Author: fifteenkey (Page 16 of 96)

Nearly a decade ago, I used to push myself on the stair climbers at the gym by seeing if I could make it to the top of the 110 story twin towers in 30 minutes. I usually did. On March 10, 2007, I stomped out the $60 per month membership and purchased a used, commercial grade Tectric ClimbMax 150. I still use it. Regularly. It’s never been a clothes rack.

I’d had experience with the model from the late 90’s when we had a small gym in our NEC Littleton office. Ron and Steve always used the treadmills and I took the stairs. We were regulars until the day Ron stepped off his treadmill, let out a quick, pained groan like he had been shot, clutched his chest and crumpled to the floor. It was the first time his implanted defibrillator had fired to quell ventricular fibrillation. Ron was fine and is to this day, much to the benefit of many Seniors he helps with health care choices as a volunteer.

On delivery day in ‘07, I had the boys from Precision Fitness Equipment set it up in the corner of my home office with a perfect viewing angle to the HDTV in the living room. I didn’t really need the TV angle since my routine involved an iTunes “Workout” playlist and something to read propped up on a clear acrylic holder; a water bottle rested on the maple window sill just within reach, low to my right. I ascended, without actually ascending, 3 or 4 times a week until one day Megan entered to say, “Dad, Maddy needs her own room.” Like the Pittsburgh Pirates in any given summer, the ClimbMax was suddenly headed to the basement.

One half of my lower level is a half finished garage. It’s sheetrocked, but the half-assed contractor who did the job must have been trippin’ when he taped and mudded it because the seams look like Maddy did them with finger paints. I’ve never gotten around to fixing them and painting it. Anyway, that’s where the new set of stairs found home and since then I’ve stepped in sweltering heat with the garage door open and lately climbed in attire more suited for scaling that big mountain on the Nepal-China border.

I don’t know how many steps up I’ve taken in my effort to elude the ticking crocodile snapping from just below, but I’m still taking them and it always feels good.  I figure my consciousness or spirit, or soul may live forever, but the machine breaks down and I’m nowhere near ready for that. So I work out for reasons of vanity, but ultimately it’s because my heartstrings always tug when I hear George Bailey desperately tell Clarence in “It’s a Wonderful Life,” “I want to live, Clarence. I WANT TO LIVE.”  I do.

A 3 hole binder of printed articles has largely been replaced by my Kindle, but the personal trainers living in my iPod still propel me. The crashing guitars and drums provide two-step rhythm while Patterson, Mick, Jeff and Eddie yelp words of encouragement. When I’m really rolling, I sing along. Sometimes it’s to push the cardio benefit, but mostly it’s so I can belt out my favorite lines like…

Nobody told me it’d be easy
or for that matter be so hard
but it’s the living
and the learning
that makes the difference
and makes it all worthwhile

Yeah, sometimes I sing my ass off while climbing it off.  It must look and sound pretty ridiculous to see and hear me huffing and puffing on a stair climber while breathlessly singing absolutely out of tune. But not out of time.

I’ll have to video and post that sometime…

[Note: I just noticed this is my 800th post on my blog. At the end of this month, fifteenkey.com will be six. The math says I’ve averaged 11 posts a month for six years, but in the last two months I’ve averaged only two. I’m wondering why.]

Often when I’m looking at my phone, I’ll hear a smart-alecky “Are you updating your Facebook page?” Yes, sometimes I am. It’s still fun and at times, very funny. Mostly though, I think it provides me just enough Cheeze-It sized narcissistic moments to keep insecure me somewhat secure that I’m a worthwhile human being. Or something like that. It’s also a great daily distraction to keep my ADD appetite satiated.

Facebook is an incredibly powerful tool to keep people connected, albeit superficially. I mean how else would I know of some of my Facebook “friends” “like” Rush Limbaugh?  Sigh… Still, what I love most about the social network is the humor of many friends there and the ability to share life’s moments with immediacy. How else could I have shared this, this and this almost as they happened? The book of face does give us some ability to document our lives.

My quandary is that’s what my blog used to be for, and it demanded more than 140 characters per serving. I’m trying to figure out if Facebook is stunting my other writing and otherwise sapping very finite creativity one short post at a time.  A good friend of mine who blogs is also doing so very sparsely these days, though twin boys may also be matching contributors.

There are some other possibilities why I’m not expressing here like I used to. There’s the work blog demanding a weekly post and a good deal of other work-related writing I do between weekends. Then there are these theories from Ernie Hemingway:

“Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer’s loneliness but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates.” – Excerpt from Nobel Prize acceptance speech

“I have to ease off making love when writing hard as the two things are run by the same motor.” – Letter to Charles Scribner, 1948

Seriously, given the choice in that second one, I’m surprised the man wrote any books at all…

I guess I need to fight through my happiness and keep writing… Just not on Facebook.

This week I read an article on the “slow photography” movement. The point is that as we pose, point and shoot ourselves, let’s not miss the experience we’re snapping to document. The “document” versus “art” aspects of photography was also explored. Most of us are mere documentarians with our DSLR’s, point and shoot’s and camera phones, but occasionally we luck out and capture real beauty. Well, at least our interpretation of it.

Toward the end of our brief trip to Burlington, Vermont to escort her son back to UVM for semester two, Joyce and I enjoyed a little shop browsing and noshing in charming Woodstock. If you’ve never visited this 250 year old gem, named by National Geographic as, “One of America’s Most Picturesque Villages,” go.

Our 36 hour “some people get the holiday off and some don’t” getaway began Sunday morning when we jammed the car full of the student, his clean clothes, and an assortment of junk food. And Gatorade because he’s a D1 athlete… Anyway, after a quick late lunch burger, we headed for the unloading. If you’ve never visited a freshman’s post semester break dorm room, named by National Geographic as, “One of America’s Scariest Places,” don’t.

Speaking of scary, after a quick check-in at the lovely Holiday Inn (thanks a lot Shatner!), we found a couple bar stools adjacent to a hi-def display to watch a horror show. After the Jets thoroughly had their way with our Pats, even icy Bill Belichick was looking for some cuddle time, throwing a hug at Jets coach “Sexy Rexy” after the game. Dejected, we walked it off a bit on shimmering Church Street and settled into Leunig’s Bistro for a scrumptious nightcap of wine and cheese.

Monday morning my Acura groaned at the thought of ignition in the single digit freeze of Burlington, yet upon my “Oh, come on!” she started right up. Clearly, I have a way with her.

Then, after a quaint Arcadia Diner bellyful of “apple oatmeal” (made with apple juice – good!) and turkey sausage, we were off to the Catamount Outdoor Family Center for my introduction to cross-country, um, skiing. My Nordic holiday is best summarized in song. So, go ahead, conjure up your best Tony Bennett and let it rip:

I….. Left my joints. In – Nor – thern Ver – mont

“Isn’t it beautiful!?” Joyce exclaimed. Of course it was, but as I struggled, head down, up yet another hill on the “flat” 5K course, I wasn’t really noticing. We were under a Crayola sky blue sky, but apparently the sun was also on holiday because it was barely radiating six degrees of separation from zero. I’ll admit it was fun, but as a beginner any loss of focus resulted in me horizontal. As I followed her around the course like a panting greyhound vainly chasing “Swifty,” the mechanical rabbit, I thought, “she looks great in those…” BAM! “DOWN GOES FRAZIER!” It happened very quickly and actually my fall was broken by one of my ski poles. The one in a 90 degree angle. I looked up for sympathy and saw Swifty smoothly gliding around a corner and out of my view… I struggled to bend the pole back into the shape of a crooked walking stick.

Leaving Woodstock at dusk Monday, Joyce pointed out a bright moon above the mountain backdrop and foreground barren trees. “I haven’t taken a picture all weekend,” I responded while pulling over to imprint the image. I clicked off 3, but none captured it adequately. On the slow and smooth, hill and dale way home, we chatted and channel surfed. At one point I glanced over to see a peaceful and beautiful sleeping face reflecting dashboard light.

I don’t have the pictures, but I have the experience in my heart and mind forever.

I’m not sure when this one oozed into my ear, but it’s been sloshing around a while, so since I have nothing else to write about, now seems a good time to unscramble my thoughts on one messed up nursery rhyme.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
OK, big mistake Dude. You’re extremely obese, literally the shape of an egg. You’re an uneven oval and very unbalanced even when sober. You know you can’t sit still unless you’re in that big, cushy “huev-o-boy,” of yours, so what made you think you could sit on a freakin’ wall? Idiot.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
I wasn’t there, but a “great” fall? I’m sure he didn’t find it good at all, and as falls go, I don’t really consider a plunge of likely less than ten feet great, and this one looked to be six, eight tops. Now falling out of a plane without a parachute and having a few minutes to think about it before being impaled on a steel-barbed wireless tower? That’s a great fall.

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men.
Yeah, let’s teach our kids that General Franco and monarchies are all benevolent and somehow still cool. And I’m sure it wasn’t all of them. Workplace absenteeism statistics alone would place some at home riding the horse for non-work purposes or playing with their new Kinect. Plus, who’s back at the castle protecting the monarch? This is nothing but Palace Propaganda.

Couldn’t put Humpty together again.
Um, what would motivate them to even try if horses actually could perform micro-surgery in the dirt with their filthy hooves? And how do you know where to put those cloudy little white bits? Even if they tried and to some degree succeeded, Humpty sadly would have devolved from an egg to a brutally scarred eggplant, and that’s only if the medieval medical staff managed to avert a massive, middle ages, black-death type infection culminating in an oozy explosion of egg-fart sudden death. It was the humane thing to do when they just kicked dirt over the shell filled, uncooked omelet.

So who the hell chose to mess up multiple generations by relaying the story?

I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. Well, not grandiose ones anyway. A simple scan of the gym in early January versus any other time of the year is the reason why. As the U2 song simply states, “Nothing changes on New Year’s Day.” If you want to quit something or start something, just do it. You don’t need the first page of your new cat calendar to tell you when. Any moment in time will do. Still, New Years Day does stimulate a personal inventory process in some, including me. Not always, but since I’m sitting here with coffee and keyboard, I’ll give it a go. “Continuous improvement” of my life is always in process, so what tweaks will I look to make, more or less, in 2011?

More: Writing. One blog post in December ties my record low from February 2005. Oh, and that’s back when I started the blog on February 28th, Megan’s 16th birthday.

Less: Chemicals/food additives. “Low fat” or “low-carb” or any other faux food concoction messes with the body’s natural metabolic processes. I’m rubbing myself with pure butter right now…

More: Face-time. More time in people’s faces is good for me and for you. Well, I mean it’s good for you to be in the faces of people that matter to you.

Less: Immersion in the US political process. The state of my country is extremely distressing to me and our broken political process doesn’t provide much hope for solutions. Last night as Joyce and I watched Hitchcock’s classic “North by Northwest,” I said there will never be another president on Mt. Rushmore because the opposition party of any potential candidate would not allow it. I’m sure I’ll be back. I care too much, so “I can’t quit you baby, but I got to put you down for a while.”

More: Work with my hands. There’s something very fulfilling about stepping back and seeing the tangible result of mental and physical effort. I’ll let you know how that feels when I finish the basement family room.

Less: Sports Talk-Radio. Really, what’s the point?

More: New music. My spectrum is too narrow. MVRadio has opened my ears to wonderful audible scents this weekend.

Less: Rumination. Be here now.

More: Caloric deficit creation. Two related, tangible goals are to 1.) successfully run the 2011 Falmouth Road Race; and 2.) not get a sunburn with white shading under my “moobs.”

Less: Time in bed. No, not that time. Reading or watching TV for 10 minutes and falling asleep at 9-ish, then re-awakening at 1 and lying awake till 3 or 4 isn’t working.

More: Travel. I’m reading a book with a collection of Ernest Hemingway’s musings on writing. About writers, he um, writes, “The more he learns from experience, the more truly he can imagine.” I hope to learn a great deal from Paris in the springtime, but also raise my awareness to learn from simply walking local streets.

Less: Procrastination. OK, maybe these are resolutions…

More: Discipline. I’ll need it to make these improvements in 2011.

Less: Being “connected.” I can probably be more productive with much of the above if I don’t update Facebook hourly…

What tweaks are you planning?

On a recent Saturday in our luxury box seats along the first base line at church, Joyce and I listened to a sermon about Advent. Father Tim said it was about “Hope, Peace, Joy and Love.” I thought, “there a blog there,” but it didn’t formulate until today.

Hope
“When are you going to come back to us? When are you going to let it go?” My questions were softened with love, but they tore open a six month wound that’s yet to even begin healing. I believe the resultant tears were cleansing and my arms protective of heart. I left with the hope my loved one will move on with the living to honor those past.

Peace
“Peace be with you.” This week someone very close to me has been robbed of it by another. It’s natural to react defensively when attacked, but often that’s just what the antagonist wants. My advice was to wish them a Merry Christmas and the hope they find peace this holiday season.

Joy
“Oh, please tell her I said ‘thank you.’” That was the joyous response of the mother of my children when she learned Joyce had baked her favorite Anise cookies. Just then Joyce got into the car and the two chatted and laughed at Gigi’s request that I NOT leave the cookies at her house without her supervision. She knew Kyle would leave no crumbs… Twenty minutes earlier, Joyce and I speaker-spoke with her ex about his new job and the joy that accompanied it. We’re thankful we can share joy across our extended families.

Love
Um, yeah.

Tonight after picking up my little blond, we sang our way home. Once we got there, Maddy agreed to share it with all of you.

Merry Christmas

Having worked out hard last night on dead weights, carving machines and the elliptical contraption, this evening I needed to give the bones a rest. I stopped for fresh things make meatballs and tortellini, and then decided a nice red would complement the meal. Kappy’s has a good wine selection, and I browsed their Italian offerings and then the Pinot’s. What I wanted was a blend I enjoyed last week with pal Alan. It’s labeled “Hook n’ Ladder,” but I can’t find a retailer that carries it. I settled for a distinctive black and blood bottle of Apothic Red. The label and description got me:

“A captivating blend of three distinct grapes, with the dark fruit flavors of Syrah, brambly spice of Zinfandel, and a smooth elegance of Merlot.

Apothic Red reveals intense fruit aromas and flavors of rhubarb and black cherry that are complemented by hints of mocha, chocolate, brown spice and vanilla. The plush, velvety mouth feel and smooth finish round out this intriguing, full-bodied red blend.”

I gently caressed the neck of the $9.99 beauty and put it on the counter to breathe while I got busy, Italian style. After balling and setting the sauce a simmer, I killed another half hour surfing for Christmas presents. The thought of sipping the three grape merger was…Well, it was apothicating. There, I said it. Well, wrote it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I gingerly removed a goblet from the cabinet and placed it down next to the… still corked bottle.

That little aggravation aside, it’s a fine Tuesday night wine.

Yesterday was a day of retail errands with Maddy and Kyle. Port for a dinner party. John Stewart’s “Earth” for a birthday present. Some new clothes for Mr. Fashionista. As we swept through the Thanksgiving parade sponsor’s space on our way to the candlestick maker, the little blond had her left hand in mine and her right extended to brush all the fabrics she passed. “Ooohh, so soft” she’d say as she swiped sweaters and other garments within reach. As we approached a woman bent over a display of scarves, I thought, “no, she won’t.” I was wrong. The little paw remained extended right across the protruding butt like it was just another clothes rack.

We kept walking, but I at once chastised baby girl and turned back to apologize to the woman. She was smiling.

Early yesterday morning I was mentally stringing words like popcorn and cranberries, but they were stale and wouldn’t stay on the thread. The red timer on my somewhat annual Thanksgiving post just wouldn’t pop. I put it aside and starting doing (Work)work.

A couple hours later I received an email that read, “(Work)Joyce’s mom just passed away.” In yesterday’s vapor-post, I had intended to use an uplifting line from a song called “A World of Hurt,” unknowing that’s where my friend would be. It’s a place many of my generation are now experiencing with their parents. On Saturday, (Play)Joyce learned her boss’s mom had also passed away.

A little over 4 years ago, my new boss greeted me in her office saying, “Hi, I’m Joyce.” I remember doing a bit of a mental eye-roll and thinking, “Of course you are.” In the years since, we’ve done some great work and we’ve laughed a lot. I first met her mom at a 4th of July party at the parents’ home in Rockport. It didn’t take long to figure out (Work)Joyce’s humor and infectious laugh was heavily influenced by the maternal X chromosome.

So my Thanksgiving post was going to be about what I’m thankful for. How about Joyce squared? “J²,” to borrow a nickname from another J-pair. They are both smart, strong, accomplished, independent and fun. My Joyce’s live life fully and in spite of incredibly busy schedules, they always make time to help others through their civic and charitable work.

I guess the lyric fits after all…

“It ain’t too late to take a deep breath and throw yourself into it with everything you’ve got.
It’s great to be alive.”

– World of Hurt by the Drive By Truckers

Happy Thanksgiving.

I do try to keep a lid on Kyle’s obsession with the Harry Potter stuff, but often I’ll engage him. On our way to the Orlando airport yesterday, the following conversation took place:

Me: “Kyle, how come the Death Eaters can turn into black smoke when they’re flying?”
Kyle: (With incredulity) “Because they’re Death Eaters.”
Me: “Oh.”
(quiet few seconds)
Kyle: “I wish I could do that.”
Me: “I know you do, my boy.”
(few more quiet seconds)
Kyle: “I’d fly to school instead of taking the bus!”
Me: “Well, then you could sleep in.”
(laughter)