Discovering My Inner Jock

Thursday, March 29, 2012 – Discovering My Inner Jock

Should I blame Elliott, or thank him?  After all, it’s his desire for frequent trips to the gym that is clearly responsible for my transformation from exercise dilettante to workout fanatic.  Okay, maybe daily sessions at the gym don’t qualify as fanaticism.  Perhaps exercise devotée would be a more accurate description.  Regardless, when I took him to the gym a week ago, I had no idea that I was about to unleash my inner jock. 

What makes this development so remarkable is that I spent my entire childhood and adolescence believing I was allergic to athletics.  I showed no talent whatsoever as far as team sports were concerned.  I invented all kinds of implausible excuses in an attempt to skip gym class.   Volleyball and basketball days sent me into a panic.  Summer camp, with its emphasis on swimming, softball, and boating, was sheer torture.  I would hide out in the woods with a book.  I simply could never comprehend the attraction athletic activities held for other people. 

There was a brief time, in my twenties, when I took tennis lessons from a pro at a club in Boston.  I could hit the ball over the net, but I never got the hang of serving.  I didn’t really care about keeping track of points, either.  When Elliott and I moved to France, we spent a couple of hours batting balls to each other on the public courts in our little village.  I think we spent more time laughing and running, however, than hitting the ball.  I haven’t picked up a tennis racket in over 25 years.  My main excursion into the world of sports occurred shortly after we moved to northern Virginia in the late 1980s.  I had always enjoyed watching figure skating on the television so I decided to take lessons at the local ice rink.  I started from the very beginning.  Over a three or four year period, I progressed from group instruction to private lessons and skated a few times a week.  That all came to an end when I started teaching full-time.  My skates are still somewhere in a closet.  One of these days, I’ll dig them out and see if I can still fit into them.

Even after I joined the gym a few years ago, my workouts were sporadic.  I’d be so exhausted at the end of the workday and so busy from my responsibilities at home that I didn’t make exercise a priority.  In addition, I had an aversion to sweat (which I’ve fortunately overcome).  Now, of course, having experienced that wonderful post-workout sensation, I realize what I’ve been missing.  I’ve discovered that a daily workout is neither a chore nor an indulgence.  It’s simply a basic necessity, like food or sleep, if I want to retain my health. 

And to demonstrate my newfound love of physical fitness, I just took the logical next step:  I got a jock-worthy haircut, one that should be easy to maintain with my new exercise routine.  

One final thought regarding exercise:  When I see runners on the neighborhood streets or on the path in the nearby wooded park, I fantasize about running outdoors at this time of year.  Do you think I could put an elliptical machine under the dogwood tree in the backyard and run a long extension cord out from the house? 

The Best of Both Worlds

 

Tuesday, March 27, 2012 – The Best of Both Worlds

As I near the three-month mark since my formal retirement, I’ve settled into a routine that offers me the best of both worlds.  Through my work with the ESOL drama class, I still have a presence at Annandale High 2-3 times a week (without the need to get up at 5 in the morning).  I also get to see my colleagues during lunchtime.  Then I’m free to leave at 12:30, so it’s an ideal arrangement. 

And the rest of my time is available to spend with Elliott.  We’re both just delighted to be together during the day, whether we’re at home, traveling, working out, or off doing mundane errands.  It’s amazing how much you can accomplish and how much more efficient you can be when you do errands during the week rather than on the weekend.  Yesterday, we were out of the house between 10 and 3 and we checked off the following:  library (to return books), Macy’s (summer shirts for me), jewelry store (for watch repair), Dick’s (gym shorts for Elliott), Whole Foods (lunch – yum), Costco (more graham crackers), Target (printer ink), Office Depot (various items – I have a weakness for office supplies), gas station (to feed the car).  And then we had time to take an hour-long nap before we had dinner at home and headed back out to see another movie at the Jewish Film Festival in the evening. 

It certainly takes a lot of energy to do retirement well.  To keep in shape, we’re trying to fit regular workouts at Lifetime into our schedule.  Yesterday morning, Elliott had his first meeting with a personal trainer there.  Since I’m Elliott’s 24/7 personal trainer, I attended the session along with him, and we came back with stretching exercises he is supposed to do at home three times a day.  Increasing his flexibility is the first goal.  Then we’ll move on to developing balance and strength over the coming weeks. For cardio, Elliott alternates between the treadmill and the bicycle.  By the way, he looks really hot in his new gym shorts. 

We’ve had a welcome change in the weather, although some might disagree.  Temperatures in the forties and fifties are fine with me.  At last I feel grounded in early spring rather than teetering on the cusp of summer.  Of course, the cherry blossoms are just a beautiful memory.  The last of the petals were blown away by the recent winds, but all of the trees continue their greening, and the redbuds still dazzle.  The azaleas splash new colors about on a daily basis.  Driving back from our morning workout, we were greeted by a resplendent array of tulips at the entrance to our subdivision.  One of our few contributions to the spring glory is a fairly modest dogwood with a profusion of blushing blossoms.  

Spring Marches On

 

Sunday, March 25, 2012 – Spring Marches On

Sunday morning, and spring marches on:  Low fifties, a fine mist, hint of green on the tree tops, first blossoms on the dogwood, and bright pink buds popping out of the azaleas.  

Cooking with Miso

 

Sunday, March 25, 2012 – Cooking with Miso

OK, I didn’t even offer Elliott a taste of this one, but I loved it:  stir-fried cabbage with miso, served over quinoa.  (For those of you not au courant in the kitchen, miso is that fermented bean paste that the Japanese use as a seasoning – think miso soup.)  You have to try it.  It was the simplest of dishes – sauté shredded cabbage and diced red onion and some sesame seeds for a few minutes in a bit of olive oil.  Then stir in a sauce made of miso, a little Dijon mustard, and a little more olive oil.  The result?  A burst of unexpected deliciousness!  Thanks to Yum Universe for a recipe featuring Brussels sprouts that inspired my adaptation.  This all came about because I had some leftover shredded cabbage from our pre-St. Patrick’s Day dinner.  Next time I think I’ll add cubes of tofu to the mixture.  And I’ll try to remember to pick up a couple of bratwurst for Elliott.  

Am I dreaming, or did I really wake up at 2 in the morning to write this???

Here Comes the Rain

 

Saturday, March 24, 2012 – Here Comes the Rain

Cooler Temperatures + Daylong Rain = Happy Flowers

Fortunately, the rain didn’t interfere with Saturday’s planned outing.  I took my mother into DC to see Basil Twist’s unusual and innovative production of Stravinsky’s ballet, Petrushka.  What made this production unique was the use of puppets to perform all of the dancing.  Puppets doing ballet???  Yes, before today, I was skeptical, too.  However, the program turned out to be delightful and enchanting.   The puppets were amazingly expressive.  At the end of the performance, the puppeteers (there were three per puppet) showed the audience exactly how they created the illusion of dancing.  And at only 55 minutes, the show was perfect for my mother, whose attention span isn’t quite what it used to be. 

The weather certainly didn’t keep the crowds away from downtown DC today.  Many people were heading to the Tidal Basin to catch one last glimpse of the cherry blossoms or to attend the annual Cherry Blossom Festival, which officially started today.  Others may have been on their way to one of several rallies scheduled for Saturday.  And with the museums, theaters, concerts, etc., there’s always something exciting going on around here.  Part of my “problem” now is to avoid being over-zealous about what I’m going to do.  For example, my activities this past week included the Jewish Film Festival, Spamalot, the Matthew Bourne production of Swan Lake, a program at Beth El on the Jewish community in Cuba, and today’s Petrushka.  Yesterday, I ordered tickets for a screening of La Traviata (live from the Met) and I was about to order tickets for an upcoming play at the DCJCC when I hesitated.  It was so tempting, and there was an early booking discount.  But it’s probably not a good idea to put something on the calendar for every single day. 

Another reason why I was so busy recently is that I went back at Annandale High this past week on Monday and Wednesday.  Most of the time, I was assisting in the ESOL drama class.  However, I also spent a short time in an ESOL classroom.  Just seeing Leslie in action there for five minutes, juggling multiple inquiries, problems, and demands for attention, reminded me of what I used to deal with on a regular basis.  How did I ever deal with it?  I immediately realized that I no longer operate at that speed.  I now have the luxury of doing things one at a time and at a more reasonable pace.  Although I enjoyed my time working with the drama students, I felt my stress level rising simply by being in that environment.  I was listening for the bell, rushing through lunch, worrying about getting to the restroom.  After I left (mere seconds before the tornado drill struck), it took me a while to get back to a calm state of mind. 

I’m so glad that there’s nothing on my calendar for Sunday.  I can go to the gym with Elliott, I can work on a photo collage for his birthday celebration, and I can start reading a new book on my Kindle. 

Cherry Blossoms and More

 

Friday, March 23, 2012 – Cherry Blossoms and More

I just finished my annual spring ritual – the potting of the pansies.  This is my major gardening achievement and I’m very proud of myself.  I’m also soaking wet and covered with dirt.  Some extremely bedraggled flowers now reside in the pots on either side of the front door.  Fortunately, it’s almost dark so I can’t see them too clearly.  It upsets me to see such limp plants.  I hope they survive these prematurely hot temperatures.  If they perk up, I’ll take some photos.

Otherwise, my half-hearted attempts at gardening are confined to a small corner of the front yard where the liriope, nandina, mint, some bushes whose name I can’t recall, and a lot of hideous juniper have thrived despite my neglect.  I’d love to kill off the juniper, but it just won’t die.  Oh, and one more of my few concessions to plant-stewardship is the herb garden that I grow in pots on the back deck.  If I remember to water them, I’ll have basil, oregano, chives, thyme, and rosemary. 

My relationship to plants is similar to my relationship to pets.  I feel uncomfortable with this dependency thing they have.  It’s not like caring for a child who eventually becomes capable of caring for him or herself (if you’re lucky).  With a plant or pet, that’s never going to happen.  I want to say to these plants out there – grow up, already.  I don’t know what accounts for my attitude.  Perhaps it’s the fact that we had very few plants or pets when I was growing up.  After our parakeet died when I was about 8 years old, we never had another pet.  And I don’t remember any plants in our home or any gardening work that my mother did.  Whatever the reason, I never developed the pet- or plant-nurturing instinct.

Even with my lack of gardening talent, there’s plenty to appreciate in the great outdoors in the spring.  Washington, DC is justly famous for its cherry blossoms, which appeared quite early this year.  Although I didn’t go into the district to walk around the Tidal Basin this week, I’ve had more than my fill of cherry blossoms right here in northern Virginia.  And the cherry trees may get all the attention, but the magnolias and redbuds are equally spectacular.  Each type of tree seems to have its own personality.  The magnolias, which bloom first, are the sultry, voluptuous beauties of the season.  As soon as the magnolias begin to shed their heavy velvety flowers, white and pale pink buds appear on the cherry trees.  These trees are the charming ingénues, with a delicacy reminiscent of the finest porcelain.  Their first tiny blossoms seem suspended, floating on the gentle breath of spring air.  My favorite neighborhood cherry trees are a pair of weeping Yoshinos whose abundant blossoms form a lacy canopy.  

Magnolias

Cherry trees

Redbuds

Everywhere you look, you see cherry trees – in yards and parking lots, along roadsides, on medians strips of heavily trafficked suburban thoroughfares, growing wild in wooded groves, overlooking a stream, leaning out over street corners, standing in front of Annandale High School.  They’re already losing their tenuous hold, however.  A breeze stirs the warm air and they swirl around me, immersing me in a cherry blossom storm cloud.

But personally, I get a greater thrill from seeing the redbuds, a tree native to this area.  In terms of personality, the redbud is the casual yet elegant sophisticate.  Luscious clusters of tiny reddish-violet blossoms adorn its slender limbs.  I wish I could find a name for the startling color of the redbud flowers.  It’s more like a rich, rosy lavender, or a cross between an amethyst and a ruby, or a frothy mélange of grape and cherry.  If I’m distracted when I walk or drive, it’s because a redbud has caught my attention. 

Grocery Shopping with Elliott

 

Thursday, March 22, 2012 – Grocery Shopping with Elliott

Nowhere is the contrast between Elliott’s and my approach to food more apparent than in the supermarket.  On those occasions when we grocery shop together, it looks like we’re stocking two different households.  For example, today we went to Wegman’s with completely different ideas about what to get.  While I was checking the carbohydrate count on the whole grain bread, he was tossing a bag of marshmallows into the cart.  I grabbed a bottle of low sodium tomato juice, and he hoisted an 8-pack of Coke in my direction.  The only reason he didn't get more cookies is that we had already stocked up on those at Costco.  I could only shake my head in disbelief as I helped him track down a big bag of Milky Way mini-size bars in the candy aisle.  (Note to Elliott:  Halloween is over!)  He couldn’t even wait until we got out of the store.  As soon as they were scanned at the checkout, he tore into the bag.  I’m not criticizing his need for a snack.  After all, I brought along an apple and a slice of yogurt cheese.  But a candy bar right before lunch?  And despite (or because of?) these eating habits, Elliott is soon going to turn 100 years old with relatively minor health problems.  What message is this sending?  Should we all start eating like Elliott?  

Celebrating St. Patrick's Day

 

Celebrating St. Patrick’s Day

I’ve never been good at celebrating St. Patrick’s Day.  I don’t have any Irish ancestors.  I don’t like green beer (or any beer, for that matter).  I don’t have anything green to wear.  But I try to get into the spirit of the holiday.  This year, as usual, I didn’t get it quite right.  I was even confused about the date.  When I went into Trader Joe’s last Friday (March 16), they were giving away samples of corned beef so I assumed that was St. Patrick’s Day.  Since I know Elliott’s fond of corned beef, I took a tiny taste.  It was tender, not too stringy, quite tasty, and best of all, pre-cooked (just heat half an hour in the oven).  I went ahead and searched for the smallest packaged corned beef in the store, bought a few potatoes and some shredded cabbage to set out to make a traditional Irish meal for dinner on Friday.  Maybe it wasn’t strictly Irish because I included some French goat cheese along with the milk, butter, and chives when I mashed the potatoes.  Does the sprinkle of caraway seeds I added to the sautéed cabbage, carrots, and onions qualify as an Irish touch?  In any case, Elliott was delighted with his dinner.  It was only later the same evening that I realized St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t until Saturday.  Oh, well.

Our Irish celebration continued on Saturday when Marie-Claude and Peter treated us to St. Patrick’s Day tea at Montpelier Mansion in Laurel, Maryland.  The Georgian mansion is a historic house that dates back to the 1780s.  Before we sat down for tea, we toured the house, which is decorated with period furniture, and walked through the beautiful gardens of the 70-acre estate.  This is all that remains of what was once a 9,000-acre tobacco plantation owned by the Snowden family.  Guests who enjoyed the hospitality of the plantation owners include George Washington and Abigail Addams.  Today, the mansion is a National Historic Landmark.  There is also a separate building that was used as the kitchen, which has been restored.  

Because this was St. Patrick’s Day, a recorder trio (yes, three recorder players) provided a musical accompaniment. In honor of the occasion, I wore teal, the closest I have to green in my wardrobe.  Good company, good tea, and the usual tea-time fare:  those triangles of sandwiches (sans crust), with just a sliver of filling; buttery scones with lemon curd, jam, and clotted cream; and assortment of miniature pastries.  All in all, it was a very lovely way to feel Irish for a day.

Elliott Works Out

 

Elliott Works Out – Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Now that Elliott has started to get his back pain under control (thanks to modern pharmaceuticals), his exuberant spirit has reasserted itself.  At the end of last week, he was feeling so much better that he couldn’t sit still.  I could hardly keep him from tearing around the house with Winnie, his three-wheeler.  He even decided that he wanted to work out with me.  So, on Monday, he became a full-fledged member of Lifetime Fitness, the gym I belong to in Fairfax City.  Wearing his Paris sweatshirt, he pedaled away on a stationary bicycle for about five minutes to warm up his muscles.  Then he went through the stretching exercises his physical therapist had recommended.  Next time, I’ll introduce him to the treadmill.  We’ll try to get to the gym at least three times a week, and we’ve already scheduled a session with a personal trainer.  It will be great to have a workout partner!

March Madness (not the basketball kind)

 

Thursday, March 15, 2012 – March Madness

No, I’m not following the college basketball madness this month.  The March Madness I’m referring to is this incredible spring weather, which has unleashed a frenzy of spring-cleaning aspirations.  My cleaning mantra, developed as I pondered what to do with the brochures and maps of the Tampa Bay area strewn around the back seat of the car:  When in doubt, throw it out!  Of course, I expect that Elliott will invoke a competing mantra:  You might need it someday, so put it away!  (and then forget where you put it.)  We’ve always had conflicting approaches to the retention of possessions.  It remains to be seen whether my aspirations will translate into actual activity.  But this might be a good time to try, since Elliott is distracted by tax preparation. 

This week’s culinary highlight was a Convento (our street) dinner party at our house to celebrate neighbor Anne’s birthday.  Everyone’s contributions made it a huge success.  It was a good excuse for me to try out some ideas inspired by a recent Washington Post feature on macaroni and cheese.  In my version, the would-be retro dish was barely recognizable.  Rigatoni replaced elbows.  Cheddar gave way to gruyere, fontina, and chevre.  Chopped shallots and baby bella mushrooms sautéed with herbes de Provence provided additional flavor and texture.  The consensus was overwhelmingly positive, but I won’t be making it again anytime soon.  It has way too many calories, too much fat, and too many carbs. 

The Convento crew convened again, quite spontaneously, late Wednesday afternoon, on the Traynors’ front lawn, to celebrate the gorgeous weather.  Daffodils are nodding their approval of the warmer than usual temperatures for early March.  The neighborhood is adorned with lush magnolia blossoms, delicate cherry blossoms, and the occasional white flowers of the Bradford pear (which look pretty but stink like garbage left out too long).  The forsythia and azaleas will be out soon.  Before the month is over, I must find time to walk around the Tidal Basin in DC to admire the clouds of pink and white cherry blossoms, although it’s always a challenge to avoid bumping into the slow strollers. 

Today we have another doctor’s appointment for Elliott at the pain center.  His natural reticence about taking medication makes it hard to keep the pain under control.  I haven’t convinced him yet to keep to an every 8-hour schedule, even if it means setting the alarm clock to get up at 6 a.m. to swallow a pill.  Once he takes the medication, his pain eventually goes away.  He is also doing his stretching exercises more regularly since he feels that they are beneficial.  In fact, Elliott surprised me today by mentioning that he’d like to find out about joining my health club.  It would really motivate me to workout if he joined me there.   

And tonight will be Heritage Night at Annandale High School, an annual event showcasing performances by students from a variety of ethnic backgrounds.  Every year, many of the ESOL students participate.  I’ll be there as a volunteer, helping out in whatever capacity I can, and I’m sure I’ll see many of my former students there.  Look for details in my next post. 

What a Week!

 

Saturday, March 10, 2012 – What a Week!

What a week this has been – full of people, activities, and changes, including the weather.  Lots going on, but not much sustained time for reflection or writing.  Finally catching up on Saturday afternoon. 

Without a doubt, it’s been a week of schizophrenic weather – one day like spring, the next day like winter, then back to spring again. On Monday, the daffodils were shivering, the mini-snowflakes were dancing, and I got to try out the new North Face gloves I bought at REI’s end of season sale.  Then the temperatures started climbing again, and by Thursday, I was wearing sandals.  No matter what the calendar says, the forsythia, cherry trees, and azaleas are firmly convinced that it’s time to make an appearance.  Now Saturday, it’s back to winter-like temperatures, climbing only to the mid-40s, but it’s winter with a benevolent demeanor, thanks to abundant sunshine and calm air. 

There are plenty of robins hopping around outside, and the cardinals are back.  I bet they’re wondering when we’re going to re-stock the bird feeder.  (Elliott, I hope you’re reading this.)  Our neighborhood fox was sitting in our backyard a couple of days ago.  He looked so plump that I barely recognized him.  I saw him again yesterday, trotting across the road, perfectly nonchalant.  The hawks are out, too.  From the living room window, we saw a hawk swoop down into the bushes, in search of a tasty lunch. 

It hasn’t been an easy week for Elliott.  Along with ongoing back pain, he’s been battling a bad cold for several days.  It finally seems to be loosening its grip, but he’s kept his activities to a minimum.  We’re always very concerned when he gets a cold.  With his COPD, it could so easily turn into pneumonia.  We have to treat it aggressively from the very beginning.  In fact, we always keep preventive antibiotics on hand, including when we travel.  The new pain medication wasn’t as effective as we hoped when he was taking it twice a day, so he’s now increased the frequency to three times a day.  So far, he’s happy with the results. 

Elliott’s condition, which changes even more often than the weather, is a preoccupation for both of us.  All of our activities and plans revolve around how he feels. While he remains the focal point of my life, I’ve also had to devote more of my attention to my mother.  She’s eighty-five now and still in remarkable physical condition.  Unfortunately, her memory is seriously impaired.  She is quite content in her independent living apartment at Greenspring, but she requires more and more daily reminders, and I make more frequent visits to see her.  Within the not too distant future, I expect that she’ll be moving into an assisted living unit.

As each day came to an end this past week, I realized that a 24-hour period of time is never sufficient for what I have to do, or want to do.  Therefore, I’m experimenting with a new unit of time as an alternative to the 24-hour day.  Expanding a day from 24 to 48 hours alleviates a lot of stress.  Aside from important time-specific commitments, such as a doctor’s appointment, I now have twice as much time to get through my to-do list, guilt-free.  Maybe it’s just a matter of lowering expectations, or being realistic, but I think my new conception of time has made me much happier with my day-to-day life.  I’m still searching for a name for this 48-hour time period.  Here are some ideas I’m considering, in addition to the obvious double-day: biday (not to be confused with bidet); tway (two + day); forater (4-8-er); 48-er; a dayz.  Let me know if you have any suggestions.

When it comes to making long-range plans, especially related to travel, I have to remind myself to exercise restraint.  For example, there’s a 5-day fused glass workshop in early June, somewhere between Buffalo and Rochester, New York.  I would love to go, but instead, I just signed up for a two-day fused glass workshop at the Workhouse Arts Center, 30 minutes from our house.  Elliott would love to travel again – to California, Norway, France – but it may not be possible.  That’s why we’re really glad that so many friends and family members are coming here to help him celebrate his 100^th birthday at the end of May. 

One very bright note this week was Elisa’s visit.  She came primarily to see an old friend who was briefly in town.  However, I was able to fill an important gap in her culinary education by taking her to an Ethiopian restaurant.  She loved the crispy samboussa with its hearty lentil filling, and she was quite enthusiastic about the different vegetarian dishes we sampled.  On the other hand, she found the look and the texture of the injera (the sponge-like Ethiopian flatbread) a little unappetizing.  I initially shared her opinion.  I still have to consciously tell myself to stop thinking “dirty sponge” when I tear off a piece of the bread.  We loved the Ethiopian coffee – very strong, in tiny cups – and ended the meal by sharing baklava.  (Note to self:  must stop eating pastry!)

I’ve noticed that I’m turning into something of a night owl now that I no longer have to get up before dawn.  I no longer automatically dismiss evening activities, and I’ve discovered that it can be fun going out to play in the dark.  On Tuesday, Gale and I went to a presentation on Jewish meditation at the DCJCC.  We also stopped at a highly recommended gelato shop called Pitango.  I don’t normally indulge in ice cream, but the passion fruit sorbet and the chocolate hazelnut gelato were worth the calories.  (Note to self:  must stop eating ice cream!)  On Wednesday evening, I attended the Purim celebration at Beth El.  Elliott wasn’t feeling energetic enough to join me, but I decided to go on my own.  Of course, I couldn’t bypass the hamantaschen (a triangular filled pastry) after the service.  However, I limited myself to one, even though there were several flavors. 

Elliott and I were both at Beth El for Shabbat services last night, and I didn’t get to bed until nearly midnight.  Fortunately, I’ve trained my body and mind to sleep 8 hours, regardless of when I go to sleep.  My main objective this morning was to get over to the gym to do some serious calorie burning.  There will be no more procrastinating when it comes to exercise.  It’s time to shed those post-retirement pounds I’ve put on.  In order to do this, calories expended must be greater than calories consumed.  So how many calories does it take to burn up a square of 85% dark chocolate? 

Robin Goes to a Sports Bar

 

Sunday, March 3, 2012 – Robin Goes to a Sports Bar

Retirement is the time for new experiences, so I decided to venture into a sports bar for the first time in my 61 years.  I’m doing this for research purposes only, you understand.  My friend, Cheryl, called me yesterday to ask if I’d like to join her there to watch a Michigan State basketball game.  It seems she’s a Michigan State alum, and an avid fan.  Personally, I’ve never watched a basketball game (college or NBA) in my life, but the idea of watching one in a sports bar intrigued me, so I said I’d give it a try.

But first, for this morning’s activity – I was going to write I took Elliott out for a walk after breakfast, but that sounds too much like I was walking a dog, which wasn’t the case at all.  In fact, I was truly pleased that he asked me to go out to the mall so he could walk there before the stores opened.  The flat and temperature controlled conditions are perfect for him.  Since this would be my exercise too, I prepared for our outing by eating not one, but two breakfasts.  Well, actually make that three, if you count the leftover shrimp lo mein that called out to me so plaintively just before we left the house. 

Meanwhile, Elliott has become an avid reader, thanks to technology.  Since he can change the size of the font on his Kindle, he no longer has to struggle with a magnifying glass.  As soon as we got back from the mall, he sat down at the table in the family room where the daylight was pouring in.  He took a brief mid-day break for lunch, then went right back to reading.  I can understand why he’s so engrossed.  He’s reading Stephen King’s 11/22/63, a novel I read on my Kindle Fire while we were in Florida.  It’s highly addictive.  By the way, it’s the first Stephen King novel I’ve ever read, and I was quite pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed it. 

And now for the report on my afternoon at the sports bar.  First of all, I had to consider what to wear.  I was aiming for the casual sportif look – specifically, blue jeans and t-shirt or sweatshirt with college or team logo; not too much make-up or jewelry.  Unfortunately, my Wisconsin shirt was in the laundry so I had to settle for a plain black jersey top.  At least I wouldn’t alienate any of the patrons by supporting the “wrong” team.  I thought of bringing along my Kindle (in case I got bored), but decided that I should focus on observing and taking notes on the phenomenon of communal sports viewing in the sports bar setting.   The site of my case study was a sports bar that bears the improbable name of Buffalo Wing University.  I can’t quite figure that out, probably because I’ve never understood exactly what a buffalo wing was.   Anyway, BWU is located in Fairfax City, not far from the campus of George Mason University.  I have driven past it on numerous occasions, but today was my first opportunity to go inside. 

The exterior of BWU could best be described as modernist strip-mall.  As for the interior, design motifs reflected the local college and professional sports teams and the beverages favored by the viewers of the games.  Staring me in the face in the entranceway was an enormous Redskins football helmet painted on a burgundy wall.  A giant inflated plastic beer bottle floated over my head.  Furniture, including bar, bar stools, tables, and chairs, was primarily dark wood.   Flooring was nondescript, probably chosen for ease of cleaning.  Lighting (both natural and artificial) was minimal.  Multiple television monitors predominated.  The screens came in three sizes – large, larger, and largest. 

Obviously, no one goes to a sports bar for the décor.  They come for the camaraderie, to share their enthusiasm for their favorite teams, and to drink and eat.  Speaking of food, you don’t have to look at the menu to know that a lot of frying takes place here.  The odor in BWU made that perfectly clear.  Out of curiosity, I perused the menu to see how many fried items were available:  French fries, curly fries, fried mozzarella sticks, fried zucchini sticks, fried onion rings, corn dogs, chicken fingers.  In addition, the menu featured burgers, subs, the ubiquitous pizza, and of course, wings.  A whole section of the menu was devoted to various “buffalo” sauces to adorn said wings.  As expected, there was a distinct dearth of vegetarian options.  Eventually, I ordered a small pizza (whole grain crust not available, sigh).  It seemed the least offensive choice.  But Cheryl made up for my restraint by ordering stuffed potato skins (with bacon, cheddar cheese, and sour cream) and fried onion rings.  As for drinks, I’m sure our waiter was disappointed when I ordered a glass of iced tea rather than a pitcher of foam-topped beer.  But in the interest of professional research, I couldn’t let my judgment become impaired. 

Now for the sports bar patrons.  BWU started to fill up shortly after Cheryl and I arrived.  Cheryl and I were clearly double the age of the average viewer.  Nearly everyone’s attention seemed focused on the George Mason game, which coincided with the Michigan State game.  The largest group of patrons congregated in the bar area although about a dozen formed a separate viewing party at a long table in front of a mammoth television screen.  We could hear occasional shouts, whoops, cheers and applause as the games progressed.   But I certainly wouldn’t describe the crowd as rowdy. 

Part way through the second quarter, I decided that I’d gathered enough information for my research.  I surrendered my green and white pompom (loaned to me by Cheryl), packed up my notebook (and my uneaten pizza), and went home while Michigan State was still ahead of Ohio State and George Mason was still trailing VCU.  As far as the eventual outcome, I’ll check later online – maybe.  But the next time I get an email from the Wisconsin Alumni Association inviting me to a Badger viewing party, I might just go.  On the other hand, maybe I'll make this a once-in-a-lifetime experience. 

Rainy Morning in March

 

Saturday, March 3, 2012 – Rainy Morning

Rainy mornings have their own particular charms.  To be honest, when I went out shortly after 7, it was more of a very light sprinkle than a steady rain.  The sky was a patchwork in subtle shades of gray.  There was the gentle patter of raindrops cascading from the bare limbs of the trees.  Since it’s Saturday, the squirrels seemed to be sleeping in.  But the bird chorus was in robust voice.  I wish I could recognize the different bird calls.  There was one that I’d never heard before, a single clear note from high in the tree tops, every three seconds or so.  Of course, the poor worms were stretched out on the driveway again.  I wonder if they’re dead or alive.  I should go back out and check later today to see if they’ve moved. 

But first, it was time for a favorite rainy day tradition:  breakfast by candlelight.  I lit the tall ivory pillar candle on the family room table and brought my oatmeal and tea.  I couldn’t convince Elliott to join me, but WETA provided a musical accompaniment.  I still find myself amazed at how a composer with whom I share no common language can speak to me so clearly through music. 

The best news of the day is that Elliott’s latest medication seems to be taking hold against the pain.  If we can keep the pain under control, we can both turn our attention to more cheerful matters, such as visiting family and friends, going into DC for museums and plays, planning the big birthday celebration, and even taking another trip.  I just heard a plane overhead and it made me think of all the places we want to go. 

In the more immediate future, my brother will be arriving shortly from New York for a brief visit.  And later today, we’ll be celebrating Matt’s 25^th birthday with dinner at one of his favorite restaurants, P.F. Chang’s. 

Goodbye, Guilt. Hello, New Day.

 

Thursday, March 1, 2012 – Goodbye, Guilt; Hello, New Day

I lingered in bed this morning until the sun kissed my eyelids awake.  Then I stretched for several minutes, without a single glance at the clock.  The guilt is gone! 

Now it’s time for a ritual I started a few years ago that I’ve been neglecting lately.  I’ve found that it’s important for me to get outside each day as soon as possible after I wake up.  Just looking out the window doesn’t work.  This is what I do:  First, I fling open the door and rush out into the fresh air.  In the first moments, I stand and say a quiet prayer, one that I learned many years ago as a young child.  Then I close my eyes and listen closely to the day.  Birds, many different birds, each with its individual voice, share their joy with me.  There are other sounds I hear, maybe the low hum of distant traffic, the clanks and growls from machinery on an adjacent street, a dog barking, the rush of leaves in the wind.  Keeping my eyes closed, I concentrate on my other senses, one at a time.  I breathe in deeply through my nostrils to bring in the scent of the new day.  Some days smell of budding spring flowers or newly mulched gardens while others carry the lingering aroma of fires on a wintry night.  Then I open my mouth and take a good gulp of the morning air.  I drink it in and imagine the flavors swirling over my tongue.  Then I take time to focus on the way this day feels.  I open myself to the weather without judgment, even if it’s cold, or raining, or blustery.  I try to be aware of how it plays with my skin and my hair, tickling or caressing, assaulting or biting.  Whatever it is, I become part of it.  Finally, it’s time to open my eyes again.  I take plenty of time to gather in all details that I might otherwise overlook.  I’m mindful of the quality of the light, and any stillness or movement.  Today was one of those freshly scrubbed mornings that often follows a period of rain.  The air was crystalline clear.  Everywhere I looked, I saw finely drawn edges and popping colors.  Slowly, slowly, I turned around, all 360 degrees.  I could see how the light and shadows change.  On certain days, the sunrise paints colors along the horizon.  I remind myself to look down, too.  Today, the driveway was patterned with ribbons of bloated pink worms.  Then I raise my face towards the heavens and look up.  This morning, I soared to the bare treetops circling the fragile blue dome of the sky.   When I’m ready, I bring my gaze back to earth.  I smile, or even laugh out loud.  I’m part of the new day now. 

This simple ritual takes only a few minutes each morning, but it makes a huge difference to my psychological state.  The day turned out to be busy with plenty of driving around for errands and doctors’ appointments.  Elliott and I were in the car at 10 and didn’t finish up our activities until 4.  It was such a pleasure to go to Wegman’s on a weekday rather than battle the crowds on Saturday or Sunday.  Elliott saw his doctor at the pain clinic today and started a new series of injections.  He also has a prescription for a different pain medication which he’ll start tomorrow.  We’re cautiously optimistic.  Nothing he’s tried so far seems to bring any significant relief.  Until someone develops a procedure for a back replacement, he may have to suffer.  The pain was so severe that it prevented him from sitting outside for a social hour with our neighbors later in the afternoon.   Pain, pain, go away.