The antidote to anxiety and worry has arrived at our house in the form of a slightly used Maine Coon Cat named Smokey! Smokey has spent the last six weeks, or so, in the La Plata County Humane Society shelter, where a lot of the staff fell in love with him. He arrived at the shelter from mysterious origins and, suffice it to say, had been pretty beaten up, either by his time on his own or who knows. In any case, his wounds required tending and a couple of weeks of antibiotics, which, along with a respiratory infection that followed, kept him alive and well, so to speak, long enough for us to find out about him!
Last Thursday, Dan, who had seen Smokey's photo in the Durango High School newspaper, The Diablo, that morning, broached the subject of adoption midway through a glass of wine at our favorite hangout, The Office Spiritorium, at the Strater Hotel. Good timing. We both got pretty worked up thinking about Smokey and called the Humane Society minutes before they closed for the day. The next morning, we arrived at the shelter minutes after they opened. Smokey, it turned out, was in quarantine for ten days because he had bitten an unwary visitor who stuck a finger in his cage. So one more misadventure to keep him around long enough for us to adopt him! Yesterday was the last day of quarantine. We showed up at exactly 5:15 (he had to serve every minute of his sentence) to pick him up! Wednesday, Dan picked up the worldly goods that any self-respecting cat must possess and so we were ready at home.
Smokey took over the place as soon as he walked in the door, no doubt detecting 4 1/2 year old scents left over from his predecessor and near clone, Ernie the Sailing Cat. As of this morning, Smokey has consumed a can and a half of wet food, used the litter box at least once and had a good night's sleep. He is, as I write, napping in the guest room chair.
I posted earlier on Facebook that our evening last night, in front of the fire and football game, was cozier and dinner (frozen pizza) more delicious because of the new addition to our family. (Imagine what a baby is going to do in the next few days!!!)
Friday, November 9, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Warning: Rant Ahead
Well, doing part of my workout has in no way calmed me down. Wish it had. The breeze from every step I take is fanning my anger like bellows to the refiner's fire. What's gotten to me? Well, dear readership of 0, okay, perhaps one, I'll go ahead and share. Maybe it will help me. I was in the 1% for a time and for some reason, perhaps because of less than creative accounting guidance (read: honest), paid one hell of a lot in taxes. Not bragging, just stating a fact. So why am I going on about this? Because I am horribly pissed with the lies spewing out of Romney's mouth and the failure of my party to address the real problems that have lead to this pathetic time in our country's history. (Oh, as an aside, I have to wonder why anyone who supports Romney would think that he won't lie to YOU, too?? Just askin'. I mean, he might be FOR women's rights, etc., for all we know, not to mention health coverage for EVERYONE. I mean, isn't there some history here?)
Because of those taxes paid, we more than deserve any income that we are now getting from Social Security, and with Medicare less than a month off, we are grateful for the benefits that come from a society that cares about PEOPLE. Or did, at one point. No one should have to pay the kind of monthly payment for medical insurance that we were paying WITH a ginormous deductible. That kind of insurance cost adds up to tens of thousands of dollars a year! More than some people make. By the way, we were consuming something like $500/year... We did the math a while back and decided to assume the risk, given the proximity of a certain birthday. The countdown to December 1st is ongoing. The advent of for-profit health insurance companies is certainly part of the problem. Shareholders should have no say in the kinds of decisions that health providers are required to make, or at least recommend. After all we do have laws that prevent the practice of medicine by the unlicensed. The bottom line should be the welfare of people, not the receipt of dividends. (Yes, I know that lawyers are also to blame, right? I mean, there shouldn't be checks and balances, like recourse for mal-practice, huh?)
Getting real, my dad's last six days of life cost $60,000. How many of you could handle that without some sort of help from your uncle? Multiply that out by a few more days' lingering on life-support. One family we know has already exceeded the $2,000,000 mark because of acute myelitc leukemia suffered by their daughter at age 33, who fortunately, or unfortunately because of an additional disability, qualified for MediCal, but try EVER to get regular insurance for that gal again, which is all kinds of incentive for a major job search now that she's on the mend, yes? So, do you give up and commit suicide by neglect: failing to treat an illness so that your family can continue to be fed and housed on its own nickel, or do you go into bankruptcy for lack of adequate/affordable coverage. What good does it do to live in a nation that has the most advanced medical care in the world if opting to receive it is economically unfeasible. Just a few of the questions bothering me at the moment. Does anyone know what the economic effect of bankruptcy on taxpayers is???? Why is this not addressed in political debates. I cannot imagine and I have a pretty darn good brain.
How about all those visits to the emergency room for non-emergencies. An article this week in our paper pointed out that treating a sore throat in the emergency room costs $500 vs. $175 in a private doctor's office. Well, in Durango, for instance, Medicaid recipients can ONLY be treated in the ER. What kind of sense does that make? Anyone, anyone????????? And guess what, this is a community where the average working person is earning somewhere in the range that qualifies for Medicaid. Sad. I'm talking nurses and teachers, here, folks. Not bums or welfare moms, of which we don't have too many in our town, mainly because the average house rents for something like $2000 per month because the college doesn't house its students after year 1.
How many of you can afford $24,000/year in rent and another $14,000, say, at a minimum, in health insurance????? Just asking??? Oh, btw, this is after-tax money I'm talkin' about here. Back in the day, when Blue Cross/Blue Shield was a not-for-profit in Ohio, coverage for a family of four was something like $360/month. You could pick your own doc, go to the dermatologist without having to go first to the primary care doc for a referral ($$$), and there was no such thing as a co-pay. Plus, this was in the town that the Saudi princes chose to provide their health care... No one complained about paperwork and no doctor-to-be forswore the profession because he or she couldn't be guaranteed to earn $$$ bigtime.
Something is wrong here and the market system is NOT going to fix it. Is anyone listening??? Heck, the market system was doing great back in the aforementioned "day."
So what happened? Well, empirical evidence points to eight years of a Republican presidency and two wars. Nuff said. But, unfortunately, the Democrats are afraid to bring this up.
Oh and before I forget. My other rant: I have witnessed unbelievably unkind, rude and racist behavior on the part of the Republican constituency. (A big word, I know, for people who think the world began 5000 years ago... but that's another story I won't go into here.) It's open season on Obama and some otherwise good people have let down their guard. It reminds me of Nazi Germany. Sorry folks, but I've studied my history, even if some people have not. "It's okay because the other guy is doing it, too." Well, they have another thing coming. They are showing their true colors and I hope they can make amends and get on a better human, not to mention, Christian (but don't get me going here) track, for their own sake.
Thanks for reading, and my condolences for putting up with me. Was hoping to avoid stroking out, cuz we sure can't afford that!!
Because of those taxes paid, we more than deserve any income that we are now getting from Social Security, and with Medicare less than a month off, we are grateful for the benefits that come from a society that cares about PEOPLE. Or did, at one point. No one should have to pay the kind of monthly payment for medical insurance that we were paying WITH a ginormous deductible. That kind of insurance cost adds up to tens of thousands of dollars a year! More than some people make. By the way, we were consuming something like $500/year... We did the math a while back and decided to assume the risk, given the proximity of a certain birthday. The countdown to December 1st is ongoing. The advent of for-profit health insurance companies is certainly part of the problem. Shareholders should have no say in the kinds of decisions that health providers are required to make, or at least recommend. After all we do have laws that prevent the practice of medicine by the unlicensed. The bottom line should be the welfare of people, not the receipt of dividends. (Yes, I know that lawyers are also to blame, right? I mean, there shouldn't be checks and balances, like recourse for mal-practice, huh?)
Getting real, my dad's last six days of life cost $60,000. How many of you could handle that without some sort of help from your uncle? Multiply that out by a few more days' lingering on life-support. One family we know has already exceeded the $2,000,000 mark because of acute myelitc leukemia suffered by their daughter at age 33, who fortunately, or unfortunately because of an additional disability, qualified for MediCal, but try EVER to get regular insurance for that gal again, which is all kinds of incentive for a major job search now that she's on the mend, yes? So, do you give up and commit suicide by neglect: failing to treat an illness so that your family can continue to be fed and housed on its own nickel, or do you go into bankruptcy for lack of adequate/affordable coverage. What good does it do to live in a nation that has the most advanced medical care in the world if opting to receive it is economically unfeasible. Just a few of the questions bothering me at the moment. Does anyone know what the economic effect of bankruptcy on taxpayers is???? Why is this not addressed in political debates. I cannot imagine and I have a pretty darn good brain.
How about all those visits to the emergency room for non-emergencies. An article this week in our paper pointed out that treating a sore throat in the emergency room costs $500 vs. $175 in a private doctor's office. Well, in Durango, for instance, Medicaid recipients can ONLY be treated in the ER. What kind of sense does that make? Anyone, anyone????????? And guess what, this is a community where the average working person is earning somewhere in the range that qualifies for Medicaid. Sad. I'm talking nurses and teachers, here, folks. Not bums or welfare moms, of which we don't have too many in our town, mainly because the average house rents for something like $2000 per month because the college doesn't house its students after year 1.
How many of you can afford $24,000/year in rent and another $14,000, say, at a minimum, in health insurance????? Just asking??? Oh, btw, this is after-tax money I'm talkin' about here. Back in the day, when Blue Cross/Blue Shield was a not-for-profit in Ohio, coverage for a family of four was something like $360/month. You could pick your own doc, go to the dermatologist without having to go first to the primary care doc for a referral ($$$), and there was no such thing as a co-pay. Plus, this was in the town that the Saudi princes chose to provide their health care... No one complained about paperwork and no doctor-to-be forswore the profession because he or she couldn't be guaranteed to earn $$$ bigtime.
Something is wrong here and the market system is NOT going to fix it. Is anyone listening??? Heck, the market system was doing great back in the aforementioned "day."
So what happened? Well, empirical evidence points to eight years of a Republican presidency and two wars. Nuff said. But, unfortunately, the Democrats are afraid to bring this up.
Oh and before I forget. My other rant: I have witnessed unbelievably unkind, rude and racist behavior on the part of the Republican constituency. (A big word, I know, for people who think the world began 5000 years ago... but that's another story I won't go into here.) It's open season on Obama and some otherwise good people have let down their guard. It reminds me of Nazi Germany. Sorry folks, but I've studied my history, even if some people have not. "It's okay because the other guy is doing it, too." Well, they have another thing coming. They are showing their true colors and I hope they can make amends and get on a better human, not to mention, Christian (but don't get me going here) track, for their own sake.
Thanks for reading, and my condolences for putting up with me. Was hoping to avoid stroking out, cuz we sure can't afford that!!
Friday, October 12, 2012
Post-Debate, Pre-Weekend Ramblings
Got in my car last night after the LLL lecture in time to hear the entire post-debate discussion on NPR. Elected to watch football when we got home rather than replay the debate. The end of the Steelers/Titans game kept us on the edge of our seats and, thus, we were too exhausted to experience the candidates firsthand and will probably leave it at that. "Morning Edition" played enough tape of the performance to permit us to agree that Martha Raddatz won the debate. Nuff said.
Woke up at 6:30 to the rumbles of thunder. Hung out watching the storm from the vantage of our cozy bed for a while, until the thought of coffee motivated me to emerge. Dan, too. It was the first morning we had to turn on the lights in the music room in order to read the paper.
As usual, lots going on in this tiny town tonight. Two recitals to choose from, not to mention the allure of our own fireside. I think the latter will win out, as the rest of the weekend is absolutely jam packed with music and family/friends. Tomorrow is the first simulcast of the Met Opera Live in HD season, Rossini's "L'Elisir d'Amore." Two of my favorite singers have the leads, Anna Netrebko and Matthew Polenzani. Matthew made his Met debut hours after his child was born. He had been up all night. Then, in the evening, we are having family and friends for dinner. It's the eve of my birthday. Love having company for dinner; will do most of the prep today because of the opera. Sunday, we have a house concert of our local piano trio, The Red Shoe Trio, at my friend, Anita's, so we'll be busy throwing together our culinary contribution and heading out to the gathering. Anita broke her leg in a motorcycle accident last week and so she plans to sit back and enjoy her own party! More power to her!
Last night's Life Long Learning lecture was a panel discussion of the state of public education in America. I was relieved to hear that three of the primary objectives in the latest formulation of goals for these educators are critical thinking, problem solving and collaboration. And not taught as separate intellectual entities, but rather as components of all aspects of learning. The panelists were auspicious members of the profession, including two superintendents and a national consultant. One area not touched was classroom size, which for me is essential to effective learning. I was so lucky to have gone through K-12 in Cape Elizabeth, Maine, where the excellent faculty and small classes have consistently produced more than their share of National Merit Scholarship finalists. Something like 10% of each class. My kids' private high school in Cleveland had the same numbers, but the cost was something else...
In my senior year, I took chemistry. As more of a right-brained student, this was a leap. (I was motivated by my then NSF scholarship-winning boyfriend...) But I did just fine because I wasn't afraid to stop the teacher whenever I got lost or confused. (It helped that he was a patient and kind person.) I couldn't hide: there were about 12 of us in the class, and so I tackled the subject with 100% of my attention. Not my norm in that subject area, I can tell you! I mean, back in BSCS Biology, an experimental curriculum at the time, I produced a lot of poetry inspired by the photos in the text book, but couldn't manage to list the phyla on a test!
Apparently, in contradiction to my experience, there are no studies that prove the advantage of smaller class sizes beyond elementary levels. Bah!
Woke up at 6:30 to the rumbles of thunder. Hung out watching the storm from the vantage of our cozy bed for a while, until the thought of coffee motivated me to emerge. Dan, too. It was the first morning we had to turn on the lights in the music room in order to read the paper.
As usual, lots going on in this tiny town tonight. Two recitals to choose from, not to mention the allure of our own fireside. I think the latter will win out, as the rest of the weekend is absolutely jam packed with music and family/friends. Tomorrow is the first simulcast of the Met Opera Live in HD season, Rossini's "L'Elisir d'Amore." Two of my favorite singers have the leads, Anna Netrebko and Matthew Polenzani. Matthew made his Met debut hours after his child was born. He had been up all night. Then, in the evening, we are having family and friends for dinner. It's the eve of my birthday. Love having company for dinner; will do most of the prep today because of the opera. Sunday, we have a house concert of our local piano trio, The Red Shoe Trio, at my friend, Anita's, so we'll be busy throwing together our culinary contribution and heading out to the gathering. Anita broke her leg in a motorcycle accident last week and so she plans to sit back and enjoy her own party! More power to her!
Last night's Life Long Learning lecture was a panel discussion of the state of public education in America. I was relieved to hear that three of the primary objectives in the latest formulation of goals for these educators are critical thinking, problem solving and collaboration. And not taught as separate intellectual entities, but rather as components of all aspects of learning. The panelists were auspicious members of the profession, including two superintendents and a national consultant. One area not touched was classroom size, which for me is essential to effective learning. I was so lucky to have gone through K-12 in Cape Elizabeth, Maine, where the excellent faculty and small classes have consistently produced more than their share of National Merit Scholarship finalists. Something like 10% of each class. My kids' private high school in Cleveland had the same numbers, but the cost was something else...
In my senior year, I took chemistry. As more of a right-brained student, this was a leap. (I was motivated by my then NSF scholarship-winning boyfriend...) But I did just fine because I wasn't afraid to stop the teacher whenever I got lost or confused. (It helped that he was a patient and kind person.) I couldn't hide: there were about 12 of us in the class, and so I tackled the subject with 100% of my attention. Not my norm in that subject area, I can tell you! I mean, back in BSCS Biology, an experimental curriculum at the time, I produced a lot of poetry inspired by the photos in the text book, but couldn't manage to list the phyla on a test!
Apparently, in contradiction to my experience, there are no studies that prove the advantage of smaller class sizes beyond elementary levels. Bah!
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Campaign Season in Durango -- and Elsewhere
For the record, Michelle Obama's plane flew right over our house on her way out of town. I waved. The plane didn't wiggle its wings in reply, but hey, if they did it for me, they'd have to do it for everyone. Her speech was a success, if you can measure those things. The gym sold out -- well, gave out all the tickets and people waited in line for hours to go through security. Dan had to pull over for her motorcade as she left town. The motorcade took the county roads to the airport, which was kind to the drivers on the highway and conjured up wonderful images of the eight or nine vehicle parade winding along County Road 234 with its doglegs and rural habitat. We listened to the speech on my iPhone, thanks to the Durango Herald, which streamed it live via their website. At one point during the speech, our local NPR affiliate misquoted Michelle in a tweet posted on Facebook, saying that PBO has created 5.2 billion jobs since taking office. One person commented that that would have provided jobs for the entire world...
Tonight is the vice-presidential debate. We'll be DVRing it while we attend Life Long Learning, which, this week, is presenting a panel discussion on the state of public education in America.
In 1992, we sailed our boat south during campaign season. The plan was to cruise Chesapeake Bay in company with two other boats, owned and crewed by close friends. We left Annapolis on the morning of the vice-presidential debate. We sailed to St. Michael's, MD, a charming town devoted to the sea, the blue crab and Old Bay Seasoning. That evening, in a three-boat raft-up, we enjoyed cocktails under a setting sun, Dan's Paella and the debate, which we were able to pull in on our tiny TV, which we mostly used for playing VHS tapes. (It was 1992, remember?) That evening became famous for the JFK anti-analogy of Lloyd Benston, which NPR has been recycling like mad the last two days. The evening became famous for our little group for other reasons. In the wee hours of morn, our 3-boat raft-up dragged a full half-mile across the broad cove before someone awoke and made everyone else aware of our plight! We set an additional anchor in the dark and got back to sleep. In our defense, we had done what we thought was a pretty good job of anchoring our fleet in the first place, but events proved otherwise! Lucky for us, the bottom was smooth and gradual and had Dick not woken up, we more than likely would have reset by virtue of the upwardly sloping bottom and gradually lengthening scope and no one would have been the wiser. Well, the view was entirely different come morning.
Having written the paragraph above and reread it, I realize that I've got my debates confused. 1992 was the debate with Al Gore, Dan Quayle and Ross Perot's running mate, Vice-Admiral James Stockdale. Okay, it's an understandable mistake. That debate was just as embarrassing, if not more so, as the Benston-Quayle debacle of four years earlier. My, how time does fly! Mea culpa.
In any case, I hope that tonight's moderator understands the definition of the word "debate" and that the two combatants will demonstrate intelligence and a reasonable grasp of the facts.
Tonight is the vice-presidential debate. We'll be DVRing it while we attend Life Long Learning, which, this week, is presenting a panel discussion on the state of public education in America.
In 1992, we sailed our boat south during campaign season. The plan was to cruise Chesapeake Bay in company with two other boats, owned and crewed by close friends. We left Annapolis on the morning of the vice-presidential debate. We sailed to St. Michael's, MD, a charming town devoted to the sea, the blue crab and Old Bay Seasoning. That evening, in a three-boat raft-up, we enjoyed cocktails under a setting sun, Dan's Paella and the debate, which we were able to pull in on our tiny TV, which we mostly used for playing VHS tapes. (It was 1992, remember?) That evening became famous for the JFK anti-analogy of Lloyd Benston, which NPR has been recycling like mad the last two days. The evening became famous for our little group for other reasons. In the wee hours of morn, our 3-boat raft-up dragged a full half-mile across the broad cove before someone awoke and made everyone else aware of our plight! We set an additional anchor in the dark and got back to sleep. In our defense, we had done what we thought was a pretty good job of anchoring our fleet in the first place, but events proved otherwise! Lucky for us, the bottom was smooth and gradual and had Dick not woken up, we more than likely would have reset by virtue of the upwardly sloping bottom and gradually lengthening scope and no one would have been the wiser. Well, the view was entirely different come morning.
Having written the paragraph above and reread it, I realize that I've got my debates confused. 1992 was the debate with Al Gore, Dan Quayle and Ross Perot's running mate, Vice-Admiral James Stockdale. Okay, it's an understandable mistake. That debate was just as embarrassing, if not more so, as the Benston-Quayle debacle of four years earlier. My, how time does fly! Mea culpa.
In any case, I hope that tonight's moderator understands the definition of the word "debate" and that the two combatants will demonstrate intelligence and a reasonable grasp of the facts.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Had to google myself to find my blog, it has been so long...but now I've found myself! If only that were true!
While I was in the hot tub, this thought occurred that now seems rather trivial if not utterly stupid, but one of the benefits of taking your house off the market, after not needing to hide your toothbrush every morning, is that it doesn't matter what decrepit piece of clothing resides on top of the built-in but visible laundry basket in the master bedroom closet.
So Michelle Obama is due in Durango this afternoon. While I am all about her husband continuing to undo the travesties of the last administration, I opted out of trying for one of the free tickets. She's expected to speak in the gym at Fort Lewis College around 5 and the organizers are asking people to arrive up to four hours early, parking in remote lots with shuttle busses. All this for an anticipated audience of 3500. Seems extreme. All the usual security requirements set down by the TSA will be in effect, with the addition of the dreaded folding chair to the mix. No water, pepper spray, pointy objects (wonder if that includes pens), etc., ad nauseum. No books, I think I heard on the radio. What are you supposed to do for four hours?
I, on the other hand, will be hanging around out of doors at home watching for her plane. As our house sits on a knoll ten miles north of the airport, it will be fun to watch and wait and maybe get to see a larger-than-normal aircraft arrive. I'll wave and try not to be naked in the hot tub.
While I'm on the subject, I've been avoiding, but with diminishing success, the temptation to like or, heaven forbid, comment on anyone's political posts on Facebook. After several status updates of my own asking people who are theoretically my friends to tone down the rancorous rhetoric earlier in the political season, I've felt obligated to refrain from indulging in the same, even via someone else's post. As we get closer to November, however, I may feel equally obligated to make sure that the wisest pro-PBO pieces get shared as far and wide as possible. It may well become my extreme pleasure to share Anne Lamott and Philip Turner's excellent posts. Philip's blog is called The Great Gray Bridge, www.TheGreatGrayBridge.com. His work is sane and thoughtful, not to mention well written. Anne is an author and speaker who posts regularly on Facebook. ("Like" her to receive her posts.) She is a Christian and a Democrat and her posts are not only smart, but they will make you laugh. I want to be Anne when I grow up.
I mentioned above that we took our house off the market. You'd think we'd have gotten the hint months ago, but we are solid evidence that the recovery in the mid-expensive price range has not yet occurred in Durango. The slow-down was late arriving, so I guess it is reasonable to expect an extension at the other end. We made a bunch of short-lists in the early fall, but no offers came forth. Had a showing as recently as last week, but the long gravel driveway put off those Harley-owning buyers. Be hard to find a house in the county that does not require some exposure to gravel. (Hello, this is Colorado!) Just for the record, our driveway is not a problem in any season. It is intimidating at first, but has turned out to be a non-starter, or non-event, or whichever popular term is most appropriate. It gets enough sun in the winter at key spots to make even the worst conditions manageable. Plus we know a guy who will plow it, imagine that!
Here's hoping the weather predicted for Friday and Saturday actually occurs! We need the moisture and besides, we have a bet that there will be snow in the air at the house by the end of the month! At least before the arrival of grandchild number 4 in early November!!!
While I was in the hot tub, this thought occurred that now seems rather trivial if not utterly stupid, but one of the benefits of taking your house off the market, after not needing to hide your toothbrush every morning, is that it doesn't matter what decrepit piece of clothing resides on top of the built-in but visible laundry basket in the master bedroom closet.
So Michelle Obama is due in Durango this afternoon. While I am all about her husband continuing to undo the travesties of the last administration, I opted out of trying for one of the free tickets. She's expected to speak in the gym at Fort Lewis College around 5 and the organizers are asking people to arrive up to four hours early, parking in remote lots with shuttle busses. All this for an anticipated audience of 3500. Seems extreme. All the usual security requirements set down by the TSA will be in effect, with the addition of the dreaded folding chair to the mix. No water, pepper spray, pointy objects (wonder if that includes pens), etc., ad nauseum. No books, I think I heard on the radio. What are you supposed to do for four hours?
I, on the other hand, will be hanging around out of doors at home watching for her plane. As our house sits on a knoll ten miles north of the airport, it will be fun to watch and wait and maybe get to see a larger-than-normal aircraft arrive. I'll wave and try not to be naked in the hot tub.
While I'm on the subject, I've been avoiding, but with diminishing success, the temptation to like or, heaven forbid, comment on anyone's political posts on Facebook. After several status updates of my own asking people who are theoretically my friends to tone down the rancorous rhetoric earlier in the political season, I've felt obligated to refrain from indulging in the same, even via someone else's post. As we get closer to November, however, I may feel equally obligated to make sure that the wisest pro-PBO pieces get shared as far and wide as possible. It may well become my extreme pleasure to share Anne Lamott and Philip Turner's excellent posts. Philip's blog is called The Great Gray Bridge, www.TheGreatGrayBridge.com. His work is sane and thoughtful, not to mention well written. Anne is an author and speaker who posts regularly on Facebook. ("Like" her to receive her posts.) She is a Christian and a Democrat and her posts are not only smart, but they will make you laugh. I want to be Anne when I grow up.
I mentioned above that we took our house off the market. You'd think we'd have gotten the hint months ago, but we are solid evidence that the recovery in the mid-expensive price range has not yet occurred in Durango. The slow-down was late arriving, so I guess it is reasonable to expect an extension at the other end. We made a bunch of short-lists in the early fall, but no offers came forth. Had a showing as recently as last week, but the long gravel driveway put off those Harley-owning buyers. Be hard to find a house in the county that does not require some exposure to gravel. (Hello, this is Colorado!) Just for the record, our driveway is not a problem in any season. It is intimidating at first, but has turned out to be a non-starter, or non-event, or whichever popular term is most appropriate. It gets enough sun in the winter at key spots to make even the worst conditions manageable. Plus we know a guy who will plow it, imagine that!
Here's hoping the weather predicted for Friday and Saturday actually occurs! We need the moisture and besides, we have a bet that there will be snow in the air at the house by the end of the month! At least before the arrival of grandchild number 4 in early November!!!
Thursday, February 17, 2011
To Spin...or not
Yesterday, I took a very short spin on my bike. My 1981 Schwinn XR 7 exercise bike. I only lasted for about 100 revolutions. Today, I'll try to double that. I have to ride it when no one is in the house. It makes a racket and is subject to fall apart at any moment.
This bike is unusual because it has over 40,000 miles on it. During its one point something virtual trips around the globe at the equator, it probably actually moved half a mile. I used to have to reposition it when it crept backwards during a spin. Spin, by the way, didn't exist in the lexicon, at least in its current incarnation, in the years that my bike got its heaviest use. In any case, however, it gave me a great workout, up to 30 miles in a sitting, kept my HDL's sky-high and helped me adjust to altitude when we went skiing in Colorado. It never really got my legs ready for skiing, however, a fact that would hit me in the face, or rather, pj pants, when I got out of bed on the second morning of the vacation. I guess my bike wasn't techie enough to affect more than the quads. I hardly knew I had more than the quads to worry about, even though I repeatedly discovered that muscles that come in handy on the slopes do exist in other places in the body.
I would get up in the morning, don the bike pants and a tee shirt -- topped by a fleece when a., it was winter, and b., it (fleece) had been invented -- to get the kids ready for school. As soon as the last person was out the door and the kitchen reasonably clean, I would go upstairs to our guest room where the Schwinn reposed on a small washable rug at the foot of the antique spool bed. (It, the Schwinn, made a convenient rack for out-of-towners.) The same bed, btw, was my ballet barre in the olden days. In any case, I would climb aboard and ignore the discomfort from the seat while compulsively maintaining 100 rpm for the next hour. During that hour, the phone -- one of those early cordless types with a three-foot retractable antenna -- would reside on the book rack, which was never used for its intended purpose (the rack, not the phone). Instead of reading, I would count revolutions and watch the timer and the odometer and sort of zen out.
An advantage of being in the guest room was that I had a great view out the double windows to the west and I could see the driveway on the south side of the house. I never felt isolated or vulnerable while in the zone. (A concept yet to be labeled, but definitely applicable to my sessions.) I craved the activity. And could overlook some serious pain during the rides. I rode barefoot. The peddles had a loose wide leather strap that would have been more useful with shoes, but the effort to put on the shoes was the proverbial straw that would have stopped me in my non-tracks. Even a bout with Achilles tendinitis didn't slow this self-destructive but otherwise healthy endeavor. I just rode the darn thing barefoot and didn't care. I did the tendon stretches and, fortunately, never tore them.
The seat was another point of contention. I developed, with the original saddle, what we musicians would call a violinist's hickey in a rather sensitive spot on the inner thigh. The sore spot evolved, eventually, into an abscess, before I got smart enough to buy a new seat. My internist sent me to a surgeon on the Friday before Easter and Passover (both holidays observed to varying degrees in our household and often involving 20 or more dinner guests). The surgeon, who found the abscess rather arresting as to location and cause, recommended, surprise, surgery. I went home, called our internist back who, having discharged his duty to send me to a specialist, called in a prescription for antibiotics to our neighborhood pharmacy (remember those?) which resolved the infection in due time and kept me away from the creepy surgeon.
Yet another issue that was a constant during the era of my famous ride was discomfort verging on restless leg syndrome - as yet unnamed - in my thigh muscles, especially when I got into bed. I would lie and imagine sitting with my legs in a vat of hot paraffin. The virtual heat would help relax the muscles. A bath was good, but the hot wax concept was more compelling.
The area of the bike around the peddles and the chain cover is encrusted with a coating of rust. I should probably have wiped the bike down after each ride, but it never occurred to me. I found myself producing sweat from parts of the body that shouldn't even have glands. Like the tops of my hands. I rated a good ride when the beads of perspiration on the back of my hands created little runnels that dripped to the floor.
The big question that must by now have been begged by the foregoing (forgive the passive voice) is did I ever lose any weight? The true answer is NO! I figure I burned at least 400 calories in each session, but undoubtedly consumed more when lunchtime rolled around, and rolled around. By the time I had showered, dressed, completed the rest of my morning chores and left the house for a meeting or lunch date, I was completely ready for serious chow-age. I had a pretty decent metabolism, which the workout no doubt assisted, but mostly, the routine made me hungry!
Now, my winter exercise consists of running in place in the house! Is that nuts? Well, probably, yes, but I don't like the neighborhood dogs. The convenience of listening to NPR and running around the downstairs, while noticing dust bunnies and other potential targets for my cleaning obsession, is almost as satisfying as the old zen-outs in the upstairs guest room in Cleveland! But like those pain-ignoring rides of old, the indoor running in bare feet takes its toll on the body! It's an effective means of fusing the discs of the lower spine -- the result of high impact exercise on the aging body without benefit of cushioning soles! This does prove the proverb about old dogs, but we won't touch that!
I've managed to take the ability to ignore pain and discomfort to a new level. However, a week in bed with the flu after Christmas, during which I consumed dozens of Advil, has cured the previously perceived chronic injury! (Don't they put you to bed with muscle relaxants and NSAIDS for spasms?) The real question for me is, what do I do now? I mean, I feel it is my duty at least to make the output of exercise equal the input of chardonnay! (Isn't there an algebraic formula for this?)
Hence, the bike. I'm going to give it another go and hope I don't fall off in a breathless heap, or worse. The speedometer doesn't work anymore, but I think the odometer, which was essential to the compulsion, does. I just didn't go far enough yesterday to move the dials so that I could see without glasses how far my one minute (okay, I wasn't going at my old pace) took me. As I recall, there were slightly more than 200 revolutions per mile, so I guess there's no reason not to resume the old obsessive counting! Maybe I can get up to 3000 revolutions per ride, which was the minimum that qualified me in my own mind as having completed a workout. I feel sure that I won't be killing either my tendons or my butt this time around. Somehow, I think my bike's second life will be more like that of most of its brethren!
This bike is unusual because it has over 40,000 miles on it. During its one point something virtual trips around the globe at the equator, it probably actually moved half a mile. I used to have to reposition it when it crept backwards during a spin. Spin, by the way, didn't exist in the lexicon, at least in its current incarnation, in the years that my bike got its heaviest use. In any case, however, it gave me a great workout, up to 30 miles in a sitting, kept my HDL's sky-high and helped me adjust to altitude when we went skiing in Colorado. It never really got my legs ready for skiing, however, a fact that would hit me in the face, or rather, pj pants, when I got out of bed on the second morning of the vacation. I guess my bike wasn't techie enough to affect more than the quads. I hardly knew I had more than the quads to worry about, even though I repeatedly discovered that muscles that come in handy on the slopes do exist in other places in the body.
I would get up in the morning, don the bike pants and a tee shirt -- topped by a fleece when a., it was winter, and b., it (fleece) had been invented -- to get the kids ready for school. As soon as the last person was out the door and the kitchen reasonably clean, I would go upstairs to our guest room where the Schwinn reposed on a small washable rug at the foot of the antique spool bed. (It, the Schwinn, made a convenient rack for out-of-towners.) The same bed, btw, was my ballet barre in the olden days. In any case, I would climb aboard and ignore the discomfort from the seat while compulsively maintaining 100 rpm for the next hour. During that hour, the phone -- one of those early cordless types with a three-foot retractable antenna -- would reside on the book rack, which was never used for its intended purpose (the rack, not the phone). Instead of reading, I would count revolutions and watch the timer and the odometer and sort of zen out.
An advantage of being in the guest room was that I had a great view out the double windows to the west and I could see the driveway on the south side of the house. I never felt isolated or vulnerable while in the zone. (A concept yet to be labeled, but definitely applicable to my sessions.) I craved the activity. And could overlook some serious pain during the rides. I rode barefoot. The peddles had a loose wide leather strap that would have been more useful with shoes, but the effort to put on the shoes was the proverbial straw that would have stopped me in my non-tracks. Even a bout with Achilles tendinitis didn't slow this self-destructive but otherwise healthy endeavor. I just rode the darn thing barefoot and didn't care. I did the tendon stretches and, fortunately, never tore them.
The seat was another point of contention. I developed, with the original saddle, what we musicians would call a violinist's hickey in a rather sensitive spot on the inner thigh. The sore spot evolved, eventually, into an abscess, before I got smart enough to buy a new seat. My internist sent me to a surgeon on the Friday before Easter and Passover (both holidays observed to varying degrees in our household and often involving 20 or more dinner guests). The surgeon, who found the abscess rather arresting as to location and cause, recommended, surprise, surgery. I went home, called our internist back who, having discharged his duty to send me to a specialist, called in a prescription for antibiotics to our neighborhood pharmacy (remember those?) which resolved the infection in due time and kept me away from the creepy surgeon.
Yet another issue that was a constant during the era of my famous ride was discomfort verging on restless leg syndrome - as yet unnamed - in my thigh muscles, especially when I got into bed. I would lie and imagine sitting with my legs in a vat of hot paraffin. The virtual heat would help relax the muscles. A bath was good, but the hot wax concept was more compelling.
The area of the bike around the peddles and the chain cover is encrusted with a coating of rust. I should probably have wiped the bike down after each ride, but it never occurred to me. I found myself producing sweat from parts of the body that shouldn't even have glands. Like the tops of my hands. I rated a good ride when the beads of perspiration on the back of my hands created little runnels that dripped to the floor.
The big question that must by now have been begged by the foregoing (forgive the passive voice) is did I ever lose any weight? The true answer is NO! I figure I burned at least 400 calories in each session, but undoubtedly consumed more when lunchtime rolled around, and rolled around. By the time I had showered, dressed, completed the rest of my morning chores and left the house for a meeting or lunch date, I was completely ready for serious chow-age. I had a pretty decent metabolism, which the workout no doubt assisted, but mostly, the routine made me hungry!
Now, my winter exercise consists of running in place in the house! Is that nuts? Well, probably, yes, but I don't like the neighborhood dogs. The convenience of listening to NPR and running around the downstairs, while noticing dust bunnies and other potential targets for my cleaning obsession, is almost as satisfying as the old zen-outs in the upstairs guest room in Cleveland! But like those pain-ignoring rides of old, the indoor running in bare feet takes its toll on the body! It's an effective means of fusing the discs of the lower spine -- the result of high impact exercise on the aging body without benefit of cushioning soles! This does prove the proverb about old dogs, but we won't touch that!
I've managed to take the ability to ignore pain and discomfort to a new level. However, a week in bed with the flu after Christmas, during which I consumed dozens of Advil, has cured the previously perceived chronic injury! (Don't they put you to bed with muscle relaxants and NSAIDS for spasms?) The real question for me is, what do I do now? I mean, I feel it is my duty at least to make the output of exercise equal the input of chardonnay! (Isn't there an algebraic formula for this?)
Hence, the bike. I'm going to give it another go and hope I don't fall off in a breathless heap, or worse. The speedometer doesn't work anymore, but I think the odometer, which was essential to the compulsion, does. I just didn't go far enough yesterday to move the dials so that I could see without glasses how far my one minute (okay, I wasn't going at my old pace) took me. As I recall, there were slightly more than 200 revolutions per mile, so I guess there's no reason not to resume the old obsessive counting! Maybe I can get up to 3000 revolutions per ride, which was the minimum that qualified me in my own mind as having completed a workout. I feel sure that I won't be killing either my tendons or my butt this time around. Somehow, I think my bike's second life will be more like that of most of its brethren!
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