White(out) Christmas

Dateline December 25, 2009 --  Christmas Eve blizzard hits Midwest; thousands of holiday travelers are stranded as airports close and hazardous driving conditions cause numerous accidents.  Authorities advise everyone to stay indoors -- don't go out unless you absolutely have to . . .

     Well, last night Steve absolutely had to go out.  He had been hired to play an 11 pm Christmas Eve service.  Amazingly, while other churches were canceling their evening services, this one went ahead as scheduled.  Snow was already piling up on top of ice from the sleet earlier in the day, making it slow going as Steve headed out the door around 9:30.  He called to let me know he arrived.  When he called about two hours later to say that he was heading home, the weather had become much worse.  Greg and I could hear the wind howling and whipping drifts of snow against the house.  We noticed that deep drifts had formed in front of the front door and the garage.  Around 1:30 am he arrived home, having driven through whiteout conditions, zero visability . . . and then having to dig out those 3-ft. snow drifts in front of the garage to back the car in.

     Oh, the things we do for money.  Or love.  Or maybe a little of both.  On the surface, it seems impractical if not downright foolhardy to go out in a blizzard to play in the orchestra for a Christmas Eve service.  It seems even more foolish to go out in a blizzard to attend one.  According to Steve, this one was not well attended; no surprise there.  But it was attended.  A few hardy souls braved the snowstorm to attend the late service at their church on Christmas Eve.  It may have been another gig to Steve, but I'm sure those who came to the 11 pm service very much appreciated all the musicians who made the effort to be there, too.

     This afternoon we made another trek in the snow to attend our traditional Christmas Day dinner with my husband's family.  We slid out our driveway and nearly got the car stuck in the unplowed street in front of our house.  We made it up the street and onto clearer roads.  Some snow was still falling, as was the wind chill; yes, it would have been easier (some might say wiser) to have canceled out and just stayed home. 

     When we arrived at my in-laws' house, we decided the best place to park (so we wouldn't get stuck on their unplowed street) was around back.  This meant hiking through at least 4-5 inches of uncharted snow in the yard and then making our way up the as-yet-unshoveled flight of stairs to the door of the back porch.  A minor inconvenience.  Because, once inside, we were very pleased to see not only our immediate family members but also David, life partner to Steve's cousin Larry.

     You see, yesterday morning, Christmas Eve, Larry lost his battle with cancer.  David has been a member of the family for many years; he took care of Larry all through his illness and was with him when he passed away.  As David said, it seemed strange to be at the Smiths' for Christmas without Larry.  The two of them had been a fixture at our Christmas celebrations for years.  We hadn't really expected to see him today, but we're very glad we did.  Next week we will have a memorial service to attend.  It will probably occur mid-week, about the same time the next snow storm is due to arrive.  The highway patrol, meteorologists, and other authorities will issue the same warning:  Don't go out unless you absolutely have to.   Sometimes, we absolutely have to -- we need the paycheck, we need affirmation, we need the comfort of our family and friends. 

     Wherever you are, I hope you are enjoying a warm and happy holiday (inside, preferably near a fire; or, like my sister's family, maybe you're enjoying your holiday in a warm place like Florida).  If you absolutely have to go out, be safe.  And know that somebody appreciates you being there.

Peace,

Emily

    

Winter Solstice

     At 12:47 pm today, December 21, 2009, winter officially arrived in the Northern Hemisphere.  We refer to this event as the Winter Solstice -- the shortest day of the year, when the North Pole is tilted away from the sun at its steepest angle (an average of 23.5 degrees).  This phenomenon is also what drives the seasons as the Earth revolves around the sun.  Of course, if you live in the Southern Hemisphere, say in Australia, today marks the beginning of Summer; it's the longest day of the year.  Here in the North, we won't experience our longest day until the tilt of the Earth's axis swings back to its closest point to the sun -- some time around June 21, 2010. The word "solstice" is derived from the Latin phrase for "sun stands still."  The phrase refers to the illusion that the sun's arc through the sky appears to stabilize (after growing lower and shorter since the summer solstice); thus, the sun seems to rise and set in the same two points for several days just before the solstice.  After the winter solstice, the arc will grow higher and longer until a similar effect occurs at the summer solstice.

     I present all these facts about the winter solstice to make the point that this is a natural phenomenon that has been occurring since the dawn of time -- long before humans ever appeared on the earth -- and will continue to occur until the sun burns out (most likely long after humans are gone from the earth).  The solstice has nothing to do with religion, although people from ancient times forward have observed it and ascribed varying depths of meaning to it. 

     The Roman Feast of Saturnalia was a weeklong feast honoring the god Saturn and included an observance of the solstice.  Germanic peoples of Northern Europe celebrated the winter solstice with Yule festivals -- hence the origins of the long-burning "yule log."  Scholars don't know the exact date of the birth of Jesus Christ (and, therefore, the birth of Christianity).  Early Christian calendars were centered around Easter, not Christmas.  But, over time, Christmas celebrations became mingled with pagan winter solstice observances.  As pagan peoples were converted to Christianity, the date of the winter solstice celebration "became available," and December 25th became the default date for the celebration of the birth of Christ.

     It is worth noting that cultures around the world observe the solstices in many different ways, regardless of the prevailing religion.  It seems to me that, in the rush of the predominantly Christian observance of the season in this country, we tend to lose sight of the wonder of nature that is unfolding before our eyes.  Earlier this evening I happened to be out shopping (yes, "Christmas shopping," if you must know).  Around 4:50 pm I pulled into a parking spot.  My car was facing west; for a few minutes I sat in the car and watched the sun sink lower and lower to the horizon.  It was a beautiful sunset on this, the first day of winter.  I felt a little sad at the passing of the light, knowing that the warm autumnal glow of the sunlight over the last few months will be replaced tomorrow by a decidedly different intensity.  After all, the earth's axis has tilted back toward the sun.  The days are getting longer now, although it will be a long time before the temperature catches up.  

     Six weeks from now, I'll be tired of winter and ready for the warmth of spring to arrive.  But for now, I'll welcome winter.  I like the change of the seasons.  And later this week, there's a strong possibility of snow -- just in time for Christmas.  Of course, in Australia, they're probably dreaming of a sunny, 80 degree Christmas. 

Christmas Whine is Here (With Apologies to Vince Guaraldi)

      At first it was just a notification that arrived in the mail.  Three weeks later we received another one.  Then they called and left a message to call back.  When we didn't return the call, they called again.  And again.  Steve actually answered that one.  The person on the line wanted to have a discussion with him over the phone, but he was on his way to a gig.  He promised to send the desired response in the next day's mail.  He forgot.  I forgot.  This week the phone calls started coming again, every day, two or three a day.  So who is harassing us?  Creditor?  Mortgage holder?  Collection agency?  Guido the Killer Pimp?  No, worse than any of the above . . . THE U.S. CENSUS BUREAU!  Dun-dun-DUNNNN!

     Yes, dear friends, we are one of the lucky families to be "chosen to participate" in the end-of-decade census-taking.  This is, of course, a great honor as well as our civic duty.  And in case that's not a good enough reason to participate, the outside of the mailer is printed with the following warning:  Your Response Is Required By Law.  Okay, okay.  Yes, I understand how important the census is, and yes, I want to be a good citizen and participate in this very, very important gathering of personal information -- including, but not restricted to: names, ages, addresses, employment, income, education (including degrees and specific majors), marital status, military service, and any disabilities of each and every person in the household.  The 28-page survey only provides enough space for five family  members . . . how do you suppose the Octo-Mom managed hers?   But does the U.S. Census Bureau have to send out the survey during the busiest time of the year?  Why couldn't they have sent us the questionnaire in August, when we had nothing else to do?

     The past few weeks have been jam-packed with rehearsals, performances, and all the "extra" stuff musicians end up doing during the holiday season, not to mention Christmas shopping, baking, writing Christmas cards, etc. -- who has time to fill out the #$%^&  Census???  But you know, phone calls can be persuasive, so last Wednesday night I sat down and filled out the survey;  I mailed it the next day.  Today we received one last call, and we assured the caller that the census was "in the mail."  Honest! Yes, really.  We wouldn't lie . . .
     Welcome to my annual "Christmas Whine."  Every year -- usually somewhere in the week before Christmas -- I get frustrated by all the seasonal obligations piled on top of my everyday obligations, and there's always something that pushes me over the edge and makes me want to scream.  This year, the census survey was that something.  So, now that the census has been dealt with, and I've blogged about it (my new way of screaming), I can relax and enjoy the rest of the holiday season.  Just as soon as I finish my shopping.  And baking.  Oh yeah -- and writing the annual Christmas newsletter . . . which goes in the Christmas cards I need to mail out some time before the end of the year . . . ARRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!   

    

Stay tuned . . .

    

Senior Moment No. 5: Zen and Thanksgiving Leftovers

Greg Smith, 4th grade (2001) -- beginning horn student.

     Steve had a gig last night, so dinner consisted of leftovers -- turkey, dressing, and mashed potatoes, to be exact.  Yes, nearly two weeks after Thanksgiving, we're still partaking of the traditional meal.  Ah, Thanksgiving -- the Energizer Bunny of holiday leftovers!  Long after the Halloween candy and Valentine's chocolates have either been consumed or thrown out, we will still have frozen turkey and all the trimmings taking up space in our downstairs freezer, conveniently divided into single-serving portions. 

     Some folks get tired of leftover turkey.  I don't.  December is always the busiest month of the year for musicians, leaving little time to sleep or even breathe, let alone cook.  We are, therefore, thankful for leftovers of any kind.  When others see Thanksgiving receding into the distance in their rear view mirrors, we still have the image in our side mirror (the one stamped with "Objects may be closer than they appear") or, at least, in our freezer.

     Lately I've begun to realize that it's not just the holidays sneaking up on me in the side mirror.  It's also my son's impending graduation.  I haven't visited this subject in awhile, mainly because, despite my best efforts to "keep it in perspective," I'm beginning to get a little emotional.  I really thought I would be cool about it.  I swear I will not be the basket-case mom wringing her hands and sobbing uncontrollably when her baby walks across the stage in May to accept his diploma.  That's just not me! 

     No, I've always been pretty much the "cool mom."  When Greg was little, and we left him with babysitters, we never made a big scene about leaving him.  We just hugged him, said, "We'll see you in a couple of hours -- have fun!" and off we went.  No tears, no drama, just kept it matter-of-fact.  As a result, we navigated the "separation anxiety" years very smoothly.  "Drama Queen Mom"?  Not me.

     Nor was I the "Helicopter Mom" -- hovering over my child, constantly badgering teachers, caregivers, and other parents with a barrage of questions and instructions.  "Make sure he eats a green vegetable, but not peas -- they give him hives; If you take him swimming, make sure he wears sunscreen, swim goggles, and a t-shirt when he's not in the pool -- by the way, will there be a lifeguard? -- Call me immediately in case of an emergency:  here's my cell number, his doctor's cell number, our insurance card, and a power-of-attorney."  Casting caution to the wind, I simply dropped him off, cheerfully told him to be good and have fun, and then waved goodbye.   Some might call me naive, but I always trusted other parents and relatives.  And you know what?  They never gave me a reason not to.

     Of course, "Cool Mom" is not to be confused with "Super Mom."  I never once volunteered to be Room Mother.  Cooking, sewing, and party planning are not my strong suits.  That exalted position was reserved for the stay-at-home moms whose culinary and sewing skills rivaled those of Martha Stewart.  I remember one mom who not only made her kids' Halloween costumes, but made her own patterns.  Each year was a different Disney movie theme:  Toy Story, The Little Mermaid, Aladdin . . . I had to wonder how she managed to purchase the copyrights.  Another mom made elaborate Halloween treats by painting "bones" on latex gloves and filling them with popcorn.  Why didn't I think of that? The best I could do was show up to the fall party with a store-bought jug of lemonade and a bag of ice.  Martha-Stewart-Super-Mom?  Not me.

     But I did find the coolest place --literally -- for Greg's 12th birthday party.  Jaegerz Lasertag and Paintball in the Hunt Midwest, Inc. caves (north of the Missouri River) was such a big hit, we went there two years in a row!  And I may not have been very creative with my contributions to the 4th Grade Hawaiian Party (a jug of Hawaiian Punch, what else?), but I sure made an impression when my Young Audiences group performed our "Music of the Battlefields" program for the upper grades at Greg's school.  "Cool Mom"?  You betcha.

     Flash forward to a few weeks ago when, as I was talking to a friend about Greg graduating, tears began to well up and my voice cracked.  So uncool!  But there it was -- my inner Superdramahover Mom breaking through.  I laughed at myself and told my friend, "This is ridiculous!  He's not even leaving home -- he's going to junior college!"  Yes, Cool Mom must confess -- her baby will still be living at home next year.

     But the dynamic will be different.  Don't tell me it won't; I know better.  Next Thanksgiving I'll be having my turkey dinner with my adult son.  That's why this year -- for the first time ever -- we did not have dinner with any extended family members.  We went out to dinner that day to a nice restaurant -- just the three of us.  Then we had the big family dinner on the Sunday after Thanksgiving . . . how else could we stock up on leftovers to get us through the month of December? 

     I expect our Christmas celebrations will be pretty much the same as they've always been.  But, after this year, I don't expect holidays to ever feel quite the same again.  Just like the graduation announcements I ordered two months ago, the last high school class schedule changes, and the last of the parent-teacher conferences, this holiday season is one more reminder of the sea change that is coming.  It's creeping up on me in the side mirror.  Objects are closer than they appear.

      

    

Giving Thanks By the Numbers

6 = Number of weeks since my last blog posting.

7 = Number of pounds lost since my last blog posting.

191 = Overall cholesterol count as of two weeks ago.

145/87 = My blood pressure, taken at doctor's office, November 2, 2009.

49 = My dad's age when he had his heart attack.

49 = My age as of November 21, 2009.

     The last six weeks have been extremely hectic, leaving me no time (or too tired) to write in my blog; my apologies to any disappointed readers out there.  But a quick glance at my stats above should give an indication of what's been occupying my time.  Obviously, I've lost some weight.  Obviously, my weight loss (plus adding fish oil pills to my daily cholesterol med) has had the added benefit of reducing my overall cholesterol -- the first time it has been below the benchmark number 200 in years!  Breaking it down, HDL (good cholesterol) clocked in at 51 (good number); LDL (bad cholesterol) was 111 (not terrible -- under 100 is optimal).  Other levels that fell within normal - good limits:  triglycerides, blood sugar, kidney, and liver.  It's amazing how much information one blood test can produce.

     The only slightly alarming "number" was, of course, my blood pressure.  To quote my doctor, "What's up with that?"  (I'm sure the pun was unintended).  Well, my elevated blood pressure is probably a reflection of stress (there's been a lot this fall).  Happily, when I've checked my blood pressure in the weeks since the first of the month, it has been normal.  I understand that lots of people experience high blood pressure readings in the doctor's office just from the stress of being in the doctor's office -- just a thought.
     Except for the one elevated blood pressure reading, these are the best "numbers" I've had in a long time!  And that's important because the biggest number on my mind this fall has been the number 49.  It's the age my dad was when he had his heart attack . . . and it's the age I am now, as of last Saturday.  As I mentioned in a previous "Weighty Issues" posting, there's a very strong family history of heart disease on both sides of my family.  Having watched both of my parents deal with various heart issues -- heart attack, bypass surgery, stents, and a pacemaker -- I'm keenly aware of the risks.  I'm also keenly aware that my weight is my number one risk factor now. 
     And that, dear friends, is why I have spent the last six weeks exercising my butt off (literally)!!!  No kidding -- I've lost 7 lbs. in six weeks by hitting the pavement or the treadmill almost every single day!  I've also been lifting weights every other day, with very few exceptions.  There have been numerous days that I really, really, really didn't want to face the treadmill . . . but I did, anyway -- and I never once regretted it!  In fact, I was very pleased with how good I felt afterward.  I have also tried to get back in the yoga habit, which I find helps lower my stress levels as well as increase my flexibility.  More importantly, it helps me sleep better at night.  And that's another thing I've been trying to do -- get more sleep.
     So, please forgive me for opting to go to bed instead of staying up late blogging.  Students, if you come to your lesson and wonder why my hair is wet, it's because I just took a shower after working out in the afternoon before teaching.  I'm still trying to eat better as well; that's always my biggest challenge.  But I do have a goal, now that I'm less than a year away from the big 5-0 :  I want to reach my goal weight by my next birthday.  7 lbs. down, 93 to go.  No, that's not a typo.  Ninety-three.
     And you, dear friends, can help.  Here's how:  Keep posting your own healthy habits and successes on your Facebook statuses!  I read them all the time, and you have no idea how inspiring to me all of you are -- and how thankful I am for your inspiration.  So I'm telling you now:

Bill:  Every time you post your treadmill time, you nudge me into the basement to hop on my own treadmill -- just to keep up with you!  I know sometimes you admit to dreading it, but don't you feel good afterward?  I do!  So keep it up -- you're keeping me honest.

Lyra:  I'm just in awe of all of the different types of exercise classes you have tried this past year!  Admittedly, some of them aren't exactly my cup of tea, but just for the fact that you're out there making that effort is endlessly inspiring.  I haven't signed up for any classes (I'm more of a solo exerciser) but I'll tell you what I have done -- I've created different walking routes outdoors, and I have varied my treadmill routines to incorporate intervals.  You're right -- variety makes it fun!

Townes:  I'm not a runner like you; my knees can't take it.  But if you can run marathons, then surely I can spend 45 minutes walking around the park near my house!  You're the busiest person I know, and yet you make the time to take care of yourself.  You're my "no excuses" friend.

Byron:  My Zocor buddy -- thank you for suggesting adding fish oil to my pill regimen.  I must confess, taking them sometimes makes me gag because those pills are so big . . . but I'll choke them down for the rest of my life if they help keep my cholesterol under 200!   I'm in your debt (or at least I should buy you lunch some time -- a salad at Panera, perhaps?).

Kaytee:  You go, girl!  I know what a struggle losing weight is for you, too, and yet you're way ahead of me!  I can't quit now -- I have to keep up with you!

Heather, Maria, and Katie B.:  I can always count on you three to mention the tastiest healthy food in your posts.  You make me want to eat healthy -- salud!

And to the rest of my friends and family, whether we're in touch through Facebook or not, I'm very thankful for all of your support and good advice.  I've tried many times to lose weight and always got only so far before sliding backwards.  But this time feels a little bit different.  I'm seeing steady progress in a way I haven't before.  So this Thanksgiving, I'm going to enjoy my dinner but in moderation -- and I'm going to make sure I keep up my exercise routine.  I'll keep you posted on my progress.  In the meantime, I want you to keep posting yours! 

Happy Thanksgiving!
    

Adventures in Dieting, or It's Hard to Eat on a Temporary Filling

(The author in [much]thinner times.)

     Did you ever see the movie Romy and Michele's High School Reunion (1997)?  The paper-thin plot centers on two airhead, stuck-in-the-'80s blondes (Mira Sorvino and Lisa Kudrow) and their adventures attending their 10th high school reunion.  It's an utterly forgettable movie except for one telling line: (Romy) "I'm just really lucky I had mono.  It was like the best diet ever!"  Well, I can relate.  If mono is the "best diet ever," then "impending root canal" definitely comes in a close second.

     About a month ago I had a filling replaced, which is normally pretty routine.  But, over the next week and a half, I experienced extreme sensitivity to hot and cold, plus shooting pain whenever I bit down on the right side of my mouth.  I went back to my dentist, who adjusted the bite and sent me on my way.  If anything, the pain was worse, which prompted a third visit.  This time, he determined that I needed a root canal.  Dun-dun-DUNNNN!!!  A friend had already warned me that an RC might be in my future.  But hearing those two words that traditionally strike fear in even the most stalwart dental patient filled me with waves of . . . relief.

     Relief?   Yes --  RELIEF!  I don't think I have ever looked forward to a dental procedure as much as this one!  And I have endured plenty of dental discomfort, from five long years of orthodontics to wisdom teeth extraction to my ongoing gum recession condition (which makes even a routine cleaning uncomfortable -- and sometimes downright painful).  But none of that compared to the amount of pain that one little tooth with one exposed root caused me the last few weeks. 

     So what does that have to do with dieting?  Well, the upside of mouth pain is my reluctance to eat.  Shooting pain does have a way of making a person put the fork down and abandon all efforts to finish a meal; all it takes is one careless bite.  Plus, when chewing on just one side of the mouth is the only option, one finds it necessary to restrict oneself to eating soft, lukewarm foods (hot and cold foods just add to the pain).  "Mindful eating" takes on a whole new meaning.  And believe me, being reduced to eating soup and apple sauce is a great way to kill an appetite!   End result:  I lost 3 pounds!

     I must point out, I've also been pretty conscientious about exercising over the last couple of months.  I'd like to think that all the hours I've logged on the treadmill have contributed to my weight loss.  I have also resumed the weight lifting routine that I had let slide, and this week I got reacquainted with yoga.  I was already on a weight loss program (remember my "personal trainer" experiment?), but my progress was slow and in danger of grinding to a halt -- mostly because I couldn't seem to get on track with the food plan.  The dental ordeal changed all that.  Like Romy's "Best Ever Mono Diet," the "Toothache Diet" gave my weight loss efforts a much needed boost!

     Incidentally, I'm still chewing on the left side of my mouth.  I had the root canal a week ago, and a temporary filling was put in place.  Next week I go back for the prep work for a crown.  By the end of the month, the crown should be in place and, hopefully, I can eat normally again.

     Of course, "normal" is a relative term.  While I was confining my meal choices to different varieties of soup, I discovered for myself a "diet tip" that, honestly, I had never quite believed:  Soup fills you up; therefore, you eat less.  I suspect that the tooth pain -- not the soup -- killed my appetite.  Still, post-root canal, I'm finding that a bowl of soup, a salad, and a piece of bread make a satisfying meal.  Yes, I know -- it's hardly earthshaking.  But, to me, it has been a real revelation -- a diet breakthrough, if you will.

     If nothing else, the root canal experience has forced me to rethink my food choices, mostly for the better.  I'm more likely to have a small bowl of soup instead of chips with my sandwich.  And I'm limiting myself to half a sandwich.  Since I have a temporary filling, I'm still chewing on one side, which makes eating a sandwich rather labor-intensive.  Therefore, I'm eating more slowly -- another one of those "diet tips" I never could master before.  Now I have no choice!

     Has the Toothache Diet made any permanent changes in my eating habits?  Only time will tell.  But hey, by my estimation, I still have another two weeks until the crown is in place and my mouth is back to normal.  Diet experts say it takes a minimum of 30 days to replace bad habits with good ones.  I hope they're right, because I can't wait until I can start eating apples again!

    

Too Busy to Log . . . and Blog

     I admit, I've been putting off reporting on my weight loss efforts.  It's not because I've failed -- I've actually lost 7 lbs.! -- but because my results so far are, well, mixed.  If you have read previous postings, then you may recall that I signed up for an online "personal trainer" a little over two months ago.  The idea was, for a rather small fee (39.99 for three months), my online personal trainer would give me a daily menu and exercise plan.  The exercise plan has been pretty easy to follow.  The menu?  Not so much.

     The personal trainer is actually a software program that calculates my diet and exercise needs based on the information I enter into my profile.  I discovered that the system won't generate the next day's plan until I have entered my stats from the previous day.  So it should be easy to just click and enter my food and exercise for the day, right?  Well, yes and no.  For one thing, the program already has a set menu in place for each meal.  If I don't like the choices, I can click on "swap" and choose something else from a comparable list.  And believe me, being a somewhat picky eater, I have to swap a lot!  Why, why, why do all food plans have to include cottage cheese?  Not surprisingly, I have found this feature to be time consuming, as I often have to go to the online calorie counter for each item I want to swap and check the calories for each serving size.  As you can imagine, it takes a few minutes to enter a meal when you have to document every single item individually.  The exercise plan takes less time, if only because there aren't as many options.  Nevertheless, by the time I've entered all the information, I have spent upwards of 20 to 30 minutes just entering my meals and exercise plan.  Some days I'm okay with that, but too often I have forgotten to do it because I've been too busy.  And, as I mentioned earlier, if I miss a day, I have to go back and enter all the information before the system will generate a new diet and exercise plan for the next day.  There is a reset feature; I've lost track of how many times I've used it now.

     But the bottom line is, it doesn't matter if I'm entering data into a computer program or writing it on a piece of paper -- I simply hate keeping a food diary!  Yes, I know -- all the experts tell us that keeping a diary is essential for any weight loss program.  I completely agree.  But I still find it to be mind-numbingly tedious, whether it's done high-tech or not!  For me, an exercise program is easier to follow and to document.  I try to make sure I do some form of cardio every day, and I lift weights three times a week.  I schedule my strength training on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, which makes it easy to remember.  And the weather has been so gorgeous the past few weeks, I've been eager to get outside and walk 45 minutes each day.  If I have lost weight, it's probably due to the exercise more than the diet.

     Still, I have been trying to make healthier food choices.  I bought a lot of fruit this past week -- apples and grapes, which I have actually eaten as snacks!  One of my students brought me a bagful of home-grown tomatoes a couple of weeks ago.  Since I'm the only one in my family who eats raw tomatoes, I was determined not to let them go to waste.  So I had tomato slices with my sandwich at lunch several days in a row.  And today my weight loss efforts got a huge boost when I discovered that Quiktrip is no longer carrying snack-size packages of almond M&Ms.  Neither is Walgreen.  That means I'll have to kick the almond M&M habit cold-turkey.  I'm told it's the best way. 

     So . . . 7 lbs. lighter after two and a half months.  Not too bad, if I do say so myself.  My jeans are a lot looser -- I'm encouraged!  I doubt I will re-sign with my personal trainer after my three months are up, but I don't feel that it has been a complete waste of time and money.  If nothing else, the online trainer motivated me to think about my food and exercise choices and to consciously make healthier ones.  I think I can take it from here.  But from now on, I'm going to enter those choices in my food journal the old-fashioned way.  I write much faster than I click.

Senior Moment No. 4: "Baby, You Can Drive My Car . . . Until Something Breaks, Leaving You Stranded by the Side of the Road"

Note to Reader:  This is one of a continuing series of postings chronicling my son Greg's senior year in high school.

     "Mom, my car is making a weird rattling noise" ranks among the top ten things you don't want to hear from your child.  Five minutes later, Greg backed out of the driveway, and I had the opportunity to hear the rattling noise for myself.  Even from inside the house, it sounded pretty ominous.  So we took our 2002 Saturn to the auto service shop up the road.  This was last Saturday.  They called later in the afternoon to tell us the culprit was the water pump, a $300 repair.  Not good, but not as bad as it could have been, I thought.  "Okay," I told them, "go ahead and replace the water pump."  Since it was Saturday, we understood it would be Monday before they could get the part and do the work, so we made do for the weekend.

     Monday afternoon, the shop called.  "Here's the good news:  it's not the water pump!  Unfortunately, your air conditioner compressor is dead."  I already knew that; the air conditioning quit working a year ago.  Saturn's repair quote was in excess of $900, so we decided to just live without the a/c.  After all, it's a seven-year-old car with over 150,000 miles on it.  "The problem is," the service technician explained, "the compressor is on the serpentine belt, which is about to fall off.  It's also connected to the alternator and the power steering, and, if it goes, then you'll be stranded." 

     STRANDED.  There it is -- every parent's 3rd Worst Fear, right behind #1 "Abduction By A Stranger," and #2 "Terrorist Attack."  Given that, at 17, Greg is not likely to be abducted, and, as Dick Cheney keeps coming out of retirement to remind us, we haven't suffered a terrorist attack in nearly eight years,  Worst Fear #3 "Stranded By The Roadside" has unequivocably moved up to first place.  Well, we can't have that, can we? 

     Not that my own parents were so concerned, judging by the three times I found my own teenage/young adult self stranded by the roadside!  Twice I was forced to pull off the road by a busted radiator hose.  One of those times, the car I was driving -- a 1975 Oldsmobile Regency -- lost a radiator hose in the middle of Parallel Parkway in Kansas City, Kansas . . . during afternoon rush hour.  I managed to steer the car over to the curb, where it sputtered to a stop.  But, considering I was in the left-hand lane when the hose blew, there was no way to get the car completely out of traffic.  Plus, it was a huge car (my husband later nicknamed it the "S.S. Coble") -- my parents' one and only luxury car -- not easy to maneuver off the road or to drive around.  Needless to say, my disabled luxury liner caused a big traffic backup.  I turned on the hazard lights and walked to a nearby grocery store to use a pay phone to call my dad (yes, children, this was back in the Dark Ages, before cell phones).  Dad was at work and more than a little annoyed, but he called a tow service and promised he'd be there in a few minutes to pick me up.  Meanwhile, a police officer arrived to direct traffic. About 20 minutes later the tow truck arrived, as did my dad -- incredulous that his "baby" (the car, not me) had burst a hose, overheated, and stalled . . . and seemingly oblivious to the fact that it would have happened anyway, no matter who was driving.  

     A few years later, out of college and temporarily living at home, I was driving my dad's Oldsmobile Starfire (his one and only sports car--and an Olds; I think I'm seeing a pattern here).  One night, on my way home from teaching flute lessons at a music store, the timing chain on the Starfire broke, stranding me on Shawnee Mission Parkway, somewhere west of Pflumm.  I say "somewhere" because, at the time, there was practically no development there -- it was, quite literally, out in the country.  Still in the pre-cell phone era, I turned on the hazard lights, locked the car, and walked about half a mile back to the nearest gas station, where I called my boyfriend from a pay phone.  Steve came and rescued me (yes, I married him later,and this is one of the many reasons).  We left a note on the windshield so the police would know the car was stranded, and we drove back to my house to give my dad the bad news.  Dad, of course, was absolutely stunned that an eight-year-old timing chain would just suddenly break like that.  Well, what can I say?  They don't make cars like they used to.

     Now, I'm sure my parents worried about me driving, especially alone and after dark.  But they rarely showed it, funneling their fears instead into frustration over the car's mechanical failures.  Maybe that was the best strategy for them, but I prefer to take a more proactive approach:  I get regular oil changes and, while I'm there, I ask the technician to do a brake inspection and check all the hoses.  ("As God is my witness, I will never be stranded again!")  Still, one can't foresee everything that will go wrong. At least this time, with the Saturn, we had a little warning.

     Not so in August, 1989 when Steve and I drove our little Honda CRX to New Orleans for the National Flute Association Convention.  The Honda, a.k.a. "The Shoe" because it looked like Nike athletic footwear, had previously belonged to Steve's stepmom.  When she married his dad in 1986, she needed a bigger car (the Honda was a two-seater).  We needed a car, so we bought it.  It worked great, no problems -- we even drove it to San Diego in 1988 for the NFA Convention.  Maybe the California trip put too much stress on the a/c; maybe it was just bad karma . . . all we know is the air conditioner sputtered and died just as we crossed the Louisiana state line.   Fortunately, we didn't have to do much driving in New Orleans.  Our hotel was within walking distance of the convention site and the French Quarter.  It was the drive back to Kansas City that nearly killed us.  Imagine driving through Mississippi, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Kansas in an athletic shoe, without air conditioning.  Did I mention it was the middle of August?

     In the aftermath of that experience, we decided to trade the car during the winter rather than face another summer driving around in a shoe-shaped sauna.  Our next adventure in driving sans air conditioning came more than a decade later when the compressor in our minivan quit working.  Once again, the event happened in August, but we were willing to do without the a/c since cooler weather was on the way.  But in the spring?  You guessed it -- we traded the van.

     So, when I think about it, although we've lost compressors before, we've never had the vehicle long enough to find out what happens to a dead one.  It never occurred to us that the compressor actually affects other vital functions besides the air conditioning.  Well, as the saying goes, you learn something new every day! 

     The shop gave us a 10% discount, which brought the final total just under $800.  Greg willingly paid half.  The engine no longer rattles, and the bonus is that Greg now has air conditioning.  Not that he really needs it, now that the weather is getting cooler.  Still, the defogger on that vehicle works much more efficiently with the a/c running; he'll be glad to have it in the winter.  And me?  I'm glad that Worst Fear #3 has been averted.  Now I can concentrate on Worst Fear #4:  "How To Pay For College."  Right now my strategy is to cross my fingers and hope we don't have any more expensive car repairs! 

    

    

Texas Toast?

     So, apparently there is a gubernatorial candidate in the state of Texas who is running on a platform of secession. (You read that correctly.) Now, as I recall from my Texas history -- which was a state requirement for the 4th grade curriculum when I lived there in 1969 (San Antonio, in case you're curious), Texas was originally a part of Mexico and content to be so . . . until the Mexican government abolished slavery. Since their economy at that time was dependent on slave labor, Texans went to war with Mexico for independence, won the war, and became an independent republic. When that didn't work out so well, they joined the United States and proudly flew the stars and stripes . . . until Abraham Lincoln won the presidential election of 1860, causing South Carolina to secede from the Union. Not wanting to be left out, Texas seceded along with the rest of the South and joined the Confederate States of America, proudly fighting for states' rights. Which was just great . . . until the South lost the war. Texas, along with the rest of the southern states, was reinstated and, we assume, content with that status . . . until 2008 when Barack Obama was elected president.

     Now the states' rights issue has come up again. This time it's about the state's right to refuse any kind of federal assistance, be it for health care, education, disaster relief, jobs, police protection, fire protection, animal control, farm subsidies, (insert your own here) . . . If the federal goverment wants to pay for it, then at least one candidate for the governorship of Texas wants the right to reject it. Because God forbid they should accept any help from "socialists!" In fact, God probably WANTS Texas to secede and go it alone. Hey, they've done it before -- at least twice by my count.  They even have a state nickname and a flag all ready to go.  It's like "Sovereignty In A Box!"

     Well, who am I to argue? After all, they've been advertising themselves for years as "A Whole Other Country." I'm sure they have enough private industry to handle emergency relief the next time the Texas coast gets hit by a hurricane.  I'm relatively sure the member schools of the Big 12 North wouldn't miss them (hey, can we toss in O.U., too?  Couldn't hurt to ask). And yeah, I suppose gas prices would go up a little, since we'd suddenly be importing foreign oil. But we already do that, so what's the difference? The only downside I can see is that, without Texas, Kansas would go back to being the state with the most crazies. But that's a small price to pay -- and we DO have government funded mental health programs here.

     Fair enough.  If Texas wants to secede, I say let 'em . . . as long as they take Dick Cheney with them. But please, MAKE UP YOUR MINDS, Y'All!  And hey -- Don't let the door hit 'ya on the way out.

Rocket Man

Steve and Emily pose in front of a Saturn 5 rocket at the Johnson Space Center, Houston, Texas.

     I married a rocket man.  Not a real astronaut, just a guy who has always harbored a secret wish to be one.  I've always known this.  When we were dating he revealed his deep childhood interest in the moon landings.  He remembers exactly where he was when he watched the moon landing on July 20,1969 -- it was in a motel room in Galveston, Texas, on vacation with his family.  (I may have been in Texas, too, though I don't specifically remember where -- that was the summer my family moved from Atlanta to San Antonio.)  He has committed to memory all manner of facts pertaining to the Apollo missions.  And the sole reason Steve signed up for HBO was so we could watch Tom Hanks' "From the Earth to the Moon" series several years ago (well worth it, by the way).  Not surprisingly, this year, on the 40th anniversary of the moon landing, Steve made it a point to watch the corresponding episode of "From the Earth to the Moon" to commemorate the event. 

     During our courtship, Steve also confessed his lifelong obsession with fireworks and rockets; to prove it, he brought along his decades-old stash of bottle rockets and model rockets when we moved in together.  The items were contained in a shoebox, carefully preserved like sacred family heirlooms.  Over the years the box moved from the back of a closet shelf to the storage room in our apartment building.  When we moved into our house it found a permanent home in the basement.  There it stayed until our son was in junior high.  When Greg was old enough to handle such items without burning himself (we hoped), Steve got them out and dusted them off.  Unfortunately, they hadn't fared well in storage, so Steve went out and bought another model rocket kit.  Last summer he and Greg made a trek to Shawnee Mission Park to launch the rocket.  They did.  It shot into the air and landed . . . somewhere.  It supposedly landed in a grove of trees, but it might as well have landed in the Pacific Ocean; Steve and Greg never found it.  Thus, Steve's brief career as an astronaut came to an abrupt end.

     But not his endless fascination with the cosmos!  Just a week and a half ago we drove out to the country to take part in what has been an annual tradition since before Greg was born:  Watching the Perseid meteor shower.  Just after midnight on Wednesday, August 12th, we packed lawn chairs and blankets in the van and drove out to our favorite spot, just off the aptly named Evening Star Road in western Johnson County.  We set up the chairs and blanket on a grassy area next to the road, let our eyes adjust to the darkness, and peered up at the sky.  Even though the moon was fairly bright that night, we still saw numerous meteors streaking across the sky, many bright enough to leave a trail.  The meteors tend to originate in the northeastern part of the sky, near the constellation Perseus (who, in Greek mythology, cut off the head of the snake-haired demon, Medusa).  The meteors typically travel from northeast to southwest.  This year's shower did not disappoint!  When Greg was younger, we often brought his cousins or friends with us.  We used to make an evening of it -- take in a drive-in movie, head out to Evening Star Road to watch the meteors afterward, and then take all the kids back to our house to spend the night.  This year it was scaled down -- no movie, friends, or even snacks -- just the three of us.  But we wouldn't miss it.  No matter how many times we've gone out Perseid-watching, we have never tired of it.

     We haven't limited our star-gazing to the Perseids, though.  A few times we've traveled back out to Evening Star Road in November to watch the Leonid meteor shower.  Of course, it's colder then and favorable weather conditions less likely.  Still, one of my favorite memories is the autumn evening in 1996 that Steve and I took Greg, then 4 years old, to the Powell Observatory near Louisburg, Kansas to watch the Hale-Bopp Comet.  There was a long line to go inside and observe the comet through the big telescope, so we elected to take our fidgety child outside to one of the many telescopes set up on the observatory grounds.  Hale-Bopp was so bright, we hardly needed a telescope at all -- much more satisfying than the faint Haley's Comet ten years earlier! 

     The "final frontier" also played a part in some of our vacations over the years.  On the way to Colorado in 1998 we spent several hours at the Kansas Cosmosphere in Hutchinson, home to many space program artifacts, including the Apollo 13 capsule (eerie!).  The following year we visited the Johnson Space Center in Houston, where we toured the original control room for the Apollo missions and had our picture taken in front of the massive Saturn 5 rocket displayed on the grounds (see photo above).  About that time, Greg was into his "Star Wars" phase, so he and his dad were in spaceman heaven visiting all the interactive exhibits.  No surprise, then that Greg is taking an astronomy class this year in school -- and it's already one of his favorites.  Steve is very proud!

     Just to be clear, I enjoy these activities as much as my family does, although I'm not so obsessed with all the facts and figures.  My interest in watching the comets and meteors is more aesthetic than scientific, which is probably why my favorite star-gazing memory is from a trip out west we took two summers ago.  We were visiting Mesa Verde in southwestern Colorado.  We spent the day touring the centuries-old cliff dwellings and then spent the night at the lodge in the park.  With no television service available and no other activities except for a sparsely-furnished game room, Steve and I decided to take a walk outside around the lodge.  All of a sudden a generator failed and all of the lights went out save for a couple of battery-powered emergency lights in the main lobby.  But the sudden plunge into darkness revealed a truly wondrous and beautiful display in the night sky.  From our vantage point standing there on top of the mesa, the sky looked like a rich carpet of stars, so close you could almost touch them.  We sat down on the ground and just stared up at this celestial tapestry -- even saw a couple of meteors  streak across the sky!  We marveled that it was so quiet (we could hear the breeze blowing through the trees, and the far-off howl of a coyote), and we noted that this must be what the ancient cliff dwellers saw every night.  In that moment we felt more connected to the people who had lived there so long ago, and we never would have noticed if not for the power outage.

     I bring all of this up because today is my husband's birthday.  We seldom give each other gifts for our birthdays; we usually just go out to dinner together.  But this year, with the 40th anniversary observance of the moon landing and the passing of NASA devotee Walter Cronkite last month, space has been a frequent topic of conversation at our house.  So, when I saw the commemorative "moon" books at a bookstore a few weeks ago, Steve's birthday gift became a no-brainer.  Greg and I presented him with the books last night, and he was (naturally) delighted.

     Happy Birthday, Rocket Man -- thanks for keeping the stars in my eyes!

Senior Moment No. 3: The Last "First Day" of School

Note to reader: This is part of an occasional series of postings chronicling my son Greg's senior year in high school. The above photo was taken on August 14, 2009, Greg's last "first day of school."

Finally, the last year of school has arrived. Greg's senior year began Friday morning when he got himself up, made his own breakfast, and drove himself to school in his own car (okay, legally the car belongs to us, but he's the sole driver now). Technically, the only reason I had for getting up early to see him off was to take the photo at the top of this posting. Of course, Greg thought I was slightly crazy and certifiably corny for doing so. He muttered a mildly annoyed, "Oh, Mom," but he was a good sport about it!

It's a far cry from years past when I was his alarm clock, knocking on his door at 6:45 am . . . and again at 6:50 . . . 6:55 . . . "Greg, it's 7:00 -- you need to get up NOW!" I made him breakfast most every morning until the middle of last year when he finally agreed with me that he could pour cereal into a bowl just as easily as I can (and add milk, too!). The days when he needed me to help him tie his shoes in the morning and double check that his signed permission slips were in his backpack are ancient history now. Those were things for which I automatically assumed responsibility while Greg was in grade school. Particularly in the early grades, I kind of enjoyed "hovering" -- I felt, well, needed. But that began to change by the time Greg entered 6th grade. I'm sure I'm not the only mom who discovered what was adorable behavior in an 8-year-old became downright exasperating in an 11-year-old. I kept reminding myself that my job as a parent was to gradually usher my child to adulthood, and that meant letting him -- no, insisting -- that he start doing a few things for himself. Easier said than done. All my fantasies about getting to sleep in until 8:00 once Greg hit 7th grade went out the window.

My usual routine all through Greg's junior high years went something like this:

6:20 am -- Greg's radio alarm turns on, blasting me out of bed. After four or five blaring minutes in which he obliviously remains asleep, I stagger out of bed, knock on his door, and yell over the din, "GREG! HIT THE SNOOZE BUTTON!" (This scenario is repeated at least twice.)

7:05 am -- Greg finally crawls out of bed, takes a leisurely shower, and gets dressed. Of course, time is growing short, so (against prevailing child-rearing wisdom) I make him breakfast --which he gulps down in five minutes or less, spurred on by my impatient reminders that his ride will be here ANY MINUTE!

7:35 am -- While Greg feverishly brushes his teeth, I retrieve his horn from the studio and set it by the door (because, of course, he won't remember it). As he's stuffing his iPod into the outer pocket of his backpack (funny -- he doesn't need any reminders about that particular item), I'm handing him a signed paper (there was always a paper that had to be signed and returned) and saying, "Now DON'T forget to give this to (fill in the blank) as SOON as you get to school! Go STRAIGHT to (his/her) room before school and turn it in!"

And so it went, day after day, for three and a half years. I learned to ask on a daily basis for updates on band schedules, assignment due dates, and fee payment deadlines. Most of the time I got a bewildered "I don't know," which usually meant I'd better start making phone calls or go online and find the information myself. There was some improvement when Greg entered high school. We went from "I don't know" to "Oh, by the way, Mom, I need (fill in the blank) by tomorrow!" We had jumped from the fire into the frying pan -- we were making progress! Still, I resigned myself to being Greg's unpaid personal assistant for the rest of his formal schooling.

Then, somewhere in his sophomore year, Greg started behaving oddly. He would announce to us that he had homework to do, and he would actually go to his room and do it. If he had papers that needed to be signed and returned, he would hand them to me as soon as he got home from school with the urgent admonishment, "I need you to sign this now -- it has to be turned in a week from Monday!" His grades, which had not exactly been at the top of his priority list in junior high, were suddenly . . . important. By the end of his junior year, Greg was a straight-A student. He has also worked a part-time job at Pizza Hut for eight months. And did I mention he mows the lawn, does his own laundry (with very little prompting from his parents, I might add), and even cooks some of his own meals? If I didn't know better, I'd say he acts like, well . . . a grownup!

And, in grownup fashion, the last "first day of school" was pretty uneventful. Nothing to get too excited about -- this is so routine anymore. The first day of Kindergarten was monumental; I really felt like a sea change had occurred in my life. This year? Not so much. I didn't feel the wistfulness I expected. I suppose it will hit me later. Then again, maybe not. After all, I've spent the last seventeen years of my life raising my son to be a functioning, productive adult, fully capable of taking care of himself. The fact that he can cook for himself, do his own laundry, and keep his grades up while responsibly holding down a part-time job speaks for itself.

So, I've decided not to think of Greg's senior year as a year of "lasts." Instead, I'm thinking of it as a year of refinement. All the elements are in place -- they just need to be polished. For me, that's what Greg's senior year is really all about -- putting the finishing touches on this work of art that has been 17 years in the making. For him, it's about just getting through it and moving on. Either way, I'm encouraged that he made a trip to the store tonight to get buy some cereal for breakfast tomorrow -- his last "second day of school." I'm looking forward to sleeping in for a change!

Shedding Pounds and Blowing Off Steam

This was supposed to be a blog about my weight-loss progress. I signed up for an online personal trainer about a month ago, and I figured it was time for an update (more on that later). But this past week I've been increasingly bothered by a weightier issue than my size: the health care debate. Or, more accurately, I'm bothered by the lack of a debate.

All this week there have been reports and numerous video clips of town hall meetings in which the proceedings were shut down before they even began. Mobs of angry people protesting health care reform have been showing up at these meetings and shouting down the congressmen and women trying to conduct a forum. Most, but not all, of these meetings are being conducted by Democratic representatives. The protesters, apparently assuming that any Democrat is in support of the current health care reform bill making its way (or not) through Congress, are using the "shout down" tactic to disrupt the meeting, thereby making it impossible for anyone else to get his or her questions answered.

Some news outlets have reported that many of these protesters are actually hired by the health insurance and pharmaceutical lobbies to disrupt these meetings. These so-called "astro-turf" organizers (that is, fake "grassroots" groups) are sent to the meetings with a scripted "spiel" and instructions on how to effectively interrupt -- and therefore stop -- the meeting. There have even been reports that some of these protesters have been bussed in, courtesy of the lobbyists, although such reports have been roundly denied. It also appears that many Republican party members, while perhaps not directly involved in organizing these protesters, have at least been complicit in these mob scenes through their own silence.

However this debacle began, it now seems clear that, encouraged by the "astro-turf" protesters, other "angry" people have started coming out of the woodwork to join them. The mob mentality has truly taken hold; otherwise reasonable people are joining in the melee, spurred on by unsubstantiated rumors about "killing off" the elderly and their own emotions. And for some, this is just an excuse to engage in anti-social behavior. Whatever the reasons, one thing is clear: another round of fear-mongering is in full swing.

What happened to civil public discourse in this country? When, exactly, did we devolve into a nation of "I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore" mobs? Has it occurred to any of these so-called protesters that they elected the very people they are trying to shut down? Instead of showing up at these meetings with clenched fists and "Just Say No" banners, why not sit down and actually listen to what these congressmen and women have to say? They are there to answer questions. Well, then, ASK QUESTIONS! But do it calmly and civilly, and then LISTEN to the response. If more people kept their cool and actually gave our representatives a chance to explain themselves, they might learn that the health care reform bill isn't quite as scary as some would lead us to believe. At the very minimum, we need to have a structured, civil, and productive debate on this very important issue -- not a free-for-all.

Now, what does all of this have to do with my weight-loss efforts? Well, I for one would like to know what exactly is in this health care reform bill. I have pre-existing conditions that may improve as I drop the pounds, but the very fact that I've been treated for high blood pressure and high cholesterol, for example, automatically puts me in a precarious position if my health insurance plan changes. And it could change on a dime whether Congress passes a reform bill or not. That's the point. In my opinion, those who are saying no reform is needed because they're happy with their current plan aren't looking very far down the road. You could lose your job, have a catastrophic illness or accident, or your insurance company could go out of business. Remember AIG? Lots of folks were upset with the bailout of AIG, declaring that they should "be allowed to fail." I don't disagree with that, but consider the ramifications of an insurance company failing under the current system -- what happens to the people who depend on that company for their health insurance? You see, it's a very complex issue; there' so much more to this than whether or not the elderly will be forced to make a living will.

Look, I don't even pretend to know what this bill contains, which is why I'd like to hear someone in Washington explain it to me and be willing to answer any questions I might have. But, in order for that to happen, we have to turn down the heat on the boiling pot and let our representatives speak. Until or unless cooler heads prevail, I'm afraid we'll never get to ask those questions. We're only hurting ourselves when we allow this kind of display to continue. I'm calling on Republicans and Democrats alike to say ENOUGH with the mob scenes. Yes, these are our elected officials, and we should hold them accountable for the content of their legislation. But, last time I checked, this is still a government of the people and by the people as well as for the people. We have a responsibility, too, to at least hear them out and to LISTEN.

So, for my part, I'm going to keep working on losing weight, just in case health care reform goes by the boards. I believe in personal responsibility, and for me, the best health insurance is taking care of myself. Well, I've lost 4 lbs. this past month. I must be doing something right.

Senior Moment No. 2: "Seventeen Come Sunday" (with apologies to Ralph Vaughan Williams)

Note to reader: This is one of an occasional series of postings chronicling my son Greg's senior year in high school. The above photo was taken on Greg's 10th birthday, July 26, 2002. ("Seventeen Come Sunday" is the first movement of English Folk Song Suite by Ralph Vaughan Williams -- one of my favorite pieces!)

Greg will celebrate his 17th birthday this Sunday, July 26, 2009. He doesn't want a big party -- just the usual family cookout that we've held for most of his birthdays. And, of course, Steve and I will take him out for dinner later to his favorite Japanese restaurant. Saturday night he's going to a show (his favorite bands are playing), which will complete the birthday weekend. No "friends" party this year -- he's really beyond that stage now. No, this birthday is decidedly more . . . grown up.

I have to confess, though, I kind of miss the birthday parties with friends, even though they involved a fair amount of work and were often expensive! Plus, it was a real challenge to come up with an original theme. Most of Greg's friends' birthdays were earlier in the year; by the time his rolled around, the kids were already burned out on bowling, mini-golf, and pool parties. Ditto sleepovers (not recommended, by the way, if you want to keep your sanity). Oh, let's just admit it -- a lot of those parties were a great big hassle. And yet, I still miss them, if only because they gave me an endlessly fascinating window into my son's world.

Having grown up in a family of women (I have one sister, no brothers; all of my cousins except one are girls), I have been continually amused and bemused watching my son and his friends interact. Having a couple of friends over to play G.I. Joe was a case study in "boy-deology"; a birthday party was an anthropological graduate thesis! I truly believe, as a result of spending the last 17 years observing the behavior patterns of boys, that I have a much greater understanding of men in general. It has been quite an education! Case in point:

Exhibit A: Laser tag. This was the popular birthday party venue of Greg's junior high years. He attended several laser tag birthday parties and hosted three of his own. But, if I do say so myself, Greg's laser tag parties were the coolest. I mean that in the literal as well as the figurative sense. Thanks to Uncle Dan and Aunt Linda, we discovered Jaegerz Laser Tag & Paintball, just east of I-435 and 210 Hwy., on the north side of the Missouri River. It's located in "the caves," mostly owned by Hunt Midwest and rented out to businesses for warehouse space. Being in a cave, Jaegerz is climate-controlled year-round. Our first visit there was for Greg's 12th birthday. Put six 12-year-old boys in combat gear, give them each a laser tag gun and cut them loose in a dark room furnished with large barrels and other obstacles to hide behind, and they're in heaven! In fact, Jaegerz was so popular with Greg and his friends, we made two return visits.

At this point, I must acknowledge -- right here and now -- that yes, boys are pre-wired to play war-type games. We do not own firearms and have never once encouraged Greg to play with toy guns. But that did not deter him one bit. From an early age, he wanted a toy gun. We granted his wish only on the condition that no toy weapons that came into our house looked like real weapons. This was not always easy to enforce, especially when the coolest guns that "everybody else" had looked, well, real. We stood our ground. Nevertheless, he went through several years of obsession with soldiers and military history. Of all the "superhero" stages he went through -- Power Rangers, Batman, Ninjas, Star Wars -- G.I. Joe lasted by far the longest. The upside is that, around age 8, Greg began watching the History Channel to satisfy his appetite for all things military. I'm proud to say that last school year he was a straight-A student in his American History class!

My favorite of all of Greg's birthday celebrations occurred on July 26, 2002. Super Session weekend ( a rock-'n-roll reunion show that Steve played several summers at the Lake of the Ozarks) happened to coincide with Greg's birthday weekend. The show itself was a mini-vacation for us -- a weekend at the Lake with free lodging, and Steve even made a little money. Making it even more special that year, it was Greg's 10th birthday -- the first one in "double digits!" Greg decided he wanted to "turn 10 IN the lake." We rented a boat late in the afternoon and putted around the lake. Around 5:00 pm we cruised into a cove and cut the motor. Greg jumped into the lake. Steve and I watched the time and, at 5:22:50, we began counting down. 10 - 9 -8 -7 -6 -5 -4 -3 - 2 -1 . . . at exactly 5:23 pm CDT (the time of his birth), we snapped the photo at the top of this post! Oh, to have a summer birthday!

In many ways, this one is as much a milestone as the birthday in the lake. It's the last one of childhood; next year he will be legally an adult. So, Happy 17th Birthday, Greg! May it be as much fun as laser tag and as satisfying as a dip in the lake. Enjoy this last year of being a kid -- it doesn't get any better!

Weighed Down

I've hired a personal trainer. Not exactly a "real" one -- actually, it's a software program online. You enter all your personal information, e.g. height, weight, resting heart rate, your activity level (check one: superhuman/active/sort of active/depends what you mean by "active"/can't bend over without being short of breath/never-could-bend-over-what-are-you-talking-about/sedentary). I also had to indicate what kinds of medications I'm taking and how many push ups I can do without stopping. For the latter, I had to actually drop to the floor and do some (if you must know, it was 20 -- not too shabby, I think). I figured I could go ahead and count those push ups as my exercise for the day. The online trainer then creates a diet and exercise program tailored to your goals and lifestyle. Each day you download your exercise plan and menus for the day. Anyway, at $39.99 for three months, I figured what the heck? If I actually lose some weight this time, then it's money well-spent; if not, then I'm not out all that much.

Because, believe me, I've spent a lot more in the past. I spent a small fortune on Weight Watchers -- three times! And yes, I lost weight, but it always came back -- and brought some friends with it. Having given W.W. three attempts, I've pretty much decided it's not the program for me. I'm not knocking it -- I know that millions of people have lost zillions of pounds on Weight Watchers and kept it off. Most of them went to work for W.W. as group leaders, as far as I can tell. But my W.W. experiences weren't so convincing.

The first time I joined W.W. it seemed like the answer to my lifelong battle with weight. And I have to confess: I have been overweight since childhood. About age 8, to be exact. The last time I was thin I was 7 years old; being fat has been my way of life almost as long as I can remember. So Weight Watchers seemed like the logical choice for a 26-year-old newlywed who had just received a bitter dose of reality looking at her wedding pictures. I signed up and went to my first meeting. The group leader was fantastic! She emphasized exercise and portion control, and I started to see some results. Although I wasn't thrilled about the public weigh-in, I nonetheless looked forward to meetings. Well, the leader was so good, she was promoted to an administrative position in the organization. Enter her replacement, a woman so dull and monotone, it was difficult to stay awake during her presentations. How in the world did someone so uninspiring get to be a group leader? Mercifully, my work schedule changed, forcing me to switch to another group meeting. And that was my downfall. My new group leader was primarily focused on food -- how to use low-fat cheese in the au gratin potatoes, how to measure 1 tbsp. of ranch dressing, how many calories in one slice of strawberry cheesecake as opposed to the whole thing. Exercise? Never mentioned it. Every "lecture" was about food, food, food. Small wonder that each weigh-in I was seeing the scale go up instead of down. I finally reached my breaking point. The topic that day was "Binge Eating." Now, I've never been a binge-eater (portion control was my biggest problem), but guess what I did? Yep -- I went home and polished off just about every snack food in the house within reach.

I attempted Weight Watchers two more times -- the "Personal" version, which was a knock-off of the Jenny Craig program, and the "At Home" version in which I paid roughly the same amount of money that I would for the group meetings, only I didn't have to go to meetings. It was worth it just to avoid the meetings. I was never comfortable sharing such personal information with a roomful of strangers. And I really resented the "testimonials": I lost 20 lbs! And I know it was ONLY 20 lbs., but it took me a LONG time to lose it, and I feel SO much better! I can fit into my skinny jeans again! (Squeals with delight)And if I can do it, YOU CAN, TOO! Oh, get real! Did you notice the rest of us rolling our eyes? Most of us have 50+ pounds to lose -- do you really think you have a clue what it's really like being fat? So you lost the baby weight, well congratulations! By the way, what size are your "skinny jeans?" Mine are about a size 14; somehow I don't think they qualify. It's all about perspective.

Okay, I did lose weight -- but each time I only made it to about 35 pounds down before I hit the dreaded "plateau." Ah yes, the word that strikes fear in every dieter -- plateau. It's a rather elegant French word meaning "an elevated and comparatively level expanse of land; tableland." But, in the dieter's lexicon, it means "You have hit bottom. You will lose no more weight. In fact, you will start gaining it all back plus another 10-20 lbs. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200." You've heard of the glass ceiling? Well, to those of us desperately trying to lose weight, it's a glass floor. We can see those "skinny" jeans down there, waiting for us to lose enough weight to squeeze ourselves into them. But we never quite make it, and the skinny jeans get snapped up by someone . . . skinny.

By the way, I want to declare right here and now that, as someone who has been overweight all her life, I've never owned a pair of skinny jeans! I don't even know what skinny jeans look like! And what, may I ask, is a "bikini body"? I've never worn a bikini, either. Never will. I find it personally insulting that the covers of so many women's magazines -- including the so-called "health and fitness" mags -- are graced each month by airbrushed photos of celebs in bikinis . . . even in January! Unless you live in Florida, Hawaii, or California, who the hell wears a bikini year-round? For that matter, who wants to? I used to have subscriptions to some of those mags, but I dropped them. Quite frankly, I don't care how Jennifer Lopez, Madonna, and a parade of other celebs keep their butts, abs, and arms in such great shape. They spend several hours a day working out, and they have personal chefs to make lots of delicious meals they can upchuck later. And they get paid to do it -- it's their job to look good. And, if they don't look absolutely perfect, there's always photoshop.

But I digress. The real issue here is my body and the fact that I've been trying to get down to at least a reasonable weight for most of my adult life. Admittedly, my motivation used to be looks -- I've always been, well, ashamed of what I look like. But now I have the health issues to deal with that overweight people inevitably have to face: I have high blood pressure and high cholesterol. And I'm on medications to keep them in check, but, as my doctor is fond of pointing out to me, I need to lose the weight, too.

Believe me, I know. I. Am. Well. Aware. Of. The. Risks. Of. Obesity. I have a long family history of heart disease and diabetes. Both of my parents are on heart meds; my mom --like me -- is on blood pressure and cholesterol meds. I'm almost the same age my dad was when he had his heart attack (49, if you must know). I think about it every day. I arrived at the ER one night where my mom, complaining of chest pains, had been taken . . . only to find my dad in the bed next to her, hooked up to heart monitors (which resulted, I recall, in my dad having a pacemaker installed). I know. The only advantage I have right now over my dad is that I'm more active than he was at age 49, and I've never smoked. But otherwise my risk factors are way up there. So don't lecture me about how I need to exercise more, eat more fruits and veggies, cut down on fat and salt, cut out the soda, and on andonandonandon . . . . Believe me . . . I KNOW!

But knowing what to do and actually doing it are two different things. Obviously I don't have a good track record, or I wouldn't even be writing this! I've tried several different diets over the years and generally lost the same amount of weight, i.e. 30-35 lbs. The problem is, each time I put those same 30-35 lbs. back on plus a few more. I realize that I have to change a lot of habits, but change is hard. To undo a lifetime of patterns is a monumental task. People who have never dealt with weight issues tend to think it's just a matter of putting the fork down and lacing up the tennis shoes. It is, but it's so much more than that. It requires a personality shift --- a "sea change," to use that already overused term. And, above all, it requires a little cooperation from family and friends. Not in the "food police" sense. I don't need people monitoring every bite ("Should you be eating that?"), but I also don't need people pushing food at me ("You should really try the butter crumb cake I made -- it's a new recipe!"). I also don't need a gym coach logging my exercise (that's why I hired a personal trainer). It's quite possible that the reason I didn't hit the treadmill today is that I pulled a calf muscle a little yesterday and I'm prudently giving it a rest so as not to cause further injury. And, you know, maybe you guys should lay off the Oreos, too, and have some fruit instead. It would be very helpful if we didn't have any junk food in the house.

So here I am, embarking on yet another weight-loss plan. I keep trying because I have to. It comes down to this: I'm not comfortable in my own skin. And I'm really scared of developing diabetes or having a heart attack. I need to do something. That's why I hired an online personal trainer. Hope springs eternal.