor saint I married is stuck with a fat guy now. Luckily for me, he loves me, and it seems to go beyond my appearance! Still, for him--and for my health and personal happiness--I continue to try to lose weight.

I'd have my bad days, of course, but I'd also have lots of good days. On those good days, I'd stay below about 1,950 calories. I got that number from an online site, where I'd entered my height, weight, age, body type and activity level. Of course, that's a guess at best.

Fast forward to last Monday. I went for my annual physical with a new internist. One of the things she offered was a test, using a machine called the ReeVue Indirect Calorimeter. I spent about 10 or 12 minutes breathing into a tube, while the machine made its measurements. I gather it's watching how much CO2 I produce, but that's just a guess. In any case, it gave a reading of how many calories I burned just sitting there, as well as giving eating ranges for maintaining weight or losing weight. It also said what level I shouldn't go below.

That's what was really interesting. The machine said I shouldn't eat less than 2,167 calories a day. The doctor explained that eating below that level would cause my metabolism to slow down, so my dieting would be self-defeating. I might lose but only slowly, and so I'd be certain to get frustrated and stop trying. So I learned that my efforts--and yes, this fat guy really can buckle down and be disciplined--were for naught.

The doctor and her machine said that my proper weight loss range would be a daily total between 2,167 and 2,707 calories. Seriously, doc? That seems almost too good to be true. But who am I to argue? So I picked a number about mid-range. I set my daily target at 2,450 calories. Could this possibly work?

It's a week later, and I'm four pounds lighter. Well, what do you know about that? I guess I'll keep trying!