Do you exercise? What do you do for exercise? Alone / with others

In preparation for the 5k in June, I have been trying to walk daily. Yesterday, instead of visiting the cows, I went to the Walgreens across the street for a diet coke. Last night, Roy and I actually walked to the Walgreens near our house. Took us about an hour. It was nice to be walking together again.

Today at lunch, despite the need for an umbrella, I managed to again "visit the cows" and feed them some of the tops of the lovely weeds that grow outside the pasture. They congregated around the gate and did not seem fazed by my blue and white golf sized umbrella! I expected them to be spooky and skittish. For the most part, they seem calm and unfazed. The bull doesn't come near the gate. He follows the young cows and makes his silly faces, curling his upper lip like a clown!

After just a few days of walking, I feel better. Maintaining the exercise habit is where I struggle.

What about you? Do you currently exercise regularly? In what activities do you participate? Was it hard to get started? Do you prefer to exercise alone, with a friend, or in a group? What helped you to get in the habit?

Visiting the cows at lunch time

In preparation for the MMRF 5k, I walked today at lunch time. My usual routine involves driving off school property in my pickup truck. Instead, the truck rested today and my legs took me where I wanted to go.

Very close to where I work was the site of one of the last working dairies in the County. It is now in the process of becoming a housing development (albeit an UPSCALE housing development). Across the street from the section that is under development, cows still live in the pasture (for now). My uneducated guess tells me that these are beef cattle, as the young calves stay with the herd and the cows don't have udders the size of those on dairy cows.

When my children were small, we visited a working dairy (now also developed into housing). We learned that the calves are separated from their mothers at birth and often do not make it. Dairy cows are not even allowed to nurse their calves after birth to give them the benefit of colostrum. The calves were so little they would suck on our fingers. It was heartbreaking to see them.

Isn't there a saying about the cows coming home? Previously, there were cows in the pasture behind the house at Robbins Lodge. When I was a stay-at-home mom, my kids and I would sometimes go to Robbins Lodge in the afternoon. I’ll never forget watching the cows come home. No one was leading them, they just all started making their way back to the barn. It was as if they had punched out for the day and were heading home from work! Just that slow trudging "it's been a long day" kind of a pace.

For a citified girl like me, it sure felt like a country girl moment. Today’s visit with the cows was like that. Took me back to the visits we used to make to state agricultural university to see the horse barn and the cow barn and the pig barn and the sheep barn.

The cows today congregated near the gate where I stood feeding them (essentially weeds) that grew outside of the fence where they could not reach. Their tongues felt like course sandpaper when they reached out to grab the “treats” I offered. Some allowed me to pet them. One did not seem to appreciate my touching her and almost had an “I am the boss and who do you think you are” type of attitude. She was bossy towards the others and acted like the head matriarch.

The bull kept his distance and was more interested in sniffing the females butts. He made a funny face as he curled his lips up after smelling one particular cow. Typical male, easily distracted by the girls!


When I moved to this area, University Drive was the western boundary of civilization. Now, I hardly spend any time east of University. The rural way of life is disappearing right before my very eyes. It’s nice to know there are still cows around town, (even if they only exist to garnish an agricultural zoning property tax rate for the land on which they live).

Before horses lived at RWFarm, MT Bee and MO Paul had Mary Jane and then also her baby, Jonah. I can remember visiting in the summer and finding fresh raw milk in the refrigerator.

My mother and my aunts can tell many stories of the cows they had when they were growing up on the farm (the "Big House" as it was known).

Each generation gets more and more in tune with the ways of the city and less and less experienced in the ways of animals and nature. Despite living in the city most of my life, there is still a part of me that yearns to explore in the woods or down by the river, to listen to the birds rather than the radio, to lay on a blanket in the grass in the shade of a maple tree, to eat grapes right off the vine, to pick blackberries, to eat freshly picked blueberries and strawberries.

By the time my grandchildren are pre-teens, will there be places left where they can feed the cows? Or will cows be just an animal they visit in the zoo?

Black cow

Brown cow

How now brown cow?

Play is good for the soul

Play is good for everyone -- horses included! These two, a paso and a quarter horse, had a blast rushing into the water, going out just deep enough to swim a few feet and then making a big circle to get out of the lake and start the process all over again. Their riders were having fun too!

Put it on a cart with well oiled wheels

"We've all grown up with negativity, have many scars and carry a lot of baggage with us through life. It's what we do with the negativity and how we carry that baggage that directs our being. If we drag it on the ground behind us, it slows us down. If we put it on a cart with well oiled wheels we can take it anywhere we go, discard the bad bags when we find them and realize it's really not that big a burden. "

Richard Scott Peyman
reprinted with permission

At the library again?!!!

Another night spent at the library, but this time because sonny bunny is working on his homework. (A likely story, but the truth!)

Tonight we are at the local university library. Public libraries are wonderful, but there is something very mentally stimulating about a college or university library. For one thing, that old friend, the Dewey Decimal System, is no where to be found. Instead, the Library of Congress Classification System is the organizational tool of choice. Just great! Last library visit, I could find a book on Writing Romance Fiction at the public library in the 808 area --- today, I had to figure out that Language and Literature is classified in the Library of Congress System under the letter "P", further broken down to "PN" where "Literary history and collections (General)" are located, on down to "PN 3377" where "Prose / Prose fiction" are found.

You learn something new every day!!!

Might as well face it you're addicted to.....

Remember after school in the afternoons (before cable) – parked in front of the TV watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island, Hogan’s Heroes, Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie. No matter how many episodes you sat through, you could always guarantee a few things:

- Gilligan was not getting off the island but was sure to do something stupid to tick off the skipper
- The professor would have some smarty-farty insight to share with the other stranded passengers.
- Mary Ann (Roy's favorite) would be cutsie and wholesome, while Ginger would try to be sultry and sexy (yuk!)
- And Mr. Howell and Mrs. Howell would be hoity-toity like they thought they were something special.

Hogan and his men would not leave the prison camp though Colonel Klink would never figure out what they were up to as they tried.

You get the idea. Formulaic to a fault. Yet we watched, day in and day out. The basic framework never changed. But we continued to watched, every afternoon. (Unless there happened to be an ABC After School Special on instead.)

I have moved on from the reruns of my childhood. Yet I have not totally given up the comfort of enjoying stories with a formula. In my case, when I need to relax and escape the hustle and bustle of life, I read ….. romances. Girl meets boy, they fall in love, and live happily ever after, eventually. The "boy" may be a Navy Seal (hunk of choice these days--think Suzanne Brockmann) or a hardworking cowboy or even a crippled fighter (My Man Michael). The details change, but the basic plot remains the same. Like the afternoon reruns that kept me diligently tuned in, I now regularly read serial romances. Escapism? Yes. Yes. Yes. Stress relieving? You bet! Fulfillment of an unfulfilled need? Maybe. Typical American ending? Yup.

(Were they written from the French perspective, the boy and girl would probably end up eternally stuck in the dilemma of the characters in the movie Lady Hawke -- “forever bound to each other but forever kept separate”.)

You can laugh that I read silly romances, but I can laugh that you used to watch silly reruns…and probably still have a repertoire of silly formulaic shows that you STILL watch diligently. Your formulas may be different than mine, but you're just as addicted to your formulas as I am to mine. So we’re even!!!

So Many Books, So Little Time

Found a treasure last night at the library:

So Many Books, So Little Time - A year of passionate reading By Sara Nelson
Couldn’t put it down and have managed to read up to page 150. “The well-known publishing correspondent and self-described ‘readaholic’ chronicles a year spent reading---and the surprises it brought” explains the one sentence synopsis. While I have not read most of the selections she describes, we are kindred spirits. From the dust jacket: “Books get to me personally. When things go right, I read. When things go wrong, I read more.” Her husband, with skillful carpentry ability, has built bookshelves for her collection. He is NOT much of a reader. Roy and her husband could commiserate together about their bibliophile wives and their bookshelf building volunteer work.

After leaving work, Barnes & Noble was calling my name. Inspired by Sara Nelson, I browsed the shelves wondering which books might hold my interest. Three books attracted me:

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave by Frederick Douglass
(Read Chapter 1)

I am known to get a little emotional at times. Newborn babies bring tears to my eyes. (I can vividly picture Pepere making silly coo-coo-coo noises to Erin with tears in his eyes.) Sad movies make me cry. And reading Chapter 1 of the "Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave" gave me a stomach ache. When I read, I become immersed in the words. It is as though I am listening to the author tell me his story. And listening to Frederick Douglass tell me the beginning of his story made me hurt. I had to put the book down. Not because I was not interested, but because I was so involved with what he described that it was literally discomforting. A book to return to, an author to revisit, when I am feeling stronger.


Jokes My Father Never Taught Me - Life, Love and Loss with Richard Pryor by Rain Pryor
(Read Intro, Chapters 1 & 2)

For those of you not in the loop, at one time in his early life, Roy could recite many of Richard Pryor’s comedy routines. We could be having a normal conversation and all of a sudden he would be reminded of a Pryorism and go off on that tangent. Could be roaches in the oven, having to go to the bathroom when you are out in the woods, didn’t matter. The funny thing was that two weeks after Eric was born, my parents visited us – and spent time listening to Richard Pryor! I can recall that even back then my mom had a wacky sense of humor.
Being familiar with his jokes, I wanted to hear what his daughter said about him as a dad. She did not meet him until she was four years old. She spoke about his growing up in a whorehouse run by his grandmother. About learning the word “motherf……” even before she was born. About her Jewish mother and grandparents. Perhaps I might even be able to entice Roy to read this one together…if I am lucky.

In the Merde for Love by Stephen Clarke
(Read Chapters 1-3)

Roy may not be a reader, but we have an odd commonality. He likes to watch the travel channel. Despite my lack of TV time, Samantha Brown and Andrew Zimmern are well known to me (as are several hosts on the DIY channel, but I digress). Roy likes to travel with Samantha Brown – they have vicariously gone all over the world together -- and to experience new and often disgusting foods with Andrew Zimmern. I, on the other hand, share the same habit of traveling vicariously. But my fellow travelers are authors, not hosts of tv shows. Peter Mayle has kept me in stitches while guiding me through the cultural nuances of the south of France with “A Year in Provence” and “Toujours Provence”. Bill Bryson and I enjoyed attempting to traverse the Appalachian Trail together in “A Walk in the Woods”. Another author introduced me to life in Spain. Several authors have taught me about life in Paris. I seem to gravitate toward stories of Americans who have learned to adjust to life in Europe… At least if I can’t afford to live that life, I can enjoy it nonetheless.

Had I been in the library tonight, I would have brought home all three of these books. Roy would be proud of me. I wrote down the titles and authors of each of the books I tasted, then put each of them back where I found them. I was feeling a little guilty walking to the front of the store without a book to purchase in my hands, when lo and behold I passed “SORTED! The ultimate guide to organizing your life – once and for all” by Lissanne Oliver. A bargain book, plus my B&N member discount, I left the store only $7.61 poorer than when I arrived.

The time spent reading, however, was priceless!

Guy dancing at Wild Bill's before concert

Relaxing safely back home after a weekend road trip to Atlanta.  Roy and I saw Jason Aldean Friday night then went to the "World of Coco-Cola" museum on Saturday. Roy toured the Georgia aquarium -- world's largest aquarium -- while I rested. Left Saturday night and arrived home this morning before noon. Did not have time to visit Loganville or Stone Mountain...

The concert took place at Wild Bill's in Duluth, Georgia (in the Atlanta area). Our tickets were for standing room only, so Roy found us a good spot near the front right of the stage. Prior to the show starting at 9:00pm, country music was playing. The venue had a huge dance floor and a few people were dancing in the area of the floor farthest from the stage.

What held my attention was one of the dancers in particular. He was a marvelous dancer, the best male dancer to take the dance floor that evening, in my opinion. He held a white handkerchief in his right hand. He was so mesmerizing I couldn't stop watching.

He gave me much to think about. You see, his right arm was prosthetic. The right hand that held the handkerchief was part of the prosthesis.

I wondered, was he a soldier who lost his arm in recent combat? (He did not seem to be older than me, so I don't think he was old enough to have been in Vietnam.) Was he a farmer who lost his arm in a farming accident? A motorcyclist who lost his arm in a motorcycle accident?

I noticed that the other dancers seemed to ignore him. Despite his ability on the dance floor, they did not seem to seek his interaction in between songs. Was he from out of town? Disfigured? Socially inept? Were the others uncomfortable around him? Was he a regular at the club who was known for having an unfriendly attitude?

Regardless of the answers to these questions, the bottom line is that he was out on the dance floor dancing and doing so with ability and charisma.

If I lost an arm, would I focus my thoughts on my loss, or would I have the courage to get out on the dance floor and dance my heart out, regardless of the reaction of the other dancers and the spectators? Would I take years to mentally adjust to life without my right arm or would I accept the loss of my arm as one of those things that I can not change and move on from there?

I am grateful to this dancer, who entertained Roy and I for about an hour, but who also gave me food for thought. His courage was a tremendous example to us. Yet he never even met us and I never got a chance to shake his hand and tell him how much I enjoyed watching him dance. He will probably never know how encouraging it was to see him out on the dance floor.

The scary thought is, who is watching me that I don't even realize and learning from my example? What kind of example am I setting?