Reid called Sunday morning after he crossed the finish line of an 8K run in Chicago. For the record, I cannot recall a call from him on a weekend day before noon. The kid was pumped.
His 8 minute per mile pace ain’t half bad. Jeez, I didn’t even know the kid was running. Then again, 26-year-olds can climb out of bed and hit the bricks for 5 miles without even thinking about it let alone train for the distance. I’ll laud him in today’s letter which will be posted next week.
I say all this because it’s good that he and his sister are far from couch potatoes. They get out and do things (i.e. Reid to India/backpacking; it’s a piece of cake for Ellento assume the ‘Down Dog’ position and whatever other tortuous yoga contortions are called).
On the other hand, their dad hauls his carcass off the couch for a daily constitutional of 2.5 miles around the block. As of late, however, it has made me increasingly disheartened to see the communal path shared by Felicia and me and others treated as the personal dumping ground of who knows how many slobs. So, because I have two hands and prefer my walk to be a little tidier, I’m bending and stooping to pick up (and recycle) trash along the way. Plastic in any form draws particular ire. I allude to it below; it will probably make the kids think I’m loonier than birther zealots. Okay, maybe not.
The larger point for Ellen and Reid is that we have something worth caring for. That Diet Coke bottles, Bud Lite cans, 5 Hour Energy and Gatorade G2 bottles and Burger King or McDonald’s wrappers – plus other vile pieces of unimaginable trash – can be discarded without a second thought makes some dolt’s problem my problem. I’m willing to stoop and bend to keep my little patch of turf clean.
March 19, 2012
Ellen/Reid: Ellen, you look marv in your Facebook photos. You really do. It is just amazing how you’ve managed to care for yourself and your baby. The clock is ticking, too; it won’t be that much longer now. Not that you have to share potential names with me, but you have some in the hopper, don’t you? At least it’s not like you’re gonna have twins where you could have a rhyming scheme like Dora and Flora, or something like that. One at a time sounds about right.
One of my best friends at the bank appears to have run out of all his options to find something inside, even at a lower level. All the talk and go-get-‘em assurances about “Oh, you’ll find something” have fallen through. It just drives me crazy but him more so. He’s nearing panic-mode. I don’t know what a guy of his standing and age in life will do. There really aren’t any parallels to my situation because things were wholly different, but all I can do for Mike is hope that something pops at the last minute. Internal alliances and allegiances aren’t what they used to be. No one has his back, and that is distressing to me. His reviews are good; he just got caught in the cuts. That’s about all there is to it. That’s the way business is these days for better or worse, and from my view it’s decidedly worse.
Felicia had a bit of a scare yesterday. Because I head to church an hour early to interview folks and do profiles on people for the church newsletter, she typically hangs back at the house and has more coffee, finishes the paper then heads over for a just-on-time arrival. But she never showed and I assumed she was beat from working long hours on Saturday and wanted a day off. But when I got to my car, there were texts from her that she was having heart flutters or it was skipping a beat. A policeman saw her in distress on the side of the road, and he called 911. She was taken to the ER by ambulance. So I raced over there right away, and they had her on a gurney out in the hallway since no rooms were open. We were there about 3 hours as they tested and x-rayed her. She has what’s called PVCs, which essentially is an untreatable fluttering of the heart. I’m not sure what will be done about it right now, but it doesn’t appear to be life-threatening. It was a scary episode for sure. She feels better now but I’ll know more when she comes over for our evening walk.
I’m trying to herd the cats for the Bridger Wilderness. I think – think – we’ll end up with about 5 or 6. Obviously Ellen, you guys are out for the foreseeable future, but Reid, if you haven’t used up all your time, you and Liz are welcome to come out West. That would be a gas. July 23-27. Its country you know pretty well.
My weight continues to drop. It’s down about 10 lbs. from a month or so ago. I’ve adhered to the tenets of the diet for the most part but I fudge by having cereal in the morning. I feel pretty good and my belts are cinching a little tighter these days. Some carbs in the morning, no carbs the rest of the day. We’ll see if it is sustainable. Vegas wouldn’t touch those odds.
I have an idea for a new blog which will, I am certain, assure the two of you that your old man is battier than ever. I’m socking away content for the next month or thereabouts so when it does go viral, it will hit the ground with some pages. The only thing I can tell you is it will be environmentally related but there will be no shortage of goofiness. If you want to turn your heads and deny me, I’ll understand. But it keeps the creative juices flowing and that’s not all bad.
Okay, by for now. I’ve got some leftover flank steak that we’ll use to make salads of for dinner. My diet has included a lot of lettuce, and if any more is consumed, there is a good chance I’ll turn into a bunny rabbit. You knew my high school mascot was a bunny, didn’t you?