earthsuit101.com Blog

This is a joke that was mailed to me by a friend. She probably knew that my wife and I are writing a new program on fitness. This is not an endorsement for sending large numbers of joke oriented emails, but it does seem worth passing on here.

Not long ago a fellow wandered into the local library. After a considerable wandering-around period he finally decided to ask for help.

Seated behind the desk was an intimidating librarian who looked as though she had been there since at least the end of the civil war.

“Excuse me,” said he, “But could you tell me where the self-help area is?”

The librarian considered him over the top of her glasses for a few moments and then replied,

“Of course I can, but that would defeat the purpose, now wouldn’t it?”

Not many things will cause me to get up at three in the morning. Even fewer will cause me to set my alarm.

An awesome celestial event is usually one of those things. First, before I wake up the household, I always check the night sky to make certain we’re not socked in with cloud cover. Then around I go in a hushed excited voice, “Wow, you need to see this. It’s amazing!”

Like the pied piper I amass a dependable following. Our blanket wrapped bodies press tightly together on the back deck. “It’s so still and quiet out.” My daughter remarks as she huddles down content to hang in there until she’s seen it all.

If “eager to see” and “craving sleep” can be used in the same sentence it would explain why our youngest son quietly repeats my wakeup call of, “It’s amazing!” (read: conservation of thought). Like my wife, he doesn’t want to miss out on the experience, but is willing to grab it in a sleepish state and get back to bed.

Seconds before the total eclipse of the moon our daughter says, “I thought animals go crazy and do strange things before an eclipse.” Pulling from my knowledge on such matters, I explain that solar eclipses do that. When the moon is eclipsed by the earth it’s just slow and subtle. Probably doesn’t disturb the natural instincts of any animals. Just then the coyotes in the woods below our house erupt into eerie howls and yelps. We had to laugh at their timing. They humble me and correct my assumption on the spot. We both smile armed with our new knowledge that coyotes are like druids announcing signs they cannot understand.

Our dogs stir uncomfortably, a lone car drives by and for an instant we forget about the moon as it continues its majestic dance with the Earth. We comment on the lights around our rural neighborhood. “Do you remember how dark it used to be when we first moved here?” I ask her. “Kind of.” She says.

The kids were very little when I woke them to see their first meteor shower. She admits little recollection of those early nighttime events. It’s not surprising; she was usually snuggled in my arms more asleep than awake.

Many years have passed since it was really dark at night around our Island home. Next month she’ll start her junior year in college and I have the bitter-sweet realization that she’ll be moving away soon. She must be thinking that too as she begins to reminisce about family, camp fires and points out new homes that have been built around us as she has grown up.

The stillness returns and our gaze is drawn back to the spectacle of the orange-red disc that looks too unreal to be our moon. Truly amazing! The event is not fully over, in many ways it never will be, but we decide to call it good and return to our warm beds.

At first I cannot sleep, but I’m happy I set my alarm. There’s a peace which fills my heart as I’m willing to accept the predictable order and infinite magnitude of the heavens. I’m happy to be allowed to hear God’s quiet shout with my own eyes…

This is my tapestry. I am the creator. I made this for you and all of mankind.

With all my Love, God

During my second year as an ocean lifeguard, the North Beach Lieutenant (my boss), paired me with a rookie who was an amazing loser. It would have been one thing if his only vice was being hung-over when he came to work; or if he was just preoccupied with talking about girl’s boobs; or if he wore mirrored sunglasses so he could nap without anybody knowing; or if he simply never watched the water. Any one of those irritants, I could have dealt with.

Phil came with ALL these problems at once. Oh, and one other interesting handicap as well. It’s one you probably won’t believe, but its a major part of my story so I’m going to tell you anyway …he couldn’t swim.

Sure, it seemed incongruous to me too. People go to the beach and think that the lifeguards are highly trained professionals who will be there at a moments notice when needed. In fairness, you’re mostly right if you think that. Out of the seventy member of our Beach Patrol I would have trusted everyone with my life, except the incompetent who sat next to me.

To give credit to my boss, there was some logic to the Pope – Loser combination. I was one of the better swimmers on the beach at that time. The street at which my stand was positioned was in close proximity to the channel which separated North Wildwood and Stone Harbor. A strong swimmer was ideal for this position and it was also the place for an extremely attentive guard who could keep bathers away from trouble in the first place.

So, here is why it makes some sense to place someone with their “beginner’s card” on my stand. Since the water got so deep so fast not much swimming was required to get totally wet.

When we had to go get somebody, Phil, my looser partner, would make a show with flags and whistles (read: stall) until the two requisite guards dove in from the adjoining stands. (Note: Beach policy was four guards in the water for the first victim.) Then at the last minute, he would plunge himself into the water holding on to his can (rescue buoy) for dear life and immediately kick back to the sandy bank. That way he got wet and could run over to the rest of us (also wet) and help escort the victim onto dry land. It was a great sham, but one day it didn’t work out.

Everything began as usual. I warned a bather, “The sand disappears about a foot from the waters edge.” I took my jacket off, got down from the stand and placed the whistle in my mouth and the bather responded back to me with a “Splash-Plop” and the ocean temporarily swallowed him up, just like all the others who didn’t believe me (It was always men). I called the run and reached the startled victim within seconds. A guard from each of the stand on either side of us was not far behind.

Normally, with a short distance, we’d all swim the victim to shore. Phil (dripping wet) would help us drag the victim out. A crowd would gather and always applaud our effort. (Once, an appreciative bather brought each of us a cold can of beer after a run. Phil drank his before the guy made it back to his blanket.)

But, this particular day the outgoing tide was at its peak and consequently we all got sucked out to sea incredibly fast. Our stooge held back as long as he dare, but if any should-be-rescuer was dry at the end of a run it could mean their job (unlike drinking a beer on duty – 1980). So Phil jumped into the water, kicked like hell to get back to shore, but he was no match for the strong current (none of us were). These washes don’t last forever and after about two hundred yards our ride was over and we were spit out of the torrent.

The victim stayed relatively calm as I had him in the official “bear-hug of life”, which was good since Phil was on the verge of panic as he hacked at the water with no effect. One of the other guards went to calm Phil and the two of them caught up to us when the current spit them out too. As expected, in a short time one of the beach patrol life boats (think row…row…row) approached our little clutch beyond the waves.

The victim always got a ride back to shore, sometimes the primary rescuer (to assist the victim in transit) but this time it was clear Phil had to go. Our Lieutenant was one of the guards who rowed out and he was clearly pissed off when Phil grabbed the gunwale of the boat and pulled himself in. He looked at me and growled, “Lead them back.”

Not one of us wanted to be in that boat. I had petitioned to get a new stand partner for most of a month and now I knew Phil was wearing the blue shorts and red top colors of the Beach Patrol for the last time.

I led a slow course diagonally into the shore to avoid the powerful current of the channel. When I got back to my stand all of Phil’s gear was gone.

Soon the lieutenant parked his blood red Jeep right behind my stand. It was a little unnerving as he didn’t get out nor utter a word. For hours he sat there. About fifteen minutes before knockoff, the lieutenant got out of the Jeep climbed up onto the stand and sat beside me. He stared at the waves for a few long moments. When he finally spoke, he granted me a rite that only the most senior guards had, “Who do you want as your stand partner?”

Ranald wrote me with this link since he is aware that I have an interest in Scottish Highland Cattle. It’s not as acute as my interest in other things that move among my Scottish genes — I pride myself as an amateur economist (a bow to Adam Smith) and delight the Scottish connection to everything important.  I felt compelled to, at least, pass on this ElectricScotland page with you.

I was immediately mooooved by reading the text. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.) At first I just sped through it with casual interest, as one might read any agricultural bulletin. When I found my heart rate leaping and my eyes getting misty, I knew this was not your typical newsy farm read. Here is my proof; when was the last time you read something like this?

Altogether, it may safely be said that there are few breeds of cattle which are so graceful in form and colour, and so majestic in gait and movement as a thoroughly well-bred Highland bull or ox, cow, or heifer.

All I could do is take a deep breath, slow down and digest the detail and the passion of the author and his purposeful and insightful words. Now, you probably think I’m making fun…I’m not. This is amazing and if you like thoughtful, intelligent prose with a practical application and historical perspective you must give it a read.

Another aspect is that it is chock full of advice which is free of the harassment of political correctness. You cannot get that at any price in the United States of America any longer.

When winter snows occur, hay or even straw should be liberally supplied, for it is at such times that the animals need the support their own “niggard plains deny.”

As testament to the embarrassing, embarrassment that us yanks always seem to manage eg. The David Howard incident mostly because we place hyper-sensitive illiterates in high regard and in powerful places.

But alas, let all that fall away and just read and enjoy what happens when real people, write about real things that matter a great deal.

Enjoy!

The Link: http://www.electricscotland.com/agriculture/page8.htm

*Read it, and you’ll understand my title.

It’s a strange feeling when you find you have uttered the exact words to your kids that your parents used. Especially when you see them roll their eyes and side-tilt their head just the way you did.

This particular saying is one of the earliest I can remember, followed by, “Eat your vegetables — there are starving kids in….” Still, my bittersweet favorite is the classic about having two strong legs. I remember the first time I pulled it out of some dusty closet in my brain and deftly admonished my firstborn. It was as if those words had been genetically imprinted, just waiting for some predetermined trigger to activate them.

Blaming God for your kids two strong legs seems natural enough, but the intentional application of guilt and finger pointing that follows with, “Use them!” makes everybody feel bad. Certainly the same kind of verbal intonation comes across when Nike says “Just do it.” So why can’t I bring back “USE THEM!” as a delightful reminder of what a blessing we have? Legs and arms. Eyes and ears. Hands. These are gifts and we animate them with our will. They are tools which allow us to interface with our world.

Like any tool, our body must be well maintained in order to work properly. Care and maintenance can determine whether we enjoy all life has to offer or fall into dysfunction and misery.

This is where the comparison, between man and machine, stops. An old axiom, which should at once challenge and encourage is, “If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it.” Each day we have choices. Some are easy, like deciding to drive on the right side of the road. The consequences of doing otherwise are devastating and immediate. Other choices we make each day are less immediate but just as devastating.

For instance, whether we go for that walk? Is that extra cookie necessary? Should I take a minute to sit and talk to a loved one? We face thousands of choices each day. Sometimes the answers take the form of a habit. We internally wrestle with other choices and then there are the outright decisions that round out our life experience.

Unlike when you were five, it is likely that there is no one in your life to tell you what to do. Perhaps it’s been 30 years or more since somebody said, “God gave you two strong legs. Use them!” Maybe those legs are no longer as strong as they were. Perhaps the dynamic “tool” that is your body, has not been maintained as it should. Dis-ease and dysfunctional aging may be demonstrating the serious effects of neglect.

Don’t despair. Each day is a new opportunity to make new and different choices. The rewards are huge. They are also available to anybody who is willing to make positive change. Renewed enthusiasm, proper nutrition, sufficient exercise, optimal nerve function, relationship building, adequate rest, and spiritual certainty carry with them remarkable results at any age or in any situation. The choices are yours and so is the outcome.

This is a setup. In this post I’ll explain something that I use in the clinical nature of my practice that will help you understand where I’m coming from in a future post. I’ve been meaning to write about a certain current event, but my thesis would be difficult to understand without this post as a reference. Two Times One Half (AKA; 2X1/2) is that foundation.

Many of my patients become friends. I know this is not considered to be good professional behavior, but we live in a small, tight knit community and frankly life’s too short to squelch friendships in lieu of perceived professionalism.

Ian had been a long term patient. A tall, tough, wiry guy. He was a Marine in Vietnam and transitioned out of the service poorly as so many did. Life had been hard on him and judging from his later day constitution plus relationships and personal propensities, he was equally hard on his life. Still he maintained a gentle spirit and a deeply caring attitude for those he loved, if not always for himself. That’s why when his family encouraged him to quit smoking he took up the challenge.

At first, I missed the subtle signs that something was wrong. Sure for years he’d come in reeking of tobacco and I’d sometimes notice him bolt out of the office after an adjustment and light up a cigarette. I’d marvel at the lasting behavior patterns that date back to military service. He had probably been in his early twenties the last time he had to worry about a Vietcong sniper catching a bead on the glow of his cigarette, yet his brain still insisted his hand protectively cup the burning embers to prevent detection.

Subtle signs would have been: the frequency of his visits increasing; that he stopped smelling smoky; and no longer raced out of the office. Now he lingered as if wanting me to perform some further miracle that might be within my realm.

A few days later he came in very agitated, not at me or my staff, but just generally. The subtle signs were long gone and his body was broadcasting loud and clear that something was desperately wrong.

“Ian, what’s going on with you today?” I asked.

“I wanted to tear the cupboards off the walls, so I got in the car and came here.”

Again I asked, “What’s going on?”

“Doc, I’ve not had a cigarette for ten and a half days and I’m going crazy.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and encouraged, “Ian, that’s great.” Then I blew it by adding that the worst part of the physical addiction to nicotine was over.

“Maybe so, but I feel worse now than ever.”

Then one of the strangest dialogs followed that will remain stuck in my memory forever. “You know Ian, I’ve read that cigarettes are one of the toughest habits to break. They say nicotine is even more addictive than heroin.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. Heroin is nothing, I’ve broken that habit twice and have been clean for years, but I’m a monster trying to quit this. Even my family’s encouraging me to smoke again!”

I just stood there pulling my jaw off the floor, wondering what to say next when he asked, “Doc, isn’t there like a treatment place… like a rehab center for smokers?”

Again my time of usefulness ended when he easily confirmed my insights about heroin addiction. He walked out of my office with a straighter spine, but with little more. The next time I saw him was a few weeks later. He was calm and happy and reeked of tobacco smoke. Nothing was said. Months later, I casually broached the cigarette habit again. “So Ian, whatever happened with your attempt to quit smoking?”

“It just wasn’t worth it. I had massive headaches, was always uptight and couldn’t sleep. Finally my wife threw a pack of cigarettes at me and said, ‘If you don’t smoke, one of us is going to die.’ So I lit up and it was one of the best days of my life.”

Normally, I wouldn’t have said much, but I was prepared. “You know Ian, sometimes it’s not good to quit something cold turkey. Most people can cut their bad habits in half pretty easily.”

He went on to tell me about how his best buddy quit drinking and died of a heart attack within a month. And how another acquaintance had quit “everything bad” and even started to eat right, only to end up dieing of cancer. There was no indication that anything I said sunk in and he left quickly and lit up before he hit the sidewalk.

Months past before I saw him again. For the first time he greeted me using my first mane. “You really helped me, Ray. I did what you said.”

Frantically my mind searched for what I had “said.” Then he laid down on my adjusting table, took a deep breath and relaxed. Not wanting to admit that I wasn’t sure what I’d said that helped him, I began searching for a bone (pun intended) and asked, “So Ian, what’s been going on, it’s been a while since you were here last.”

“Things are great.”

Realizing I was not getting anywhere, I asked. “What did you mean that I helped you with what I said?”

“Yeah, that really worked, I went from three packs a day to half a pack. It was no problem and I feel great. It only took a week. I cut how much I smoked in half until I got to half a pack and decided that I’d call it good…don’t want to tempt fate…knock on wood.”

That was about five years ago. Ian still smokes, but not more than half a pack a day and he feels life is very good.

Since that experience I encourage this formula. With a little devotion it always works flawlessly. I call it 2×1/2. We tend to lose an important perspective when we deal with changing things about our life. For instance, we decide to lose weight and we go on a diet regime that is as impossible and unsustainable as Ian’s attempt to quit smoking cold turkey. Then we fall off the plan and wonder what went wrong, or we decide to exercise and jump into a program only to find our body is too prone to injury to continue.

That’s where the 2×1/2 concept comes in. When you desire to improve some positive aspect of your life, you can easily double it (2x) and if you have a vice of some type you can cut your exposure to it in half (½) without too much effort and little risk.

For example, say I decide that reading is better for me than TV. I’d simply double my time spent reading and cut my time wasted in front of the TV by one half. The concept is so simple that anybody can figure it out, yet there is so much room for creativity that every possibility and any problem can be fitted into the reasonableness of this formula.

There, I hope you have fun with Two Times One Half and see where it will take you. As for me I’ll revisit the concept in the near future, in another post, in a totally unexpected way.

Yesterday our youngest child graduated. It was a ceremony at the church that sponsors our homeschool co-op. There was sixteen graduates. The whole ceremony was planned by the graduates; music , speeches, and the reading of the letters from the parents. Here is the one I wrote for Eli.

Sometimes I think it’s good to look at acquaintances, friends, and family members as traveling companions. Each day we wake up and before us is a new day of travel through the experiences of life.

Most of the time, like with friends and spouses, we get to choose who joins us as we travel the days. Then, there are the companions who travel with us because God decides we need them in our life. Like children.

Eli, you have been a gift from God from the start. Each day, it’s clear that you are a child God decided we needed. Not one that would always make us feel comfortable, or always good about our parenting abilities, but a wonderful traveling companion that challenges us to be better people, less complacent, and eager to learn more about living each day while growing with God.

As you have grown into a man, you spend less time traveling the days with us and more time with others. That’s natural. Coworkers, teammates, and classmates now share their travels with you.

Again, God is true. The same wonderful effect he has had on our family, he now imparts to others through you. Initially, they probably think of you as a very large quirky guy, with a passion for hard work and having fun. They are not wrong, but there is a surprise which only comes after they travel with you day in and day out for a while.

It’s then that they learn that their friend; Eli, has a huge heart and a special place in their life that God felt they needed filled.

Your mother and I are very proud of you today and look forward to your future travels.

God speed.

I love Hillsdale College. Amazingly, this is the first college I can remember ever hearing about as a very young child. Strange for a kid growing up in Upstate New York to know about a tiny college (even less known in the 1960s) in Michigan.

Each time we went on a family picnic, I’d be told, “Ray, You carry the blanket.” I’d lean into the trunk of the car and pull out a blue-gray wool blanket with tattered white cotton pipping around the edges. The scratchy surface felt good against my arms and I even liked the smell of the wool close to my face.

“Here’s a good spot.” my dad would say. Then, I’d lay out the blanket as I simultaneously fell out onto it. It was easy to tell which side was up as a large canvas crest was stitched onto one corner of the blanket. It was the clock-tower-crest of Hillsdale College, my mom’s alma matter.

It kind of became a family joke. Whenever that blanket came out, we’d likely experience “the Hillsdale encounter.”

“Your mother chased me out of the dorm.” my dad would tease.

“Now Bob. I did not.” Mom would correct.

We never would know whether it was true or not. What we did know is that my dad did take a girl from Hillsdale to a dance during the time that my mother was Resident Assistant in the girls dorm. It was quite possible he was loitering at the door and it was probable that the my mom, the R.A., would have shooed him away just before curfew. Neither remembered for sure, but that never stopped my dad from teasing.

It would be years later that my parents actually met. Another time, another state and since by then, it was after WWII, another world.

So, even though I’ve never personally been there, I have fond memories of Hillsdale College. That’s one reason I enjoy receiving their monthly publication Imprimis. Another is that it is free (which appeals to my Scottish heritage), but most of all I enjoy the consistent perpetuation of excellent content.

For example; this months issue containing an adaptation of a speech delivered by Robert A. Sirico, entitled “Socialism, Free Enterprise, and the Common Good” is fantastic.

Since I’m now an Amateur Economist I found it particularly educational. Filling in the gaps and putting things in perspective… life is so cool!