J.D. The Martyr

(X = 15 - 7.2) Is Jesus a Protein or a Carb?

When one is trying to monitor one's weight, even matters of faith aren't safe.  As a (semi)practicing Catholic I recently found myself concerned with matters central to Catholicism, and one's belief in said.  I checked the Weight Watchers guide and they had no reference.  I need to know if the host counts as a carb or a protein. 

Now I actually used to participate in the production of the hosts at my parish some years ago.  And anyone familiar with the process (any cloistered nuns in my readership?) knows that you're pretty much talking about flour, water, and little else.  Sounds like pure carbs to me.  I'm sure I would need to calculate it as part of my program in the "carbs" column.

Oh but wait...if I truly believe in that which is core to Catholicism, the venerated miracle we call transubstantiation, then I have to believe that that little piece of carbohydrate poison transforms, miraculously, into the pure proteing that is the wonder of Jesus!  And hey, Jesus said so Himself!  You're not calling Jesus a liar...are you?!  I didn't think so.

Leave it to Jesus to find a way to reward my good deeds by transforming that little bread piece of evil into rapturous protein bliss.  Thanks be to God indeed!

In other news, the predicted (prophetic?) notion that the breaks would come screaming on to my weight loss after that big week a few ago, did, in fact, come true.  My next weigh in brought me only 0.2 of a pound closer to my goal.  It's a journey, not a race, right?  I think Jesus said that too!

Have a great weekend!

Oar+Shovel=Shoar? Oavel?

Beautiful day today.  Sun, warmth, light breeze.  Gotta love it.  Gotta make the most of it.  So Tom and I (I) decided that we should go kayaking.  We've done Lake Natoma and Santa Cruz.  Separately I have done Suisun, and, memorably, Slab Creek Reservoir, south side.  So I thought we'd head up to Slab Creek Reservoir, north side.  More paved road, more expansive parking and launching area: what's not to love?

We ran a bit late.  T'was Sunday after all.  Got to the reservoir area shortly after noon.  As we approach the launch area we are startled by the sounds of guns firing.  A glance across the reservoir, towards the aforementioned expansive parking and launch area, reveals a group of young twenty-somethings spending their day shooting at things.  Now this being a rural area, I try to be understanding.  We're just going to park nearby, launch our boats, and not involve ourselves with them in any way.  But it seems they are not just firing the odd gun, but they must also be dealing with some sort of major explosive, because every so often is a boom that rattles the nerves and pauses the heart.  Still, launch boats, be on our way. 

The first parking area, just before the Wild Bunch, looked good, but when we got down there the water was moving too swiftly.  We'd never get back.  So I decided that we would have to drive through the firing range and head a bit farther down.  I go to make a quick three point turn, and it happened.

The truck got stuck in the sand.

No it's not a 4X4 (making me an instant outcast in these here parts.)  Just two wheel, rear wheel drive.  We immediately tried to do a big accelerate to get out.  That succeded in digging us in a bit deeper.  Suddenly the day changed.

We spent about 45 minutes digging the tire out (Blam! Blam!), laying rocks (hot rocks laying in the sun) around, beneath, in front of, and behind the tire in question( Pow! Pow!), and trying to get out(BOOM!) No luck.

Then two women pulled up in a Prius, got out, and started picking berries.  When I thought they were getting ready to leave I went and asked if they would be so kind as to call a tow truck when they got back to town.  They kindly agreed.  Then...they went and changed into swimsuits, got out there beach chairs and headed down to the shore(Pow!Pow!)  They weren't going anywhere for awhile (BOOM!)  Back to digging out the sand (with my oar!) and trying to get enough rocks under the tire to create some traction(Pow! Pow!)  The gunfire, I actually acclimated to and was fine with, but the occasional explosion was not helpful in light of our situation.

After another hour+ of this (Including a now comedic sequence where we tried to lay a discarded shade shelter under the tires to create traction) and I was beginning to give up hope.  The crazy, gun toting, explosive detonating twenty-somethings had finally left.  The two women seemed to be settling in for the week, and I was running out of options.  I was starting to try and figure out who was going to have to wind up eating who.

Then another two carloads of people showed up to come and hang out at the reservoir.  After 20 minutes one of them asked Tom if we were stuck, and did we need help.  Now this guy was not the kind of guy that Tom would ever normally feel comfortable talking with.  Goateed, baseball capped, wife beater wearing, tattooed...generally not Tom's comfort zone.  Tom said yes we needed help and would accept whatever he had to offer.

Guy brings his smallish Toyota 4X4 around, has straps to connect to us, knows how to connect to us, connects us, and pulls us out.  It was awesome.  There was a giant gaping hole behind us, filled with the results of our road building project(damn rocks!)  Within about 30 seconds, he unhooked, and drove back to his friends.  I threw the truck back into drive and...started spinning the wheels in the sand again!  I sat there until he came back, looking very disappointed in us, "Still stuck?"

"Seems so."

He gave us a couple of pointers, and we finally, and totally, managed to free ourselves.  I almost took off without Tom and the kayaks I was so so eager to keep going until I was certain I was on solid ground.

So there you go.  A kayaking adventure with absoutely no kayaking involved.  There are no photos.  I thought about it, but I'm pretty sure divorce proceedings would have been involved.

LESSONS LEARNED: Pavement is good.  When you hear gunshots, always turn around immediately (I can't believe I missed that sign from God,) and (sigh) don't judge people.  The twenty-somethings looked far more wholesome than the guy who helped us, and they couldn't possibly have been less help, unless they started shooting directly at us.

 

On the Plus Side, I'm Water Tight!

I hate to come off as overly whiny, but OW!!!  My knee hurts!!  Stupid gravel-patch-that-I-knew-was-coming-but-I-took-at-too-high-a-speed-anyway-and-got-exactly-what-I-deserved.  Oye!

The aftermath is getting a bit funnier 24+ hours later.  I had to go to the local pharmacy today to peruse their selection of gauze and bandaging optons.  There's a bunch!  I'm currently rocking a non-stick gauze pad on the knee wound itself, and am securing it in place with what looks like a piece of a white mesh stocking.

Passed out on the boulevard, torn fishnets, woozy in the head: suddenly it's 1987 again?  Never mind.

This current binding option was necessary after last nights rough attempt at cobbling together some sort of bandage.  I had a first aid kit that I take camping, but I learned a valuable lesson there.  If your first aid kit is more than a year old, chuck it!  Everything in it is all dried out and of no practical use.  Trust me.  Fortunately I had a roll of sterilized gauze, and two different rolls of first aid tape; one that would cause me to rip out the hairs on my leg every time I change it, and one that I thought would not.

I went for the obvious choice, but was having a real hard time getting it to work.  I mean, I didn't want it to stick to me, but I needed it to stick to something.  That's when I made an interesting realization.  The non-stick first aid tape was not non stick first aid tape.  It was , in fact, the plumbers tape that you use to line the threads of a faucet nozzle before screwing it together to prevent leakage.

Frustrated but undeterred I simply took it, and used it like string to tie the gauze to me.  I eventually had to add the sticky tape too.  Had a few gritted teeth moments during the pull aways this morning.

Fortunately, though, it did the trick.  Good thing too, because though I'm sure he was really concerned for my well being, Tom made more than one revealing comment about me not bleeding or oozing onto the sheets.

 

(X + 15 - 7) One Good Head On Collision and I'll Be Set!

Bandadged, battered, and bruised am I.  Got new tires on the bike this week (after getting a flat on the birthday ride.)  They're non-nubby, which means they are practically smooth.  The guy at the shop said I would notice better control on the road, but would have a harder time on off road surfaces.  I never go onto off road surfaces, so I wasn't worried.

Then decided to go for a "power ride" tonight.  Try to get that metabolism going!  I was literally in my final mile and a half.  I was riding on a paved path that runs behind some nearby apartments along the nature preserve.  At the very end of the path, as it prepares to return you to the busy boulevard, the pavement ends, and for all of twelve feet is a loose gravel path.  I mellowed my speed a bit more than usual in light of the bike guy's warning...but not...quite...enough.

There was that moment, you know the one, you're going down, you know you're going down, and absolutely nothing can be done to prevent it.  I did, I knew I was going to, and there was nothing to be done.  "Crash" implies I connected with another object, so it doesn't seem appropriate.  I fell, and slid...across the gravel...OUCH!  50% of me wanted to cry out in pain, while the other 50% was highly aware of the fact that I was riding along the busiest boulevard in Elk Grove at the busiest time of day, only slightly out of view of the rushing masses.  So embarassing. 

I immediately picked up bike, leaned it up against a nearby fence, sat down, and passed out!  Apparently when one does not make a semi regular habit of falling off of one's bike, the odd every 30 year tumble can take a bit out of you.  I came to, and true to myself, was immediately concerned about where my iPhone was, and whether or not anyone had noticed and maybe called 911 because this biker guy was passed out in the gravel.

I called Tom to come get me, but after a few minutes I felt more myself and managed to ride home.

My knee is...unpleasant to behold let's say.  I have another good scrape up on my elbow, and an odd little dinger on my shoulder.  But otherwise I seem to be physically fine.

I am, however, exhausted!  And when I came to I was drenched in sweat.  Which led me to an interesting weight loss observation.  The occasional physical trauma must be a calorie burning gold mine!  All that stress and strain on the body, not to mention the fretting over the iPhone and my public image.

I think if I can manage one more good spill I might be able to reach my weight loss goal.  Get a car involved and I might be able to achieve my 1980's weight!

What?  Not the way to go about it?  Fine!  Be that way.

Oh, and so we're clear: I was wearing my helmet.  The front visor came off, so it's a reasonably good thing I was wearing my helmet.  If you ride a bike, wear a helmet!  I plan to flash a picture of my knee at Tom anytime he balks that his helmet makes him "look gay." (More on that another tme.)

(X + 15 - 7) Would It Have Been Significant If They Had Been Green?

You know it's getting interesting when you start having food dreams.

Last night I had a dream that I'd been given a bag of peanut M&M's.  I wanted to eat them, but I was concerned about the caloric damage it might do.  So I decided to compromise, and just eat the yellow ones.  I have no heavenly idea why the yellow. Get out your dream interpretation books and get back to me.  In the dream I actually calculated the Weight Watcher points I'd use eating an amount of M&M's and then worked it down to something I felt I could manage.  I believe I had five yellow M&M's in my hand when I woke up.

Best part?  I was actually relieved when I realized that I hadn't eaten them.  5 flippin' M&M's!

If I start dreaming about chili fries at the The Hat we're going to have a whole different problem on our hands.

(X + 15 - 7) Are Cake-Pops Even Worth It?

So before we get to the topic at hand, a quick update: two weeks in and I'm down 7 pounds.  Now even I know better.  That is too damn fast.  I know why: kayaking, 10K, and 30 mile bike ride all in one week.  Of course I'm losing weight.  I've also been living by some pretty strict Weight Watchers guidelines (on-line, because meetings are a tool of the devil.)  But life is not this kind.  I'm quite sure my body and metabolism are secretly prepping a rebellion, and I expect it to launch at any moment.  But otherwise, I'm happy enough that I've been foolishly letting my guard down on the weekends a bit.  Lunch at Vallejo's, dinner at Tuli Bistro...the very kind of thing that can throw you off your game.

Friday saw me visit some dear friends for a wine and cheese hour...or rather, a wine, cheese, crostini and grilled shrimp multi hour feast.  It was good. Hell it was great!  No measuring cups!  I want to type that I tried to show some restraint, but that would just be a great big lie.  Thus, the coming rebellion.

That night Tom was working late for a private function at the museum.  He came home with cake pops.  You've seen them, those little round bites of cake that Starbucks sells for...well I don't know how much, but I'm sure it's too much.  The organizer of the event insisted that he take some home with him.  He actually tried to decline, using me and my current situation as his excuse, but to no avail.  So he was sent home with a total of four, two with chocolate frosting, two with a white frosting of some sort.

I've always thought these things were a waste of a perfectly good cardboard stick.  I have never in my life wanted a "bite" of cake.  Why would I go to the trouble of moving my jaws up and down for soemthing that would be over so quickly.  Cake should be eaten in wedges, at the very least, if not slabs.  But given that we were trying to show some restraint, the portions seemed acceptable.

The chocolate frosted one went on Friday night.  It was...a bite of cake.  No big whoop.  I did manage to drag it out into several little teeny tiny bites.  That helped, I guess.

Then tonight we had the white frosted ones.  Turned out to be red velvet cake.  It was soooo moist, and soooo good.  Again, I managed little nibbles, which made the whole thing last just a little bit longer than it should have.  Amen!

Now I'm not saying I'm completely convinced, and I'm definitely not ready to blow $X.XX on the Starbucks version...but...that one little pop, may have just made a believer out of me.  Fortunately, they're gone now.  The weekend is over, so we're back to living by the law.  Hopefully I will be able to absorb the rebellion when it reaches my shore (Friday.)  We shall see...we shall see.

Oh, and in case you're interested...

http://www.peacecakeballs.com/

(X+15) Does Half a Sin Only Take You Half Way to Hell?

Oh the things we do for friends and colleagues!  I've done pretty well this week.  Better than getting the eating under control has been the return (for the moment) of "my resolve."  If you've ever lost a  sum of weight over a period of time, you know what I'm talking about.  That steely determination.  The ability to walk past the pink cardboard box in the break room with the expanding fat stains.  The skill to shake one's head as the candy jar is passed in front of you.  The where with all to drink no more, when you've reached your pre-measured allotment.

That resolve seems to have, largely, returned.  This week can be looked at as less about what I ate, and more about what I turned down: breakfast burritos on the first day of school, Nugget pastries by the greasy pink boxful, a full Mexican supper at work one night, the giant plate of homemade cookies that sat in our office.  Temptation after temptation.  All thwarted.  Few, if any, regrets (though I do love me a breakfast burrito.)

Then, at a lunch time meeting with my new group of coworkers, someone brought in Jamba Juice for all.  Jamba is pure evil.  You think you're doing something healthy.  Not quite.  Those things are front loaded with sugar, and the juice of most fruits is very high in calories, especially when the rest of the fruit is discarded.  

Even when I'm not trying to control my eating, I don't usually bother with that place.  But I do know how tasty they are.  And I didn't want to offend my coworker with her random act of kindness.  Besides, before I could turn her down, another member of the group did, and she'd never bring anything ever again if two of us said no.  I had to!  For the good of us all!  Consider it strategic team support.  I looked up the deadly concoction on my Weight Watchers app.  It would count for 20% of my daily food intake.  I would never make it to the measuring cup of wine if I dared indulge!  So, as we all do with all things, I compromised, I drank half, thanked my beneficiary, excused myself to "do some work", and tossed the remnant into the trash in my room.

It was the right thing to do, of that I'm quite sure.  Such drama for a trifle of juice and ice.

(X + 15) I Do Believe!

It's summer time!  Grilling season.  A great time to work on weight loss because it's easy to embrace all of those grilled veggies.  Among my favorite summer veggies is corn on the cob.  I try to stay away from it until at least the 4th of July, because it tends to suck in a big, big way up to that point.  But once the magic of summer starts working on it, there's nothing better. I love cooking it shucked and bare on a hot grill, turning it 1/4 every two minutes, watching it constantly.  Done in about 8 minutes.  It gets nice and hot, turns a little charred.  Mmmmm.  

Then come the accoutrements!  I love drizzling it with some olive oil.  I have some great spice rubs that take to it beautifully.  One, particularly indulgent recipe, which will be going unused for the next few weeks, involves rolling the grilled corn in butter, sour cream, spices, herbs, and dry crumbled cheese (see pic above.)  To die for.

But let's return to the butter.  Certain flavor pairings were made in heaven, and corn and butter is one of them.  Unfortunately, big gooey dabs of butter are not on the menu at the moment.  In an attempt to try and sate my taste buds I did the unthinkable.  I invested in a bottle of "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter."

Um...yeah...I can believe.  Like WOW can I believe!  I might have a problem thinking it wasn't salted margarine, but butter?  Nope.  In fact, here is a list of things that I think taste more like butter on corn than "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter."

1. Tofu

2. Bread crumbs

3. Parmesan cheese (even the shaker cheese in the green can)

4. Actual artery clogging margarine

5. Any one of several brands of canned dog food (purely theoretical)

6. Whatever it is that the chicken drips and leaves hanging on the grill bars

7. Whatever Lindsey Lohan was most recently trying to be rehabbed of (gotta love a LiLo reference!)

8. Dishwashing liquid (again, purely theoretical)

9. Hershey's sugar free chocolate syrup (we'll discuss that crap another tme)

10. And...dryer lint 

I may have to trade some wine for some butter on corn on the cob nights (talk about Sophie's choice!-"No, send BOTH of my children to the Nazi death camps!  I want butter AND wine!")  Or maybe I try to find some non-threatening ways to flavor the corn.  Or maybe I just accept that, though I may be able to believe that it's not butter, it might be the best of the worst at this point, and live for the day when all returns to being right in the world.

(X+15) No, seriously!

My attempts at weight loss have varying levels of seriousness.  Of course, I would tell you that they're all serious, and that they're all intended to produce the desired results.  Some are just more successful than others.

Level 1: Try to watch out for idle snacking.  Make sure dessert is only happening once or twice a week.  One french-fry based lunch per week as long as it's a reward for some kind of fitness activity.  (This level is rarely good for anything more than slowing weight gain.)

Level 2: Dessert is out unless it's that light ice cream.  No french-fry based lunch this week (maybe next.)  Salad with dinner every night (though no crouton control.)  Try to incorporate more veggies in the meals.  (Here we might actually see the stopping of gain, but no actual loss.)

Level 3: Portion control (or so claimed.)  No more than two beers per week.  Breakfast is strictly regulated.  Lunch is strictly regulated.  Some dinner portion control.  Try to drink less wine. (Very small amounts of loss, usually regained the following week.)

Level 4: Careful weighing and measuring of all foodstuffs.  Strict WW adherence. Modification of eating out (careful choices, eating half my meal, no bread.) Extra exercise.  And...the big kahuna...

...measure out the wine (8 oz.) (This level is no damn fun, and thus results in loss of 1-2 pounds per week.  As we can see, this is where it's at.)

(X + 15) The State Fair, So Isn't!

Yes I absolutely understand the irony of jumping (gently) onto the "weight loss" bandwagon and going to the California State Fair all in the same day.  It could've been bad, really bad!  But it was fine.  Fortunately for me I get way more out of the incredible parade of human strangeness that mills about the fairgrounds all day (remind me later to tell you of the strange man with the bonus butt crack) then the deep fried goodies around every corner.

The offical indulgence of the day...well, one of two actually, was a corn dog.  I stuck with just a regular one, not the jumbo (unlike some people in my party who shall remain nameless,) or the even more threatening giant.  Turned out I needn't have worried.  The jumbo is actually just one and a half regular hot dogs, and the giant is two.  Kind of a ripoff if you ask me.  Jumbo should be one of those high end extra big dogs you see at Costco.  Giant?  Well they should be some sort of kielbasa/smoked sausage nightmare in corn batter.  So I stuck with the regular corn dog.

The other indulgence of the day was wine, two glasses of the good stuff and a cup of my favorite guilty pleasure, frozen Wild Vines slushy.  So that was what I had.

I skipped...

kettle corn

deep fried oreos

deep fried whoopee pies

deep fried Captain Crunch cereal

deep fried Fruity Pebbles cereal (they still make that?)

tater towers (have to be seen to be understood)

chocolate crickets

deep fried Snickers

funnel cakes

deep fried cheese curds (almost went for that one)

and my personal favorite....(drum roll)...

deep...fried...butter

Really?  Deep fried butter?  And I'm trying to lose 15 pounds?  Not 115?  Oye this world I live in!

x + 15

The original purpose of this little blog was to help me stay on top of the weight loss I managed some five or six years ago. 45 pounds in five months time.  I'd finally found myself at, what I considered to be, an ideal weight (x.)  But I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep it off, so I thought if I blogged about the challenges of doing so it might help.  It did, but over time I felt like I had it under control.  In fact I stopped writing a whole bunch about that because I'd managed to keep it off.  The blog took on more of a travel based, taking care of other people's children based, general receptacle of ideas.

Then in December/January I put on five pounds that I couldn't quite shake.  Then over the spring?  Another five.  And since the beginning of June?  Another 5!!!!  Aaaaack!  I'm not going back.  I'm not!  I will cut off limbs before I will return to the days of old.

So, I'm back to my original idea...but with a twist.  Instead of trying to hold off weight, I'm actually going to need to lose some.  15 pounds is the goal.   The journey starts today.

SELF IMPOSED RULES:

1. Easy on the pity party (though that is really what this is, isn't t.)

2. Keep the rants short (good luck with that!)

3. Eye on the prize (x!)

So if this kind of stuff bugs you, or falls into your "don't want to hear about it" zone, just look for the "x" in the title and stay away.  Otherwise, hang on everybody, here we gooooooo!

Future Retellings WIll Include a Hail of Gunfire

"White Tag!" Two words that will stick with me for the rest of my life.

So went to dinner tonight with the Kincaids (parents of the boys we took care of for two eventful weeks last year (scroll down.)  Had a great meal at a newer Sacramento restaurant called Kupro's Bistro.  

7:15 pm: As we arrived and parked across the street from the restaurant we noticed a large collection of police cars in the adjacent parking lot.  Then we noticed the large circle of police officers...and a few large motorhome style vehicles with police logos on them.  "Hmm, they must be rehearsing a sobriety checkpoint for tomorrow night, New Year's Eve, the night of all nights for a sobriety checkpoint."  So we head into the restaurant for dinner.

 7:30 pm: As I'm finishing my first full glass of wine we notice that in fact they were setting up the checkpoint tonight...in front of the restaurant...oh, and blocking my car.  The chef comes out of the kitchen and goes outside to look, swears and mutters something about it being right in front of his restaurant and comes back inside.  I immediately cut myself off as I was the driver for the evening, but I was pretty nervous.

9:10 pm: After a second bottle of wine for the lucky, and a gallon of water for me, dinner wound down and we decided to go check out the rest of the sizable restaurant.  We went upstairs and discovered a nice balcony, that on this particularly cold night gave us a grand bird's eye view of the checkpoint below.  We watched one long strand of cars after another come through.  The line of officers would approach each vehicle, chat with them momentarily, and then, more often than not, wave them through.  One particularly thorough gentleman was making everyone follow his finger back and forth before waving them through.  Every so often someone would require a little extra attention and the call would go out and down the line, "White tag!" as a white slip of paper was placed under their windshield wiper and the last officer in the line would move into their way, guiding them into the parking lot with about a hundred other officers, and  a dozen squad cars.  We even saw one unfortunate being led away in cuffs.

Meanwhile, I am looking out on all of this and quietly trying to calculate cab fare back to Elk Grove with a stop to drop off our friends along the way.  Oye.  Very unnerving.  Made more so by the fact that I'm standing out there with a small group of seemingly loud intoxicated individuals who have had to add my portion of wine to their own.  Every so often an officer or two would glance up at us.  "Those yahoos are mine," I could hear them thinking.  There was no way we were going to get the polite wave-through.

9:30 pm: I decided I needed a little more time to feel absolutely certain before planning my escape.  You'll remember that not only will we have to go through the checkpoint, but that my car is parked in the middle of it.  So we walked a very cold walk (Hannah in high heels by the way) to Rick's Dessert Diner.  There we sugared up, warmed up, and waited for me to achieve the right feeling about myself.

10:15 pm: Time to go for it.  Tom and I left Hannah and Brian at the Dessert Diner, and decided to run the gauntlet with just us.  We got back to the car and asked the nice officer how we should go about getting out. "Oh you can't move that car," he said.  "You'll have to come back and get it tomorrow morning.".......uh.......he smiled....(Whew!)  We got in, I got out my license and we merged into the checkpoint.

10:30 pm:

SPD: Good evening sir

JDW: Good evening. (Sweat forming.)

SPD: Where are you coming from tonight?

JDW:Out eating with friends. (Stay calm dude, stay calm.)

SPD: Where'd you go?

JDW:Rick's Dessert DIner. (A brilliant answer in hindsight since they don't serve alcohol there.)

SPD: Do they have good food there? (I am stymied by the fact that this guy doesn't seem to know the place.  Oh...he's testing me!)

JDW:Well it's all dessert, so of course.

Tom: Chocolate, chocolate! (Seriously?  You've chosen to speak up?!  Now??? Don't speak!)

SPD: Well would you like some information from Mother's Against Drunk Driving?

JDW: Sure! (Answering "no" has to be an automatic "White tag!")

SPD: Have a good evening.

JDW: Thank you.  You too. (Driving slowly forward.  Don't hit orange cones.  Don't hit other officers.  Unclench.)

There was more.  Yes, he asked me the big question, and no, I'll not be sharing my response here.  Despite the relief completely overwhelming us we did manage to remember to stop by and pick up the Kincaids.  All have gotten home safely.  "White tag!" is now firmly entrenched in our vernacular.

For the record, cab fare to Elk Grove would run about $50.  Steep, yes, but given the alternative...  Have a plan tomorrow people.  But don't call me.  I'm staying home...and making up for tonight!  Happy New Year!!

 

 

The Polar Express As Seen Through the Eyes of a (4)5 year old.

So after four years of it thrashing about my holiday season, Tom and I finally took a ride on the Polar Express.  I'd heard that this year was better than ever.  Being familiar with the story is a must,but if you're not, it's OK, as the train stewards read it to us on our way to the North Pole.  So here, without further ado...

Top 5 Things About My Ride Aboard the Polar Express...

5. The Holiday Light Spectacular at Front and K Sts. beforehand.  You've gotta go see it!  6:00 and 7:30 each night.  Very cool!

 

4. The 8/9 year old looking out at the North Pole with a strongly questioning look on his face.  The end was clearly near.

3. Hanging outside on the back of the train car with all of the "train guys."

2. The sounds of ringing bells throughout Old Sac as the kids were running back to their cars.

...and the number one thing about (finally) getting to ride the Polar Express...

1. The two little kids looking out at the elves at the North Pole.  One elf picks up a HUGE present, points to it, points to the little guys, and nods.  I thought they were going to pass out.  I almost lost it.  So cute!

Ubud, Day 2

September 16, 2010
Ubud, Bali

Kevin and Phil arrived just before bed time last night. All are here. We were all up before seven this morning. Kevin couldn't get into the pool fast enough (and is even, as this is written, splashing about while the afternoon's rain allotment comes down.)

Wayon (eldest brother) brought out his artwork after breakfast and made a nifty profit off of the world weary tourists. Beautiful pictures, and Tom is thinking about t-shirts for selected family member X-mas gifts.

Then it was off to the actual city off Ubud. Jess, our driver, gave us a quick car tour to help us get our bearings and then dropped us off. We walked the entire downtown. We stopped at a couple of shops, too nervous and too scared to engage in the local bargaining ritual.

All of the attempted haggling wore us to the point of hunger. We stopped at a beautiful restaurant called Wardini's. Unlike most of the places we saw it was situated in a large lush garden. The food was great and almost as good, they had free wifi so I was able to "reconnect" and send some pictures out.

After lunch we finished our route around the town. We walked by, but did not go into, the famous monkey forest park.

Mark and Ed broke the seal on the bargaining experience, picking up a few items from a local street stall. Eventually we wound our way to the very large, very dark (electricity is at a premium here), and very dank city market. There we met a woman with sarongs (we need them for temple visits) and I got down to some hard edged back and forth. I think I got her down below half of her original asking price, so I'm feeling pretty full of myself.

Finally we hiked our way across a bridge that would have been condemned back home, up the hill and back to the bungalow where the pool, and the beer, were waiting.

Post dinner saw us at a local cultural dance performance. There were many highlights of the show. The Japanese tourists armed with giant cameras and tripods running back and forth in front of the stage trying to get the ultimate shot were entertaining. My favorite was that 20 minutes into the show the sky opened up and it started to pour. The cast scattered from the open air stage, leaving the covered audience to wonder what was up. Then the manager came out and ushered us all next door to the completely covered pavilion. Within minutes everything was set, and the show went on. A great performance capped by a fire dance involving a midget, a bottle of kerosene, a big pile of coconut husks and the violation of every fire code known to mankind. Believe me when I tell you, I had preplanned my way out through a carefully thought out route of small, old, and weak individuals that I was sure I could easily climb over (or on top of) if it all went up in flames.

A great day, and I still can't believe how far away from home we are.

Day 1

September 15, 2010
Ubud, Bali

In the pantheon of "longest days" this one takes the cake. I refuse to even calculate the number of consecutive hours we have now been up.

But alas, here we are in Bali. This far I have seen only the airport, the bungalow where we are staying, and the way between the two, but I find myself on a total sensory overload anyway.

The way here brought many interesting sights: the topless old woman sitting outside a store. the pigs headed to market which were bound up in baskets in a way that makes one consider PETA membership, the crazy and out of control scooter riders, the village that was home to the stone carvers and the next village, home to the wood carvers, the way the entire family came out to greet us and carry our luggage down the 200 meter path to our bungalow...in the pouring rain.

Now I sit under the gazebo by the pool, Tom beside me, gauging the seconds between lightning and thunder (it's getting closer!) I look forward to our forthcoming evening meal, a thorough shower, and at least eight hours of the sleep of the dead.

A Cable Car Named.....

So when I was a student at Chico State I used to do these speaker panels for different classes on campus.  Me and a few others would sit up in front of a class ranging in size from 20-120 and talk about the wild and mysterious world of "being gay" (Whooooo.)  It's hilarious to think back on it now.  Anyway, at one of these little chats I was talking about Tom and myself, and someone asked when I knew I was in love with him.  This is that story...

In October of 1990 Tom and I went to San Francisco together for the first time.  We were going to go and see Les Miserables.  I had only been once or twice before for very brief periods of time, and hadn't really ever seen The City.  Tom humored me.  We arrived via The Golden Gate, saw Lombard Street, the Castro, etc. 

I also wanted to ride on a cable car.  So we decided to take one to Union Square from our hotel near the Wharf.  We gave the man our tickets and went and sat inside the little glass enclosed section of the car.  Whoop-EE...NOT.   Quite the drab and boring trip. 

So on the way back I decided I wanted to hang off the side.  I mean  THAT'S what riding a cable car is all about, right.  So we ran up and I grabbed the first bar, and Tom grabbed the second.  We were off!  We get to the second stop and some guy jumps on between us and puts a hand on my bar to steady himself.  Tom and I peek around him at each other as if to say, "WTF?"  We obviously had not versed ourselves in the etiquette rules of cable car riding to know that any available space was, in fact, an available space.

That night we head off to ride the cable car back to Union Square to see the show.  Once again I run up and grab the first bar.  But this time Tom steps between the first and second bar.  Puts one hand on the second bar, and the other hand around my waist to grab the first.  Those of you who know Tom at all, either actually or through the lore, know that PDAs are not his thing.

Once again, off we go.  Picture it...a beautiful San Francisco evening.  We're riding the cable car, his arm wrapped around me, breeze in our hair, just barely missing the passing cars.  We head up to the top of Nob Hill and suddenly the east side of the city is lit up below us: the Transamerica pyramid, the buildings of the financial district.  It was amazing.  I can still see it.  It was then...that moment on the cable car, when I knew.  I truly and deeply love this man.  And twenty years later, I still do!

Happy Anniversary Tomas!

Love,

Me

But I Might Otherwise Wear Padded Pants

This July I will have been jogging for two years.  Two years.  And yet I still won't cop to being a "jogger." You know them.  You might even be one of them.  If the part of your sunglasses that covers your eyes is one continuous piece, if you know where the best sales on dry wick clothing are, if you monitor your carb intake before a big race...I'm talking to you (and for the record I'm only one of those three.)

My point here is that I recently seem to have become equally smitten with bike riding, but again...I'm not a "cyclist."  I know cyclists.  You might even be one.  Number one dead give away?  The lycra shorts.  Actually no, the padded lycra shorts.  You have to be particularly committed to something to be willing to "go there."  And yes, I know the why of it all.  Less chafing, more comfort, greater stamina, blah blah blah.  And people that I like tremendously, and have great respect for, own a pair.  My uncle Tom was the first man I knew to wear them.  He needed them for both of his solo cross country bike trips.  Can't argue with that, though he more makes my point than proves otherwise.  But for me, the non-committal side of my personality keeps me away.  So instead I choose to ride casually.  Regular shorts and shoes do me just fine.  I do wear a helmet, especially in urban areas, but that just seems like good sense.  And I do have to suffer through all of Tom's taint jokes (and there are a lot of them,) hoist myself up and readjust occasionally, and accept the fact that I may never be able to go farther than 20 miles.

But this evening I had a particularly lovely ride of just under 8 miles.  Parked on O Street in Sacramento, just past 16th.  Rode through town to 11th, down to 2nd Avenue, through Land Park (where I want alll the houses,)over Sutterville to the levy, up to the R Street over-crossing, and then back to 16th and O where we had a delightful dinner at Pronto.  And as it was only 8 miles, and followed by beers, Tom's jokes were kept to a blessed minimum.

So for me, no padded bike shorts in the near future, just as there will be no one piece runner sunglasses or nylon short shorts slit up to there for my running.

Noncommittal...casual...relaxed...neurotic...your choice...I answer to them all!

Sister Mary Explains It All To Tom

So tonight we went and saw Late Nite Catechism, a one woman play.  The woman is a nun who comes out to talk to the audience and educate them about Catholicism.  All with a bit of a sly wink and a really good sense of humor.

Tom and I wanted to see it because A) it got good reviews, B) I, at least, am a reasonably good Catholic, and love, love, LOVE, good Catholic humor, and C) who doesn't love a god nun play. 

When shopping for tickets Tom had one caveat. He didn't want to sit in front because he had heard that the show was rather interactive, and Tom doesn't do interactive theater!  But the online ticket service only offered seats in the very front row, so Tom went down to the box office today, and bought tickets squarely in the center.  This being a rather small theater that kept us in good viewing lines, but with greatly reduced risk.

So we got there tonight, got a glass of wine, and took our seats.  Sister came out and got right down to business.  She immediately chastised three women in the front row who were CHEWING GUM!  Hel-LO!  And they had been Catholic school attendees!  Oye, such carelessness.

She then launched into a talk about Catholic philosophy regarding alien life on other planets.  This led to the subject of Galileo and the Catholic church. (Stay with me here...it's worth it, I promise!)  Sister asked what anyone could tell her about Galileo.  No one answered.  She stared at us all with that stern disappointment that only true nuns can master (this woman was good.)  When still, no answers were forthcoming, she announced that she had the class list, and would just refer to that. (Second grade reading class: Make a prediction!)

It seems that this "class list" was very closely related to the list of people who made the choice to use their credit cards to purchase their tickets.  She glances at the paper and calls on her first victim.  I can still hear it, as if in slow motion, "T-h-o-m-a-s-s-s G-r-e-n-a-a-a-c-h-e.  Where are you Thomas?  Stand up."  How he managed to keep from running for the nearest exit I'll never know.  He stood up...probably about as nervous as a kid in a Catholic school class in the early 60s.  Sister asked him about his status as a Catholic (baptized, but not practicing) and told Sister what he knew about Galileo.  She was impressed and corrected him only on the fact that the church in fact did not burn him at the stake, but rather kept him under house arrest.  Now I want to tell you that during his Sacramento theater debut I was busy offering him silent support through my love and devotion, but let's cut the crap...I was laughing myself into a coma!  For his trouble he received a prayer card of three aliens praying to the Blessed Mother (see the show, and it will make sense.)

Later in the same show, Sister asked if anyone knew the name of the process whereby the bread, water, and wine become the body and blood of Jesus.  No one raised their hand.  I knew the answer.  And I certainly wasn't about to let Tom have all the fun so up my hand went.  "Yes young man, what's your name?" Sister asked.

"My name is John, Sister", I answered. (I wasn't about to have the "J.D." discussion with this woman.  We'd have never gotten home.)

"John, what is the name of this transformation?"

"Transubstan..tion, Sister," I replied.\

"Tran-sub-stan-ti-A-tion....kind of tough to say, isn't it John?"

"Yes Sister, especially after a glass of wine."

"John did you go to Catholic school?"

"Oh yes Sister."

"You know John, I think you might be my favorite."

"Thank you Sister." (Thus illuminating the cause of my hated status in my past at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic School.)

For my troubles I received a holographic prayer card of Saint Lucy where her eyes jump from her head to the plate in her hand. (Long story...Google her.)

All in all this thing was a blast!  If you are now, or ever were Catholic, you will enjoy it mightily. I'm quite tempted to go back for Sister's Catholic Catechism in a few weeks. Tom even recovered before show's end, and even asked Sister a question about Purgatory during the Q & A.  Give that man a prayer card of aliens praying to the Blessed Mother, and he's your bitch!

As we left she met us in the lobby as she was taking a collection for retired nuns, and said goodnight to us each by name.  Very cool.

Did Ricky Martin Give Them Back Before 2 Weeks Was Up?:36 Hours Left

I like to think of myself as pretty thick skinned.  In most (some) areas.  I dish it out in big heaping bucketfuls, so I have to be able to take it...

(Interruption)I just snapped my fingers at Cal.  He was taunting his brother whom we're trying to get into the shower. It has come to that.  Actually, I already regret it.  Deep cleansing breath. 

Now where was I...I was commenting on my thick skin...

(Interruption) Cal has just informed me that he left his math journal at school.  He is worried (and I'm not making this up) that someone will break a window in his classroom and steal his journal and go forth and publish his research.  I have assured him that it is extremely unlikely that will happen and have ushered him off to prepare for his...

(Interruption, interruption) Cal is (supposed to be)getting ready for his shower, and all of a sudden I hear the dryer has started up.  He is concerned that it's running, but can't explain why he did it.

...so tonight I was very excited to be feeding the boys my homemade mac & cheese.  Cal assured me that he liked mac &c cheese, and Nolan is reputed to eat anything.  So it seems...

(Interruption) Nolan, who is supposed to be in the shower by now, just walked into the living room with his pants and underwear down around his ankles, declaring that he is not yet prepared for his shower because he has to go potty...

...uh...oh yeah, mac & cheese...so I made the most kid friendly version of mac and cheese: no bread crumbs (Cal didn't approve), no funky cheeses, just the basic, yet totally real, magilla. I made it, and served it up.  Problem number 1: Nolan didn't find it saucy enough.  He asked me to pour water into it (!!!)  Worse, I did it.  It made the dish saucier which placated him for a bit, then he flat out declared that he didn't like it, and could I please scrape all of the butter off of his bread.  Cal ate a brief bit more, but honestly, I think I lost him earlier when he found out that it wasn't the Shells & Cheese in a box.  I know that they're kids and all, but I'm a little put off.  Fortunately, I'll live.

I decided that the boys had to eat, so I offered up hot dogs.  Nolan announced that he wanted cheese, and about five other things on his.  Then I told him that he could either have a hot dog or a turkey sandwich.  He said turkey sandwich which I was preparing within seconds.  Cal said hot dog.   I put a pan of water...

(interruption) Cal just finished his shower in about two minutes and thirty seconds.  He assured me that he is thoroughly clean and that he washed his hair.  I am now willing to fall back on my mother's policy of being satisfied if he has managed to completely wet his hair.

...on the stove and cranked it on for the hot dog.  Then the moment arrived.  I caved. I gave in to every legitimate parenting instinct and tossed the fantasy completely out the window.  I turned off the stove, and put the hot dog...in...the...microwave. Within 30 seconds Cal was complaining that his hot dog was too hot.  I told him to blow on it, set the timer for five minutes, and announced that the dinner timer was ticking!  (And I love, love, LOVE that Tom kept the boys paced with 30 second interval updates of just how much time they had left to eat.)

I can't vouch for how quickly any of you parents out there have gone from eating dinner to beddy-bye tuck in, but I'm throwing down the challenge with 10:45, including showers for both.

After all were in bed Tom looked at me and said, "It's been great, but really, I think it's time for their parents to come home."  Of course, he's still frustrated because Nolan peed on the toilet seat.

Tomorrow is our last day.  We're keeping them out of soccer practice to have one last full afternoon and evening together before they (and we) return to our real worlds.

Looks like 10:45 is a failed number as Tom just came out and asked me if we remembered to have the boys brush their teeth...D'oh!

Does War and Peace Come in the Pop-Up Format?: Day 11

One of the (other) nifty accomplishments of my 2009 was reading the book Trinity by Leon Uris.  A grand, sweeping (long) historical novel that follows the history of the Irish people from the great potato famine to the turn of the 20th century.  It was an awesome book, one of the best I've ever read.  At 800-something pages it also took awhile to get through.  This was exacerbated by the fact that I often only read 10-20 pages a day.  Shameful, I know, especially for a teacher.  But reading is something I tend to do at the end of the day, just before going to sleep.  So I get myself all tucked in, warm and cozy, and move my eyes back and forth over the words until I can't keep my eyes open anymore.

This, of course, has been another part of our daily lives that has been altered with our house guests.  It shouldn't be.  All my reading takes place after they are well in bed.  But since they arrived, I have noticed a strange decaying of the quality of my reading material. 

Before they arrived I was reading Nana by Emile Zola.  He was a French writer and this novel's setting of early 20th century Paris was appealing because of our recent trip. (Truth be told, I bought it to read before the trip, and brought it along to read on the trip...neither of those happened.)

But at the end of that long first day, I was just too shagged out to expend energy on a British translation of a 100+ year old French novel.  Instead I grabbed for It Must Have Been Something I Ate, by Jefferey Steingarten.  Short, thoughtful essays on food and eating.  Perfect for a post kids day. 

After a few more days I found Steingarten required too much of an emotional commitment for the end of a long kid-filled day.  So I traded him in for a cookbook I've been slowly working my way through.  Perusing recipes, contemplating great Italian cookery, now THAT was a great way to wind down.

By the end of last week I had slid even further into the literary abyss by stepping away from the cookbook to a cooking magazine.  I don't know why that was somehow easier and better.  Maybe just the fact of it being literally, as well as figuratively, lighter weight.

Then this week, cooking magazines just became too much a drain on my mental capacity.  I actually turned to catalog mailers, the adult equivalent of a picture book, to help ease me towards slumber.  That's right, I can no longer process the written word after 9:30 at night.

Next week I should be able to resume Monsieur Zola and his dancing showgirl.  Good thing, too.  Much longer of this and I might have to find some pop-up books.