Breathing

Round and round the earth is turning

turning always into morning

and from morning round to night.

Those are the words to a little song we learned to sing in elementary school. I've been thinking about it this week as autumn is making her presence felt. In the morning there is darkness until it's time to leave for work and the shadows begin to lengthen before supper is even on the table. There's a chill in the air and last night the furnace roared to life for the first time since March.

Every year the approaching winter – it's scarcity of light and warmth – becomes a little bit more of a struggle for me. So, that little song has been on my mind.

Since I am powerless to change the season, my only option is to change myself.

Maybe what I need is a new perspective. The way I'm accustomed to thinking about the seasons is by the movement and circling that the Earth reveals. It's simple to see how the seasons move round and round but maybe there's another way to understand – perhaps the seasons are the Earth's rhythm of breathing in and breathing out.

In the Spring, the world could be beginning to breathe in. There is a collective lightness – a time when the Earth expands, a time when the soul broadens and widens. New life is drawn inward. Upward. Outward.

Perhaps Fall is just the Earth exhaling. There is a turning. A coming home. A restful quiet. In a certain sense there is a dying of expectation and an anticipation of some kind of inward work that will rest, strengthen and prepare us to take a new breath again in a few months time.

Right now, I'm feeling the need to get back to the most basic things that are fulfilling and life giving. I need to pray. To breathe. To meditate. To listen. To be gentle with myself and, most importantly, return to the source of my hope:

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

– Romans 8: 38-39

Breathe in. Breathe out.

A Hard Won Truce

In case you don't recognize the black blob on the left side of the photo – it's Oliver's head.

Yes, he's sleeping. And we can all exhale now. . .

Friday Conundrums

What's new, you ask?

:: As of yesterday, Izzy is up to a whopping 2.6 pounds. That's a pound in three weeks. The vet said she's doing well, but noticed her lack of, shall we say, manners and boundaries.

Conundrum – How can something that weighs less than one of my shoes have the whole house wrapped around her little paw? Don't believe that's true? I'm trying to get photographic evidence of her favorite new pastime – laying on the couch with Oliver and chewing his tail! As if that weren't evidence enough of her ability to charm and tame, he is more gentle with her than he is with me!

:: I need a haircut. If you've ever had a really good haircut from a sweet gay man who made you feel that the haircut he was giving you made you younger and cuter you know the issue. He moved to Georgia.

Conundrum – Short of a roadtrip to the Peach State, where do I go in Findlay for a young, cute haircut? (That doesn't cost a whole paycheck!)

:: For fear of jinxing myself by actually writing about it and ruining it, I've been exercising and eating healthier for the last few weeks. Since I only weigh myself about as often as Fox News does an unbiased story, I know that in the last decade or so, I've lost about seven pounds. I've really always wanted to run so I started the Couch to 5K program, designed to get you off your ass very gently. So far I've done the first two weeks and I'm loving it. I don't so much love the running part but I think that will come. What I love right now is how proud of myself I feel when I set a goal and really push myself to finish. Now, the problem. My left knee hurts. A lot. Like, so much that when I go down a step it feels like it might not hold me up.

Conundrum – I don't want to stop running. But I also want to be able to walk. My insurance deductibles are so high it would put me in the poorhouse to get it checked out, just to have them say, "Don't run." What do I do?

:: My boss keeps changing my hours. Three months ago I got my day shortened by an hour. That got me home from cleaning around 5:30 with plenty of time to eat and still exercise in the evening. In a week, I have to go in a half hour later every morning, but add an hour to the end of the day. Translation - by the time I eat dinner it will be close to 7:30 and I will be too tired to exercise.

Conundrum – What to do? Obviously the answer is exercise in the morning, but the track where I've been running and doing stadium steps doesn't open until 7:00 am. I like the routine I'm in and now it's all going to have to change. And, all I'm getting out of the deal is 2.5 hours of pay (which is still 2.5 hours less than I was getting three months ago). And that's not enough to cover a membership at the Y where everything is open in the morning. . .And just plain old walking doesn't raise my heart rate enough to be all that effective as an exercise. And what if I can't run anymore because it hurts my knee so much? Blah. . .blah. . .blah. . .

So, there you have it. All the petty, whiny, unimportant stuff that's on my mind this first Friday of fall. Aren't you glad you asked?

EDIT

:: I finished this post and pressed publish before leaving the house for work. Going to the back door to let the dogs in, I was greeted by Oliver who had the body of a headless squirrel hanging out of his mouth. He was on a post-kill high and insistently tried to bring it in the house.

Conundrum – Will I forget about this horror by tonight when he's all cuddly on the couch and tries to give kisses?? What a way to start a Friday. . .

Even Bigger Conundrum – Why did I ever think a hunting dog would make a good pet??

Where I Am

Looking from a distance,
our roads mimic the drifting lines on an old map.
I squint to bring even the smallest
parts of the journey into focus.

There are trails and dirt paths and dead ends and one-way streets
that lead from east to west.
From here to there.

There is potential and promise;
hunger and thirst.

There are washouts and flatlines;
heartbreaks and near misses.

Occasionally, an almost there.

Still, I continue to lean in –
closing my eyes.

Looking for home.

Ice Cream Kindness

Living within a few blocks of Dairy Queen can be dangerous. Last night I was tired and cranky. I just wanted a little bit of ice cream. But, I wanted something better than DQ soft serve. Only Dietsch's was going to do. Since the ice cream was a reward for working out every day for the previous six days I decided not to completely un-do myself by driving to Dietsch's. Instead, we put our shoes and walked.

It was a good choice. My crankiness began to drain away. I ordered a single scoop of praline pecan in a cup, Ali ordered a milkshake, and as we were waiting I looked up as the door chime jingled. I recognized the older man who walked in. Several years earlier he had been employed at the warehouse where I clean. I knew he had very little money and even less education. That year, the day before Christmas he stopped me in the warehouse to wish me happy holidays. He dug in his pocket and handed me a Speedway coupon for a free cup of coffee with the words, "Merry Christmas to you! I saved my Speedway points all year so I could give everyone free coffee for Christmas."

That's the kind of creative generosity that really touches me.

He looked at me in the ice cream shop, but without recognition. The janitor is hard to place without the cart and the bucket. As I paid for our desserts I leaned toward the cashier and told him I wanted to pay for the older man's order who was in line behind me as well. I asked him to keep it a secret but to make sure he wasn't charged by anyone else.

As we walked out the door I turned to see the cashier, grinning and telling his co-workers not to charge the man in the blue t-shirt.

I don't have any idea how it turned out. I do wonder however, who got more out of it – me, John or the kid behind the counter.

We walked home slowly, enjoying the ice cream treat but enjoying the feeling of the surprise of being anonymously kind even more.

Expansion and Contraction

It was about 45 degrees yesterday morning when I pulled out the long sleeved shirt and pants to go for a walk. For months it's been all shorts and t-shirts, but fall is announcing itself in the shorter days, in the blankets that have appeared all around the house and in the colors of the neighborhood trees.

I set out yesterday morning for the stadium to walk the steps but when I arrived there was already activity inside. They were putting the finishing touches on preparations for the afternoon football game – I could already smell the charcoal scent of grilling and hear the hammer strikes as they raised the VIP tents.

A bit disappointed that I was going to have to just walk instead of sweat a bit more on the steps, I took a route I don't normally take around the city. The sky was perfectly blue, not a cloud in sight. The sun was beginning to warm me up and I started thinking about fall.

I'm a person who's more comfortable with expansion in my life than I am with contraction. I love the stretched out days of summer with hours and hours of daylight. The enormous number of choices that being outside offers insure that I am almost never bored. As the days shorten and turn colder I find myself, both mentally and physically desiring to spin a cocoon. Wanting to hibernate. Dreading winter.

As I turned the corner, thinking about expansion and contraction, I headed down a sidewalk lined with stately old maple trees. They formed a canopy over the entire street. The light peeking through was filtered to a beautiful red-gold and as I looked up I could see patches of blue sky peeking through. In that exact moment, the breeze blew just enough to shower me in hundreds of red maple leaves. I stopped, looked to the sky and let them fall all around me.

Expansion and contraction. Green moves to red. Light moves to darkness. Soul warming heat moves to a bone numbing chill.

Outward moves to inward.

Perhaps these are the rhythms of life.

A Good Weekend

"When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say, "I used everything you gave me."

– Erma Bombeck

I would like to be able to add the word love to that.

Have a good weekend.

A Picture of Grace

This is exactly what grace looks like. I could make a whole sermon out of this clip. How many times have we been that little girl? And how many times has God wrapped his arms around us anyway?

In a post-game interview the Dad said this about his little girl –

"We play catch at home a lot. She was only doing what came naturally. I think she was startled by the reaction of the fans around us — there was a collective gasp," said Monforto. "She was also startled by the look on my face. I just wanted to let her know it was OK — that she didn't do anything wrong."

A picture of God. And us. And what God wants to do if we will just allow it.

Now, if only all real Dads were always this way. . .

Do I Look Like Your Mother??

Another Izzy story. . .

She has this behavior that I found puzzling at first. Mornings are the closest that this cat comes to being loving – and even then the word loving or cuddly is a stretch. It's more like her idea of being tender is to use her claws to climb up your leg and then stand on your lap, bitching at the top of her lungs. Whatever works I guess. I've had a cats before and they aren't the most interactively devoted animals.

Lately, her morning routine has begun to include stretching out on my lap on her side. She takes the bottom of my shirt, near the waist and licks it until there's a huge, drippy spot. All the while she just lays there and purrs like she's the most contented animal in the world. I think it's kind of disgusting but I get to read my email in peace. Besides that, I reassured myself by thinking that as long as she's not using my leg as a climbing post it's fine by me.

And then it dawned on me what she's doing.

She's looking for a boob.

And then an even more horrifying thought began to occur. If something doesn't give soon she's gonna be able to find a boob down there near my waist. . .

I'm just sayin'.

Wordless Wednesday

Band Geek

Once a band geek, always a band geek I guess.

When I went down to the stadium to walk and climb the stadium steps last night, the high school band was using the field for practice. It immediately made me nostalgic. Band was the place where I fit in best. It was where my friends were and it was with those people that I experienced all the magical – or horrifying, depending on your perspective – coming of age events.

Just like any sports team, we rehearsed every day, spent a week together at summer camp and then spent every fall weekend traveling somewhere. Just about all of my high school memories are with one band geek or another.

As I circled the track last night I turned off my iPod so I could listen and I remembered how tedious marching rehearsal could be. Move eight beats. Listen to the director tell you everything you did wrong. Reset. Moved eight beats. Listen. Reset. Ad infinitum. Let the whining begin. That part really isn't all that much fun.

As I was walking I also remembered how annoying it was that the people who played percussion were pretty much exempt from the tedium. Since they move around the field less than the rest of the band, during rehearsals they took off their instruments and basically stood around, annoying the hell out of everyone else. Last night I watched them throw their sticks at each other, lay on the grass pretending to nap while everyone else was sweating and marching, exasperating the field commander as they made fun of her. . .oh wait, maybe that's a memory of mine sneaking in there. . .

Last night I watched the kid with not much rhythm try and keep up. I watched the arrogant kid argue about who should get the trumpet solo. I saw the crybaby kid really working it as she tried to get out of rehearsal because she said her ankle hurt. I watched the director try to keep his cool as lots and lots of people just weren't getting what he was trying to do.

It's been at least 25 years since I was down on that field, but I remembered as I watched that some things never change.

Band Geeks Unite!

Small Mysteries

I got a note that it was getting entirely too serious around these parts lately so today I'm going to lighten up just a little bit. . .

There are just a few mysteries that I would like to solve in my lifetime, with the first one being why public bathroom doors open in. Seriously! Think about it. You lean on the door with your shoulder to open it. Then, when your hands are clean on the way out you have to grab the handle to exit, and who knows how many people have touched what without washing. . . It grosses me out and I can't understand why some commercial construction designer doesn't figure this out.

Then again, maybe he doesn't wash. . .

A couple of other mysterious questions plague me and they have to do with food. I know I'm not alone in this one because I've asked other people and they agree.

Why do regular Cheerios, when they are floating in milk, smell like a urinal? You would think the food scientists at General Mills would have noticed that sometime in the last 62 years.

Why does cream of tomato soup smell like vomit? I've written about that one before.

My newest small mystery confronted me this weekend. It also involves food. I've been reading and hearing quite a lot about Greek yogurt. There's all kinds of buzz about how it has twice as much protein as regular yogurt, how it's thicker and creamier and has just a little bit of tang to it. Sounded like a winner to me. I don't like things excessively sweet. I don't really like the texture of regular yogurt because it's too thin and I thought the extra protein might help me not have that crash I usually do between breakfast and lunch.

So, when doing my grocery shopping on Saturday, I got two small containers – one vanilla and one blueberry. They cost twice as much as the regular stuff but I splurged, hoping they would justify themselves by being at least twice as good.

Yesterday I cracked open the vanilla, stirred it up and took a big bite.

Why would anyone want to eat anything that tastes exactly. like. vomit?

At first, I thought it must just be me. There's no way a real company would try and sell anything vomit flavored – other than jellybeans marketed at eight year old boys. Then I thought that maybe it only tastes like my vomit since I would clearly have no clue as to what another's vomit might taste like. . .and that I'm undoubtedly the only person in the world who is having this problem with this yogurt.

So I did what all wired, lazy Americans do when confronted with such a mystery. I googled Stonyfield+greek+yogurt+vomit.

I'm not alone. She has this issue. And so do they. I could go on. Or you could google it for yourself. Or, you could just take my word for it.

And, unless you're an eight year old boy, I would recommend that you avoid Oikos Vanilla Greek Yogurt. Anyone interested in taking the blueberry container off my hands?

Cheap?

Free?

Anyone. . .

Let Us Pray

Every morning on my way to work I pass this row of sunflowers. They are majestic – easily eight feet tall, standing in a perfect line. As the summer has progressed into early fall the towering, seed-laden flowers have begun to bow, as if before their creator. Each day as I pass I whisper to myself, "Let us pray."

"The freshness of my eyes is given to me in prayer."

– attributed to the Prophet Muhammad

Remembering

Every year on September 11th I think it will be the year that I don't feel quite so lost. I think it will be the year that I don't ask at least one person, "Where were you eight years ago today?" and then share stories. Every year I hope it will hurt less.

Yesterday, through a strange series of seemingly unrelated events on Facebook, I was reconnected with someone who I went to New York City in December of 2001 with to do volunteer listening sessions with people traumatized in the attacks. I wrote about those memories here. I hadn't seen her since we returned home from that week of volunteering. I remembered that she had witnessed the most unexpected miracle while we were there. And, late last night, after finding each other on Facebook and sharing our stories again, I asked if she would be willing to share her miracle with you.

Tink's Ground Zero Christmas Miracle

by Tink Martin

Yes. This is a true story...

Back in 2001, I was at the University of Michigan in the MSW/Ph.D. program. My life had been in major turmoil for several years, and I was desperately hanging onto what remained of my sanity.

That December, I was asked if I would go to Ground Zero for the week before Christmas to offer counseling services. I did, and it was an interesting time, to say the least. I've not spent that much time in NYC, but there was a pall over everything. The whole city was still in shock and mourning.

Part of my time was spent at Ground Zero, counseling coroners, firefighters, police and volunteer rescue workers. You could still smell death in the air, and it's a smell I will NEVER forget. Windows were blown out for blocks around. Businesses were gone: You could look right into restaurants and see where people had run out and left their lunch behind. It was exhausting, but personally rewarding, but with so much grief hanging over everyone and everything, I found myself wondering by the end of the week if I was making a difference... If what I was doing mattered at all.

The rest of my time in NYC was spent offering counseling at a nearby church. We had a sandwich board outside, and counseled folks who walked in off the street. There were several of us there to handle this service, ready to greet those in need when they entered the church.

My last day in the city, I was serving at the church. I was sitting there that morning asking myself the "am I making a difference" questions, when in walked a young man. He was obviously in crisis. He had no coat, and his face was an image of total despair. I greeted him gently, and he walked into the interior of the church, sat in a pew and began to pray. I waited a while, then approached him to see if he would like to talk.

The words poured out of him... He had beaten a crack addiction. His lover had left him. He had no job. He had been out of touch with his only family, his father, for several years, as the new stepmother didn't like him. And now that he wanted to try to re-connect with his father, he couldn't find him anywhere. He told me that he was ready to give up. That he had no more to give and that there was simply nothing left to live for or care about.

Now you have to keep in mind that I am NOT a religious person, but I am very, very spiritual. We talked about having faith, and about finding the strength to go on. We talked for about an hour. He asked me what he should do. I thought for a minute, and all of a sudden I heard myself saying, "Your hardships have built in you the strength you need to continue, but it's your faith that will take you where you need to go. You need to believe you will find what you seek. I believe it. I believe what you seek is just around the corner."

We hugged, and I let him know that I would be leaving the city the next day, but that he could always return to the church and talk to others. I watched him leave, but couldn't get him out of my mind.

Right before 5 PM, I heard the church door open. None of the counselors were busy right then, so I didn't even look up, as I knew someone else was greeting the person who had entered. I heard my mentor and co-counselor Pat say, "Yes. She's right over there." I looked up, and saw someone walking towards me, tall and straight, his face literally glowing with a beatific smile. I stood to greet the man, and was gathered in an embrace.

He was talking a mile a minute, laughing and crying at the same time, and I finally realized it was my client from early morning! He didn't look like the same person at all! He was wearing a warm coat, new clean clothes, he was freshly showered and OH! That SMILE!!!!!!

And here is what he told me: He had left the church after our morning talk, thinking about what I had said. He went around the corner to a little diner and sat down to have a cup of coffee. As he sat there, he heard a familiar voice. He turned around, and there was his father. At first, he thought he was delirious... that his father wasn't really there. But all of a sudden, the man he spotted hurried towards him and wrapped his arms around him.

It turns out that the evil stepmother was no longer in the picture, dad regretted his actions, and had been trying to find his son in the city for months. With the young man's life in such upheaval, he had had no phone or permanent address for quite a while, so was impossible to locate.

His father took him Christmas shopping, took him to the hotel where he was staying so that he could shower and get into his new clothes. They were now on their way to dinner, but the young man asked his father if they could stop by the church in hopes that I would be there. He had bought me a gift, and he wanted to tell me what had happened, and to let me know that he would never, ever lose faith again, no matter what transpired in his life.

I was flabbergasted, to say the least. All the other counselors and I had been discussing the young man all day, hoping the best for him, but being very concerned about his well being. They were all watching this exchange with amazement, to say the least.

As the young man hugged me goodbye, he said that I had saved his life. I told him that I hadn't, but perhaps had just shown him that he already possessed what he needed to save his own life.

As he was opening the door to leave, I said to him, "I'll always remember you, but I don't even know your name!" He turned and looked at me, the evening light glowing around his head, and softly said, "My name is Angel, and I will never forget you."

This experience changed my life. I think of Angel often, but especially around Christmas. I hope he is doing well...

Dreams and Dollars

Yesterday, while I was cleaning the warehouse I had a conversation with the facility manager. I walked into his office to empty the trash and he was staring at his computer screen. He's a guy I like – always friendly, seems fair, quite funny and outgoing. He's the man in charge. He makes good money I'm sure, but his stress level always seems quite high.

The conversation went something like this.

Me (walking in his office): Afternoon!

M: (kinda distracted): Hello. How are you?

Me: I'm pretty good. You?

M (long pause while he thinks about it): I'd be better if I won the lottery.

Me (laughing): Wouldn't we all?

M (looking up so he can tell me a story): A while ago I watched a documentary about people who won the lottery. There was this one guy who was getting a divorce when he won. He paid off his wife's debts, gave her a house and quit his job. Now he's working at becoming a pro golfer.

Me (smiling): Well, why not? Seems like a good way to reinvent yourself if you have the means to do it.

There was a long pause as we both were thoughtful.

M (looking over the top of his computer screen): Reinvent yourself. Now there's a good way to describe it. (looking around his office) You know, when I was a kid, it wasn't like this was the job I dreamed about.

Me (holding up two bags of trash in front of me): Ummm. . .yeah. Me either.

M: When exactly was it that we stopped dreaming and started just making a living?

This encounter stirred up a lot of things in me. Things I'm having trouble sorting out. First, it brings up all the feelings I have about being a "janitor." Janitor is the last way I define myself. It's not something I'm ashamed of but it's also the only way about 45 people in the world have to define me - the people who see me every day cleaning up their urine, picking their gum out of the toilet and mopping up their food spills.

Yet, on another level I am quite proud that, five years ago when I was unemployed and scared, I took charge of my future and started a small cleaning company. I could have crumpled up and quit, but when the only job offer I had was to sell printing for a ridiculously small commission I said no thanks and decided to sell my own skills instead. It worked. I didn't lose everything. The company grew.

Yeah, I'm a janitor. No, it's not something I ever dreamed about, but it's also not the only thing I do with my life.

Then, on another level, that conversation stirred up all kinds of feelings about what I am really called to do with my life. I think I've written here before about my personal mission statement, written years ago.

"To reclaim, reconnect and restore faith and justice issues with those

whom my life intersects."

It's still what I believe is supposed to define me as a person. In my most honest moments I know that I still deeply mourn the loss of the church that we created as a community of faith and hope. It was what I was born to do. It was what I was created to do. It was also the most heartbreakingly difficult thing I have ever done.

Doing church - creating a community of those who want to find and follow Jesus despite our brokenness, pride and fear is the closest thing I will ever come to experiencing a miracle. I remember one particular Sunday, looking out from the front of that little church, seeing 60 or so faces, mostly people who had given up on God, and being overwhelmed that we had been able to reclaim God together. I was humbled. And joyful.

As I sit here trying to finish this post that I've grappled with for three days, I struggle with dreaming and cleaning toilets and writing sermons and finding joy and looking for hope and reinventing myself – and tears are dripping into my keyboard.

So, when exactly was it that we stopped dreaming and started making a living?

There are no easy answers to that question.

Just A Smile

Looking at this does not make me smile.


The best I can do when I look at my cleaning cart every day is try to remember that it provides the means to my monthly mortgage payment. I don't exactly smile, but I am thankful.

But, today I was reminded how really small things can matter.

As I was pushing my cart through the warehouse one of the shift workers came down the same aisle as me. He was driving a tow motor and stopped beside me. I smiled and said hi and he said, "I've been looking for you! I was afraid I was going to miss seeing you today."

"Why is that?" I asked and his answer gave me pause.

"Because," he said. "Some days you're the only person who ever smiles at me."

Very humble, God moment.

Thinking About

"I will pitch my tent in the land of hope."

– from Acts 2 (The Message)

photo credit here

Izzy Is. . .

Izzy is a girl! A loud, stubborn, opinionated, tough, independent, fearless girl. And, unless Oliver proves otherwise, she's here to stay.

Izzy

Why do these things always happen to me?

While I was at work yesterday I kept hearing what I thought was a bird. It sounded like a loud squawking noise. Thinking it was an adolescent bird getting ready to leave the nest, I went outside a couple of times but never saw it. 

As I was leaving for the afternoon a customer drove up. I had already locked the door, so as we walked back to go inside we both heard the squawking again. He walked towards the dumpster and the squawking got louder. He bent down and pulled this out from underneath.

It can't be any more than eight weeks old. I tried desperately to talk the guy into taking it home. He wanted to. Badly. But he said his wife would kill him. We hemmed and hawed around until finally I was left with no choice.

What was I supposed to do? Go put it back under the dumpster??

The customer hugged me and said that good things come to people who do such good deeds. I wanted to say, "Yeah. Fat lotta good that will do me when Oliver kills her. . .Or him. . . Whichever it turns out to be."

So, for now, we named him/her Izzy. Izzy a boy or Izzy a girl? We will find out today when Izzy goes to the vet for the first time. Stay tuned. I'll let you know.

Izzy only met Sammy last night and neither one of them was thrilled about it. Izzy whacked him in the nose and he was done. I'm not sure how to go about introducing Oliver. It just doesn't seem like a fair fight - a kitten who weighs less than a pound up against the squirrel killing champion of Hurd Avenue! Any suggestions?

For now, we're all feeling kind of like this –

Everything is just a little off balance.

It does seem that Izzy is adapting a little faster than the rest of of however.

Excuse me. . . I'm the one who needs the nap!

Mostly Wordless Wednesday

The only time I get to see Sophie anymore is if she goes in the car with me on a trip. She doesn't like other dogs but she loves to G.O. (You have to spell it because if you don't, she will run to the car and wait.) 

We went to Toledo on Saturday morning.

I miss Soph.

A Whole Lot of Nothin'

My brain is cluttered with a whole lot of nothin' today. For example:

:: Somebody asked me yesterday how much weight I had lost. When I said, "Ummm, pretty sure that would be none," she kept insisting. So, I decided that the power of positive thinking must be better. . .so I went with it! 

I have walked for three hours in the last three days. And all but given up fast food completely in the last few months. On Sunday I went down to the stadium and went up and down the steps. A lot of steps. My ass (Please read that as the place on the backside of the body where most other people have something to look at - but I, along with all of my Pike cousins, don't.) is still sore. Perhaps stairs will help develop something of interest in that area.

:: I am now the proud owner of my Fantasy Football League's Denver Broncos! I have never played Fantasy Football before so the draft was interesting to say the least. I devised a complicated algorithm based on  team color and bewildering spelling of names in order to draft my team. At first everyone laughed at me. However, when I revealed my roster this morning, Nancy (who really knows about this stuff!) said, "Holy Shit! You ought to do really well!" Take that, all you doubters!

I have Donovan McNabb and Tony Romo at QB. Ladanian Tomlinson, Maurice Drew-Jones, Clinton Portis and Marshawn Lynch at Running Back. My Wide Receivers are Anquan Boldin, Marques Colston, TJ Houshmandzadeh and Bernard Berrian. Tight Ends are Kellen Winslow and Brent Celek. Kickers are Rob Bironas and John Kasay. My two Defensive Lines are the Vikings  and the Bears.

Things got pretty intense during the draft I must say. In the heat of the moment I had to compromise on the uniform colors but I stayed true to my strange name goal. During the later rounds I clearly heard a daughter call her mother a b*tch and I vaguely remember offering someone $100 to take away Ali's fifth round pick for running back because she was going to take someone I wanted. I'm not proud of my behavior - but it worked!

:: No calls on the big, brown house in the 'hood yet. But I still believe.

:: It was 46 outside when I got up this morning. Because I didn't close the windows last night it was 57 in the living room. It's September 1st and I had the space heater on in the bathroom this morning. That just seems wrong on so many levels.

That's about it from the view inside my head this morning.

Carry on.