Pudding, the possibility of nothing, and 20,000 Leagues

Today started out so good. I haven’t ridden my bike in about two weeks—thanks to a car accident and a schedule that gives me no time to ditch my kids for 2 to 4 hours. I can feel my belly pushing against my t-shirt—a sure fire sign that I am putting weight on. I flirted with the idea of buying a stationary trainer so I can go on “rides” on my back patio while the kids snooze in the mornings. But then I rationalized that my wife would be home for the weekend, some friends (who can watch my kids) will be visiting for several days, and my daughter starts dance camp next week. So I decided if I can hang on another day or two I can start riding on the roads again. In the meantime to stem my personal expansion I decided I should rein in the eating and get some other kind of exercise.

So I got up this morning and had some yogurt and granola for breakfast followed by a rice cake with peanut butter. Then I went on a run, yes a run. I dislike running…it is too hard. But I did it just to burn some calories and torture my body a little bit. Now it really wasn’t much of a run. First of all, I got about a hundred meters down the street when a friend who is visiting us soon called. So I walked and talked for a few minutes. After the call I ran for a while but my breathing was pretty bad and I stopped to walk. I continued to runwalk for about 2 miles before I stopped. It was better than nothing, but it only lasted about 20 minutes. I did get my heart rate up and broke a good sweat. Surely tomorrow my leg muscles will let me know I did a little something.

I did pretty well with the eating for the rest of the day…until I found the leftover pudding in the fridge. That is when things started to slide downhill. Then my son begged me to buy some hot wings while we were at the grocery store. Actually he’s been begging me for days and I told him that if they had some ready we’d get them. Who knew they’d actually have a batch sitting there at noon on a Wednesday. Now who can have hot wings in their house, watch others eat them, and not partake? Not me, that’s for sure. So I had a few hot wings on top of the pudding.

I did OK through the afternoon—a few potato chips along with humus and crackers. For dinner I made chicken noodle soup—lots of filling liquid, didn’t eat the noodles. After dinner my kids started begging me for gum (after watching an episode of Johnny Test that featured bubble gum) so I told them we could go to a store and they could get sugar-free gum. I made them walk with me to the corner CVS. They didn’t have a good gum selection (I knew they wouldn’t have what they wanted) so we had to walk further to get to the Piggly Wiggly (all part of my evil plot to get us all walking).

Feeling all high and mighty and healthy I mentioned going to Rosewood Dairy Bar for some ice cream on the walk home from the Pig. My kids latched on to that throw-away comment like dogs on a bloody bone. I hoped I could throw them off the idea by making them finish a movie we started last night—20,000 Leagues under the Sea (while chewing bubble gum). By the way, my kids didn’t really like the movie. They weren’t impressed with the 1954 special effects and had a hard time really getting traction on the technology-for-peace-not-war-and-exploitation undercurrent of the movie. They were pretty bummed (spoiler alert) that Captain Nemo had to die and the Nautilus had to sink.

In discussing the themes of the movie with my kids (something that turns entertainment into homeschool edutainment) the conversation turned. My daughter started talking about how she can’t get her head around the idea that there could be nothing—no people, no earth, no universe. She said it really blows her mind to think about it. Personally, I think it is pretty cool that a 10-year old is contemplating something like that. That got my son talking about how amazing it was that the earth was created in space from rocks. And from there he hit me with a biggie. He asked when the first person was born—poor guy got a long story that started about 8 million years ago.

After subjecting them to learned discussions I figured I owed them a trip to the dairy bar…and they weren’t going to let me forget it anyway. We set off in the car (head down in shame) and I told myself I wouldn’t get anything. When we got there my belly and sweet tooth gave my brain some pitch about only living once and not constantly denying myself a little joy. I quickly caved and got a small hot fudge sundae like my son had gotten.

I am glad it was a small because I finished the whole thing—whipped cream, nuts, maraschino cherry, vanilla ice cream, hot fudge sauce all on top of chocolate cake (I swear I knew nothing about the cake at the bottom, it was never there before). Surprisingly I feel like I could barf right now. I am so full I can’t stand it. And I am pretty sure that any good I did for myself and my belly reduction program has been completely undone by the chips, pudding, wings, and sundae. Taking a page from Scarlett O’Hara’s book, I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

Oh wait, tomorrow BBQ day at the Bomb Plant.

Loyalty leaves a permanent mark

Way back in February my son said he wanted to play baseball. He’d never played baseball before, so I wanted to make sure I got him into a league that would teach him fundamentals and also be fun. I was lucky enough to make the deadline—just barely—for Coach Pitch Little League at Trenholm Park. Over the past five months, my son has worked hard, learned a lot and fallen in love with baseball. As a reward for his hard work, a few weeks ago his team won the championship of his league. He was a solid player for his team and it was a huge thrill for him to be part of it.

Since then, he and the other kids chosen for the Trenholm All-Star team have been practicing almost every day in the hot sun preparing for the South Carolina Little League All-star tournament. The tournament ended today for the Trenholm All-Stars with a loss. Throughout the All-star preparation my son didn’t miss a practice, played hard, improved as a player and had fun. During the tournament he didn’t play a single inning; he knew he wasn’t going to. He was an alternate for the team. He couldn’t even sit in the dugout during games because of the league rules. Still he was there every game, warmed up with his team, cheered them on, and took a knee for the post-game talks from the coaches. Not once did he complain or get discouraged—sure he told me he wanted to play but he was never angry or bitter about it. He accepted his role, learned, and had fun.

I’ve told him how proud I am of him for the way acted. I know the coaches saw it and I hope they say something to him too. The world around him places such a high value on individual success that sometimes anonymous dedication and commitment to the team go unrewarded. Like most of us, I like a star but I know that loyal teammates make loyal friends and those loyal friends have made all the difference in my life. And that's the lesson I want my son to learn from baseball—loyalty leaves a permanent mark.

Must be doing something right

OK, so last year at this time I got sick and it took all summer to figure out what was wrong. A year and heart surgery later I’m fine and it’s all behind me. Hospital, schmospital.

Friday evening I was getting ready to head out in the morning to give a couple of talks for Day of Discovery at Etowah. I’ve given talks for the day for the past 5 years running. It’s become a summer tradition and a nice forum for me to talk about things I am working on…and to keep local interest in the site high.  I spent all week—really all week—getting the talks together. For some reason it took forever to choose the topics and then it still took a couple of days to get the talks together. By Friday morning they had come together nicely and one of them might even be something I turn into a publication.

Friday after lunch I dropped our car off at the shop. It needed an oil change and a belt before I took it to Cartersville and before my wife headed out on another adventure with the intrepid (and famous) photographer Jan Banning. Earlier my wife had actually cleaned the car out and ordered a replacement rearview mirror. About two years ago, the driver’s side rear view was taken out by a crazed buck in rut. Several months later my wife put a new one on with the help of YouTube and our friend Johann. Not a month after that someone sideswiped the car while it was parked and cleanly removed the new rearview. It has been missing since last October. A new one was finally on the way to go on our newly cleaned, repaired, fueled, and serviced car.

When the car was ready, my wife took me to the shop to get it. She asked if I needed her to stay and follow me home but I told her I didn’t. Driving home I intentionally picked a route that let me cross busy Millwood Street at Maple where there is a stop light. Columbia, SC doesn’t have bad traffic but everything is relative. To us here in Mayberry, Friday night traffic is bad. So I picked a route that wouldn’t make me try to cross traffic at a four-way stop. (By the way, does it mean I am getting old when I plan routes to get through traffic? Don’t answer that.)

When my light changed, I headed out into the intersection. There are two lanes going in each direction on the street I was crossing and when I cleared the car stopped in the first lane I caught sight of a pick-up truck in the second lane coming at me…fast.  After a quick invocation (Holy shit, I think) I gunned the car (again, everything is relative because gunning a 6-year old 4-cylinder engine doesn’t mean a lot) hoping to get out of the on-coming missile’s path. I managed to keep the truck from hitting me square on the door (which in my little Corolla would have been really bad for me) but he plowed right through my rear quarter panel. The thing that still amazes me is that he didn’t slam on his brakes; there was no dramatic screech with smoking tires. That kid went THROUGH me like a linebacker making a tackle, like my son through a Five Guys burger.

It happened really fast but I remember being aware that I was spinning through the intersection. In that frozen moment I thought about being on some Disney ride where you get jerked around for fun. In short order I came to rest in the other lane facing back into the intersection I had just twirled through. As the shock wore off I was aware that things hurt—mostly muscles in my neck and back. Lots of people stopped to see if I was OK and called the police as I sat dazed in my clean, newly serviced, recently fully-fueled car now with a bent axle and permanently open trunk. Nice people collected the contents of my trunk that were strewn across the street. As traffic drove through the intersection cars kept running over some piece of metal with a clack. It was the door covering my gas cap and some nice lady picked it up and gave it to me. I guess I was staring at it.

The policeman asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. I figured it was a good idea to go. Besides, I hadn’t been in the hospital for a good 8 months and really missed the pudding. Of course it all seemed a little silly because I had been up walking around after impact, but the ambulance came and the paramedics put me on a backboard. I am not sure how a serious back injury feels (and have no interest in finding out) but that backboard sure was uncomfortable. They asked me which hospital I wanted to go to and I told them to take me to my favorite one, Providence. On the ride over it occurred to me that I still owed them money from my last visit and wondered if they might insist on payment before they let me in.

When I got to the hospital, they wheeled me into a room and a doctor came to check my back. She had to go round up help rolling me onto my side because they were short-staffed (never something you want to hear about in the ER). The back check consisted of a few well-placed pokes and that was it. On the one hand, I am thankful that they didn’t do x-rays and all sorts of other stuff. On the other hand, they didn’t really do anything I hadn’t already done—check to see if anything hurt. I had a nice cut on my leg from flailing about my car and they did make sure to put something on it that stung pretty badly and they gave me a tetanus booster—so I got some discomfort and mild torture while I was there…but no pudding. Then they cut me loose. I suppose it was prudent to go, but it ended up seeming pretty silly for all of us—me, paramedics, doctors, etc. They did make sure to get some money out of my wife before they let me out…but I doubt that went to my delinquent account.

The towing vultures took my car away to a lot that is about as far from anything as possible—they seemed pretty nice on the phone, though. I guess they must make good money on insurance claims. When I got home from my pass through the ER, I called my insurance company and had a nice three-way chat with the other insurance company. I have a feeling I’m going to be doing a lot of that over the next few days, weeks, months.  I like my car and don’t want it to be totaled out and I need a rental car because my wife leaves in two days for her photo assignment. Insurance companies make money by trying to deny people things (sorry to anyone in the industry, but that is at least the perception) so I’m prepared to find a lawyer to get a rental car covered and my car fixed. If I have to get a lawyer then I’ll be looking for the big payout…and a carbon Specialized Roubaix.

At the hospital they told me I would be sore the next day and I was. But really more than sore, I was stupid. I got up and started to make coffee but I couldn’t remember how many scoops of coffee to use. Now I make coffee a lot. Me forgetting how to make coffee is about as ridiculous as me forgetting how to eat…or when to eat…or that I like to eat. It’s like forgetting how to breathe. I was a little dopey yesterday…more than usual. I am guessing my brain got joggled around in my head during my spin through across Millwood. I am back sharp as a tack today, no problem making coffee for me.

I got lots of social media well-wishes after my wife stirred up a minor frenzy by mentioning on Facebook that she had been with me in the hospital—without explaining. My dad even called to check on me (I had planned to call him but didn’t want to make a big deal out of it). He must have heard about it from my aunt who saw my post on Facebook explaining why I was in the hospital. I appreciate any and all people who care enough to check in on me through whatever means, but I honestly feel a little silly—I wasn’t really hurt. Plus I feel like I’ve gotten my quota of concern and sympathy from my friends. And I am beginning to feel like a bit of a drama queen or walking disaster. I would like to stay off the sympathy radar for a while because I am on it when bad things happen to me.

Sure the last year has been a bad one…heart infection, blood on my retina obstructing my vision from a clot caused by the heart infection, heart surgery, and now this. I suppose I can look at it one of two ways. One way is to worry about why all this bad stuff is happening to me and wonder what I’ve done to bring all this on. Another way to look at all this is that I am damn lucky and I’ve dodged some pretty serious bullets. The heart infection and surgery revealed a problem that would have been much worse later and the resolution I got is the best outcome I could have gotten. The clot could have gone to my brain or lungs and killed me; instead my eye doctor gets a nifty case study to present at his conference in Iceland next month.  And now this accident; if that kid had been a bit faster he would have driven right through my door and into me. I don’t think I would have stood up very well against a moving pick-truck.

So in this life filled with choices, I choose to think of myself as pretty lucky. If that luck runs out I’ll worry about what cosmic forces I’ve offended and how to make it right. Until then I’ll blithely carry on thinking I must be doing something right.