A Long Deferred Privilege

 Having gone to bed unreasonably early, it wasn’t a surprise when I woke up promptly at 4:00 am.  I made myself stay in bed another hour, trying to compromise as much as possible between time zones. Why compromise? Why not just keep to my own schedule even in a new place? Because I would get up at 2:00 am and go to bed before sundown, that’s why! Not the best way to maximize a tropical respite.

With only 6 days on the ground, we planned to make the most of every minute. But ah, the best laid plans of mice and women… First, we reckoned without several days’ worth of getting lost. We also hadn’t accounted for the possibility of a hurricane.

By the time the wheels went up on our Hawaiian Airlines jet, we already knew that the storm currently known as Tropical Storm Ana would impact our plans, and might even strengthen into a hurricane. Forecasters weren’t entirely sure about the timing, but it looked like we could only be sure of one full day and a few hours of the next for any swimming or other outdoor activities. So we wanted to be out and about early.

David wanted to leave by 6:30, so we were all up early. At 6:32, horrified that my dawdling had already caused me to be 2 minutes late, I put on my backpack, said good-bye to Mom and Tina, and went out. I thought David would just leave with whoever was ready first (me!) and the rest would follow after a few minutes. Well, he was still waiting 20 minutes or so later, when I finally went back up to see what was keeping them. “We were waiting for you!” they exclaimed.

So we got lost 20 minutes later than we would’ve otherwise.

 

First stop, Pearl Harbor. That one was pretty easy to find. It was our first time out on the Arizona Memorial, a sobering reminder of war, death, and heroism. It also put Grandma’s and Grandpa’s lives into a little more perspective, since they came to teach in Hawaii only 11 years after the attack on Pearl Harbor.

At a time when anti-Japanese sentiment was still high, they invited numerous students into their home without asking to see their passports first. Many of those students, now grown and with their own families and even grandchildren, became so much a part of the family that they’re still our aunties, uncles, and cousins (and always will be!). We delighted in the mystification of our classmates when they saw us with our cousins, since we didn’t look any sort of Asian at all. These American genetics can be tricky things!

 

It all just goes to show that love is thicker than water or blood.

The Arizona Memorial sank just off Ford Island, which was another heavily bombed area. I didn’t realize so many locations were hit and some of them twice. The boilers still rise above the water, and cute little tropical fish still swim only a few feet from the bubbles of oil that rise to the surface every few seconds, then spread in a rainbow ripple that drifts out to sea.

That one site is a burial place for not only the thousands that died that day, some in the explosions and some trapped in unreachable pockets of dwindling air, but also for many of their fellow servicemen who died as elderly veterans, and chose to be cremated so they could rejoin their friends.

Memorial Chapel

It’s a peaceful place today, with only a few stark, rusted reminders of the violence and death that warm December day. Over the shadow of the great ship float the scattered petals of pink plumerias, bobbing their way around the spots of oil as they journey to the Pacific. Each day, Japanese and Americans stand side by side to silently honor the dead. It’s a far cry from those not-so-long-ago days of surprise attack, death, suspicion, and egregious civil rights violations of our own citizens. The lessons are still there for us to learn, of what the finest nation on earth is willing to do in the name of fear. 

 

And how much has changed since then. At least back then, the lines in the conflict were clear-cut. Each side knew whom they were fighting. There was a clear-cut goal, and a well-defined victory. Where today the enemy hides among us, among our allies, often concealing themselves among women and children, and can’t be fought or defeated using the old standards of warfare. Where, indeed, there isn’t even any way to be sure that we’ve won, or ever can win. And the greatest weapon isn’t guns or bombs, but stark terror.

Definitely a quiet, thought-provoking place. 

Upon the Hallowed Shore

Also known as, No Swimming for You.

We landed upon the steaming shore of Oahu, stepped off the plane, and began making immediate plans to join a nudist colony. Montana sweaters were cast aside and spat upon. It’s a good thing we didn’t have clippers, or we would’ve shaved our heads before even reaching the car rental.

As soon as we got in our car, we cranked the AC all the way to Arctic, so we could get lost in full comfort. That’s important.

If we’d only gotten lost once, or twice…..or even only three times, we probably would’ve made it swimming that day. But we had to pick up our Amazing Special Treat of homemade-from-scratch BBQ veggie shish-kebabs, plus meet to finalize the details and sound checks for the memorial.

Mom spent much of the trip explaining, as we wandered around involuntarily exploring, how very much the road system had changed since she was last there. They’ve added in all sorts of freeways and bypasses, mazes of ramps, swirls of over- and underpasses…it can be a little intimidating to the uninitiated. Especially since there’s a surplus of traffic and a shortage of exits. If you miss it, you’re going to see a fair amount of new territory before turning around. (On the other hand, if you miss the same exit more than once, you may be seeing familiar territory. It’s all relative.)

The freeways are a trifle different than what we’re used to in other ways, too. Not that there are any freeways very close to us, but the ones that are less distant are pretty much 75 mph. And you get on them, and you actually go 75 mph. The majority of Hawaiian freeways we went on had a speed limit of about 45. Some of the time you even got up to 45. If you’re comparing that to our idea of a freeway, it doesn’t look so good. But if you compare it to the previous system of painfully working your way through clogged surface streets and several million traffic lights, it’s quite an innovation.

So that if you miss your exit and have to go 10 miles before you can exit again, the 20-mile detour only takes you a little over a half an hour, even in rush hour. The traffic is a small price to pay for the experience of going to Paradise.

Despite the delicious in-flight vegetarian meal, we were starving by the time we landed—just after noon local time, and just past breakfast Montana Stomach Time. And what better place to go than Andy’s Sandwiches, a terrific little diner owned by former students of Grandma and Grandpa? There was no better place, so to Andy’s we went.

Mom and Tina got cucumber sandwiches so fat they had to be held together with decorative toothpicks. I ordered the burrito, which included a veggie meat so realistic that one customer had come back to complain angrily that her vegetarian meal wasn’t vegetarian. (Even though it was.)

After a few minutes, Andy himself stepped from behind the counter to talk to Tina and me a little more. He turned to me first. “Which one are you?”

Thinking he was about to serve our food, I answered, “I’m the burrito.”

There was a long pause. When my dear, loving sister could compose herself, she choked out, “No, he means WHO ARE YOU?” The whole rest of the meal, Certain People could be heard cackling to themselves. “I’m the burrito! Aaahahahaaaa.”

 

I maintain it was a perfectly understandable mistake. 

Even though we didn't get to go swimming, at least we had a few moments to catch the sunset at the Ala Moana beach. I even got a few fun time exposures of some paddle boarders out on the calm ocean waters, and even more fun time exposures of Waikiki and Diamond Head.

With a great struggle, I kept my eyes open till shortly after midnight. Which was only 8:00 pm local time. Four-year-olds were just finishing their baths when I started snoozing. But it was dark, and that’s all I cared about.

Roused briefly by a burst of noise from the dorm students, I groggily wondered, “Don’t they even give them a curfew?” A few moments later, I remembered the four hour time difference, and that for them it was only 8:30. It’s going to be 2:00 am for me before they go to bed, was all I remember thinking before falling asleep again.

Nagging Coughs and Angora Elbows

Note: The following tropical series is from October. It is now January. No one who knows me will be surprised, since my Christmas letters alone are running more than a decade late. Besides, I thought it would be fun to wait until a frozen, snowy day and then visit Hawaii all over again, at least in my memory.

Very kind family members and friends chipped in so I could go on this lovely trip, since Hawaii is not in my normal operating budget. And, as you'll see, it was a mission trip. Really. 

          *                  *                    *

We’ve already had our first snowflakes here in Montana, though not enough to stick. It’s been well below freezing almost every night. The trees are almost naked. A few weeks ago, I would’ve told you that it couldn’t be a better time for a tropical trip. That was before the Ebola outbreak.

Our risk of actually catching the disease is very low, but our risk of being mistaken for someone with the disease is somewhat higher. See, it’s harvest time. And not only that, but after our catastrophically late spring, it’s frantic harvest time. Farmers are in their fields day and night unless it’s raining, trying to get their just-ripened crops in before it’s too late.  And since the weather people are predicting an early winter, “too late” is coming down the pike like a greased log in a flume.

Mom and I live on each side of the grain elevator. Usually it blows her direction, but a couple weeks ago the wind shifted and sent all that chaff my way. Suddenly, I also sounded like an escapee from the local tuberculin ward. Hard to breathe, coughing day and night, even once the wind shifted back toward Mom again. And in case you’ve been living under a rock for the last several months, coughing, fever, and aches are some of the earliest signs of Ebola, before it passes on to serious vomiting, diarrhea, hemorrhage, spots, red eyes, and death.

People are terrified of coughing people. Just the other day, a man on a plane sneezed, and jokingly said, “I have Ebola!” He was removed by the Men in Blue Suits, and later found to have nothing worse than a nasal tickle. Bad time to have a cough.

With careful nurturing, I got my cough under control just in the nick of time. Which was extra fortunate, since some of the nurturing involved strenuous exercise which has left me aching in many areas. (Yes, also a sign of Ebola, remember?)

Mom didn’t do quite as well. Despite her own nurturing, and frequent doses of dextromethorphan, she’s been coughing and sneezing like crazy. We’re trying to be thankful she doesn’t have a fever.

The trip to Billings went swimmingly. By that, I mean swimming in fur. It was the furriest Cadillac I’ve ever ridden in, in my whole life. Also the only Cadillac. (I’m more of a pickup-truck-with-no-AC-so-the-windows-are-always-down-except-in-winter kinda gal, though I’d settle for a van if need be.) Tina fared the worst. She wore a dainty traveling outfit, classy flowing black shirt with dark jeans. When I saw flowing, I do mean that it hung in attractive, rippling waves. I also mean it was flowing with border collie hair. Dripping with it. Her elbows wafted in the breeze.

Being a kind sister, I tried to cheer her up by comparing her to famous people in the Bible. People like John the Baptist, and Esau, who was “hairy all over like an garment”. I even offered to braid her elbows, all to no avail.

Mindful of planks in my own eye, I did take a moment to lightly brush off the few hairs that clung to my nether portions, but only shook off enough for several eagles to use in their nests. Tina could have knitted a life-size model of the Ark. Oh well, the youngest child usually gets the largest portions, anyway.

Despite a few white knuckles in our group, the flights to Oakland were uneventful. The shuttle ride to the nearby Motel 6 was more eventful, because there WAS NO SHUTTLE RIDE! Mom had called the place directly about a week before to arrange transportation from the airport, and the man told her not to worry – that the airport had a free shuttle that would bring us to the Motel 6 along their route.

After waiting in the post-midnight chill for over a half hour, Tina finally called them. The lady informed us that there was no shuttle of any sort that went there, and we’d have to take a taxi. After we found out how much the taxi was going to be—each way—we spent the rest of our time calculating how big of a hotel upgrade we could’ve gotten, and still paid less for the night. Turns out it was a pretty big upgrade.

We made the best of it, and the heavily manned guard shack at the entrance kept the Motel 6 from being unsavory. Still, we determined to cancel our return night, and stay somewhere more expensive (yet cheaper), with a REAL SHUTTLE THAT ACTUALLY PICKS YOU UP. Not that I’m bitter. None of us are bitter.

Nothing remained but to make the last leg in the morning, and begin looking for some sunscreen, preferably SPF 3000.

Bon voyage!

Shoulda Known Better

You would think after Grandpa that I would've given up predicting - incorrectly - the ETD (Estimated Time of Death) of anyone in the family. You would be wrong. After that sweet and loving good-bye to the beautiful Isabella, she actually began to improve for a bit. In fact, she lived a full week and 3 hours after we woke Devon up at 2am to say his farewells.

Most of that time was spent in a cat bed on my bed, feted and fawned over 18 hours a day. Up until the last 2 days, anyway, where Wannabe became so concerned about her that he kept sitting on her and trying to hatch her. We had to move her into the bathroom at that point. She finally slipped away just after 5am on Sunday morning.

Since she ended up so quickly an only kitten, and with a pretty inept mother (sorry, Squishy - love ya anyway), there were many aspects of catness that she had to learn from the other cats. We got a big kick out of watching her copying the bigger guys. She learned to curl up on our bed and sleep from Wannabe. Also how to bathe. Pretty much, Squishy's idea of bathing is to stand in front of one of the other cats till they give up and wash her. I'm glad there was someone else to teach Isabella how to keep clean.

She learned how to sit erect and stare disapprovingly from Expensia, though she was too cute to be really intimidating. She learned how to play from the terrible trio I still call "The Kittens", even though they're fully grown. Several are fully over-grown. But the one thing she still didn't do was purr.

Pretty much a cat that doesn't purr is disabled. Practically defective. Bell-bell had a lot going for her, but no matter how much we lavished attention on her, not even one little brrt could be heard. We'd long since given up any hope, figuring she'd always be a non-purrer like her mother. It was the only thing that kept her from being purrfect.

Then she got sick again, and I took to mixing her antibiotics in milk. It was like magic! She even knew when it was time for the next dose, because she would follow me into the bathroom, jump from floor to toilet to drawer, and PURRRRR as loudly as she could to let me know she was ready.

That's how I'll always remember her - brave, funny, and coming into her own.

One Month Old

Learning to Purr

The Fair Isabella

She was born on my bed. It was awkward.

Jack, aka The Cat Whisperer, is used to all the family's felines glomming onto him like a giant fur blanket. But even he was unprepared for Squishy's devotion. One day, she was lying next to him on the bed, stretched along his forearm, with both arms wrapped around his elbow, when he felt an odd firmness in her abdomen. "Hey, Dear! Come quick; I think she's in labor!"

And so she was. All over his side of the bed. When efforts to move her failed, we got a bunch of towels to put under her, trying to preserve the dignity of our comforter as much as we could. Good thing it was burgundy to start with. 

Before you know it, two little bullets were deposited onto the bed, one white, one black. The white one was dead the next morning, leaving little Isabella the sole recipient of all the kitten love in the house. As soon as she could walk, she figured out how to climb up onto the bed - Jack's side, of course - and curl up. Once in a ball, she was only about the size of an orange, and we were terrified we'd crush her in our sleep. She solved that problem by sleeping across Jack's neck. 

As she grew, she became the darling of all but 2 of the bigger cats. Elsie took the longest to win over, but even her fortified heart was at last conquered. Here is Isabella helping Elsie with a favorite pastime, on the last day of last year.

Isabella Makes the Bed

From the time she was a few months old, she was quite sick several times, needing to take antibiotics and still not doing super great. But one Friday afternoon about 3 weeks ago, she walked into my room, her hind legs not quite walking like they were supposed to. A long story and several vet bills later, we found out that she has FIP, Feline Infectious Peritonitis. It's a virus that attacks white blood cells, and there's no cure. 

Cheerful in spite of her death sentence, Isabella flopped from one part of the house to the next, still hanging out with all her big buddies, not only the other cats, but Clancy, too. She was too weak to jump off the bed without getting hurt, so she could no longer sleep with me. Many nights, I put Wannabe, our oldest tomcat, in with her for company. He's a good momma cat, and curled up with her so sweetly so she wouldn't be lonely. 

Finally, a couple nights ago, she was too weak to move around, and I let her sleep next to me, blocked in with a body pillow. Before long, she had tucked herself under the covers, draped over my shoulder like she always used to. Potto decided she was rather lacking in cleanliness, and did his best to change that.

Sweet Potto Washes the Dying Baby

Yesterday morning, Bella was still sitting up eating her food enthusiastically. By nightfall, her kidneys had almost entirely shut down, and she was almost gone. I was shocked that she lived through the night, and even more surprised that she's still sleeping quietly next to me as I write this. When she opens her eyes, she's not happy till she sees that I'm there with her. The kids are helping me make sure she's never alone when she wakes. 

Soon, probably later today or tomorrow, our precious Bella will leave us. Till then, we'll be right here. Watching over her. Making sure she knows how much we love her. Letting her fall asleep in peace.

Sweet dreams, little Bella. We'll see you again.

3 Days Ago

P90G - Weeks 7B-13A, B, and C

At long, long last, P90G has come to an end. By the time I got done repeating numerous weeks due to illnesses and tragedy (the kids’ grandpa on Jack’s side of the family died unexpectedly of liver failure), it was considerably longer than 90 days. At times, it was considerably divergent from Gentle, too.

I mentioned that for the last section, I would be making some adjustments to add some difficulty to my workouts. One of those was to phase out Air Pullups, and do Almost-real Pullups. Frankly, Air Pullups were hard enough at first. I’m now up to 8 Almost-real Pullups per set, with one toe on a chair to give a bit of a boost. (With legs the consistency of pudding by that part of the workout, it’s not as much of a boost as you might expect.) Anyway, the P90X guy said that was ok, so technically it’s not cheating.

This last change gave rise to a new event in the Feline Olympics. You already know about the Swinging Leg Dive, where the contestants wait until I’m mid-kick before trying to dart between my legs without getting hurled across the room. I've nearly perished more than once as my flying foot met fur instead of floor.

While Jack was home, he got to see the Double Shoulder Balance Lounge, where Jax stepped onto my back while I was doing a sad imitation of pushups, draping himself across my shoulders. Let me tell you, having a tubby tabby aboard increases the difficulty level quite a bit.

The new event is the Screaming Death Pullup. Damon’s enormous fluffy gray cat, Potto, is the only contender. Potto’s favorite hangout is atop the pullup bars. He lies along them, paws hanging down leopard-style, and beach ball belly hanging down sumo wrestler style. A gray sumo leopard.  If you watch all the way to the end of thisclip of Rollin’ Safari, you’ll see a leopard that looks just like Potto. Actually, most of the animals look like Potto in one way or another. 

 (If that made you laugh, you might also enjoy this clip of a vulture family.)

How this works: Potto, aka The Silver Bullet, dashes across the room, vaulting neatly onto the pullup bars, and then ravages the hand invading his domain. He seems to be playing, but for a cat of his size, playing feels a lot like falling down the garbage disposal. Here I can’t even do a pullup with two hands, and Potto is already trying to motivate to use only one. Be very glad he’s not your personal trainer.
Potto as a Baby

Another interesting change was that, at the same time I got my cute little workout outfits, I also got cute little weights. Pink ones. They’re only 3lbs each, but 3lbs is more than 0lbs. Lifting something besides air totally revved things up, though not as much as if I’d used pasta sauce cans like Tina.

P90X Guy: I’m grabbin’ my 40 pounders. What about you?

Amazingly Musclebound Man (with a hint of a sneer): I’ve got my 50’s.

Trim and Beautiful Woman: 30’s for me!

Me: THREES, OKAY??????? AND THAT’S PLENTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No, I’m not ready to post “after” pictures yet. I feel hugely better, and my overall health has already improved noticeably, but the 5 lbs I lost (without trying to lose weight—I’m only trying to get strong and fit, with weight loss being a happy byproduct over time) don’t make a visible difference yet. Let me just assure you that there are some muscles getting toned underneath the layers of fat.

What’s next?  Well, I’m already a week into P90M, with M for Medium. That means I’m working out for 30 minutes a day instead of 20—a 50% increase! Did it make a difference? Well, by Day 2, I couldn’t walk or lift my arms again. And Plyometrics, that fearsome jump training workout…don’t ask me how this works, but 30 minutes of Plyo comes out to exactly twice as long as 20 minutes.

The first Sunday after school gets out, I’m going to take the plunge to full-out P90X. Once that’s over, if I can still get out of bed, I’m going to do a totally different exercise program for a while.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned so far, it’s this. Exercise isn’t the good china, that you only use once in a while on special occasions—it’s a way of life. So eat well, exercise hard, and feel great! And someday you, too, might be able to almost do a pullup. Just like me.

P90G - Weeks 6 and 7A

Days 39-49: The book is blazing right ahead (though I didn't type even a single word for the week Jack was here - so much for finishing by New Year at the latest!), and the workouts have continued faithfully. Almost.

By the time vacation arrived, I was barely holding onto the tatters of health. Fine, I was sick. But not as sick as I could have been! There was a time I would have already had several major cases of bronchitis by this time of the year, and I've been doing MUCH better compared to that. Thanks to the magic of zinc, I nearly fought off the cold that would once have consumed me, and was only down a few days instead of a few weeks. 

During that time, I did, most ashamedly, miss 3 workouts, covering Friday, Sunday, and Monday. By December 25, though, I was back in such fighting form that I did plyometrics till I couldn't walk. I am woman, hear me roar! (I am woman. Hear me whimper as I slide limply to the ground and take a nap.)

Being the annoyingly perky sort of person that I am, I didn't let my utter FAILURE of those 3 days get me down - I simply re-did the numbers. No problemo! And decided to repeat Week 7, to make sure I milked the full benefit from it before moving on to the next workout stage. So last week was Week 7, and this week is also Week 7. ("Hi, I'm Larry, and this is my brother, Darryl. And this is my other brother, Darryl.") ((If you don't get that last joke, ask someone who lived through the 80's. Except for Tina, who tried to pretend she didn't really exist until 1990.))

But I digress.

While Jack was here, I had to shake up my routine a bit. For one thing, though I still often woke up at 0530, I couldn't bring myself to actually get up. Warm, snuggly husbands are very addictive. Some mornings I had to work out in the kitchen while monitoring breakfast, and sometimes I'd sneak out to the living room with the computer, and exercise out there. These changes completely renewed the cats' interest in what I was doing, and I accidentally kicked and whapped them a few times as they tried to creep very close and smell me.

"And one, and two, and MROOOOOAAAAAWWWWWWW, and two, and....."

Also worthy of mention is my first trip to the community exercise room, during Week 6. Not worth actually bragging about, but useful as an objective standard of improvement. I ran for 20 solid minutes without slowing or stopping (not too bad), going an uninspired 1.3 miles during that time (not great, but at least I know where I stand). It was my first time on a treadmill, and I did better once I stopped trying to fight it and make it go faster by pushing. Also helpful, halfway along, was Devon's instruction to clip the emergency shutoffer-thingy to my clothing, so that if the treadmill sprayed me off the back end, it would turn off automatically.

It's been a productive 2 weeks. I'm so pleased, that this year, I have only one New Year's Resolution.

1. Keep up the good work!

Make that two resolutions.

2. Finish a book. Any book.



Looking forward to another year of adventure,
Noni Beth

P90G - Week 5

Day 32: Some mornings I really don’t want to get up, but as soon as I hear the music, I’m ready to get some blood circulating! Chest, Shoulders, and Triceps, a brand new workout. Since it was Sunday, I splurged and went a full 30 minutes this time! My arms were totally shaking by the time I finished. Oh well, it’s not like I had to play the piano or anything afterward. Oh wait. I did.

Day 33: Plyometrics again, ACK! Ironically, 10 minutes at my new fitness level (meaning not taking a break 30 seconds out of every 60), actually wears me out much more than 20 minutes did at first. I guess that’s progress.

Day 34: Back and Biceps. Honestly, my arms don’t know the difference between biceps and triceps. *I* know the difference, but that doesn’t do my arms any good. They think it’s time to work the legs for a while.

Day 35: Today was slated for yoga. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t do yoga or other New Age type of exercises, meditations, etc. So I either substitute in another workout for it, or just go on to the next day. Guess what, arms – wish granted! It’s finally the legs’ turn after all.

Day 36: Every once in a while, my bus kids will have a little contest while they’re waiting for the other passengers to arrive. Putting a hand on the seat on each side of the aisle, they will hoist themselves into the air, feet dangling, and see who can last the longest. This time, I decided to join them. Even with my arms still weak and shaky from their brutal workouts, I managed to beat a 6^th grader, a 4^th grader, and a 3^rd grader, CONSECUTIVELY all on the same dangle, without my feet ever touching the ground. I finally had to jump down and answer my radio.

Day 37: Stretching still makes me sorer than just about anything else, though that may change shortly. There are a few changes on the horizon…

Day 38: Another week gone already…unbelievable!

By way of general announcement, I’m going to be putting a pause on the daily exercise blog for a bit. No, I haven’t run out of material. In fact, it’s just about to get even more interesting, and slightly less Gentle. But I’m going to try and finish the book I’m writing by Christmas. Failing that, finished by New Year, so I don’t have to have another year with an unfulfilled resolution to “finish a book – any book”. After 5 or 6 years, that level of failure gets a bit old. I’m ready for a new resolution. A new book, too!

Westby Skunk Flash Mob

It was almost time to go. I waited, bundled in pajamas covered by sweat pants and jacket, ready to go and sing carols for some of our neighbors in town who aren't able to get out very often. 

One of the boys let Clancy out for a last potty break before leaving. Usually he stays outside and shivers silently if forgotten, but tonight he let out a small whuff at the front door. As I went to let him in, a strong odor of rotten garlic assailed me. It only grew stronger as I opened the door and the misbegotten mutt charged through.

Shaking his head, frothing, and drooling, he tried to rub on the carpet until I cruelly sent him out onto the linoleum. I might as well not have bothered. The malodor soaked into every pore of the house within nanoseconds, firmly sealing my status as a pariah forever.

Lucky Damon got to stay and wash him, while the rest of us went caroling. The music was sweeter than the smell, but none of the dear souls asked us to leave. Though none of them requested more than one song, either!

For our grand finale, we attempted to film the first-ever Westby Flash Mob. Technically, we succeeded. It was in Westby, and it was a flash mob. There ended all resemblance to those heart-warming or spectacular videos that circulate through Facebook and email.

The moment we stepped out in the silent and snowy street to begin filming, everyone in town decided to drive about. Even the sheriff - you'll see him in the background occasionally. We kept having to halt production and dash off to the side of the road to avoid going viral for all the wrong reasons. That was only the beginning of our trials. 

See for yourself.

Flash Mob

We Try Again

It's Just No Use

The next time we plan a flash mob, guess who is NOT invited!!! My only comfort is that the 3rd time through,we did actually make it to the end. More or less. For sure, we were finished. Next year we'll go for heartwarming. Next year we'll do this differently.

Next year, we'll go to the bathroom first. Next year we won't smell like skunk.

Or so we hope.

P90G - Week 4

Day 25: Today marks the beginning of Phase II. I’ll be moving on to the next round of workouts, some the same and some different. Apparently a program is more effective if it incorporates “muscle confusion”, meaning you never work the same place long enough or in the same way for it to get used to it, and begin to slack off. Personally, I think my muscles were pretty confused by exercise at all.

Day 26: A brand new workout today – Core Synergistics. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even have a core, but it got worked anyway. And whatever it is, now it can’t move, either.

Day 27:  I was supposed to do this lovely martial arts workout throughout the entire process, but had lost the DVD. After searching everywhere for WEEKS, I finally sent for a replacement. Within 48 hours, the other disk was found. I wasn’t too surprised – that’s how it always works. Now I have 2 to lose.

Day 28:  This should have been easy. It’s all lovely stretching. Piece of cake – not! Whatever was left after the core workout is gone.

Day 29: And….back to the core. Really, peoples? This is just cruel.

Day 30: It was supposed to have been another round of Stretch, aka I-Always-Wanted-to-be-Rubbery-and-Green-Like-Gumby. Awaking with a sore throat, I opted to sleep in and try to fit a workout in later. It didn’t quite go according to plan.

The end of the day found me at the store, nearly sundown, no workout, and with way too many groceries to carry. Just then, Tina arrived to save the day! Or so I thought. She saved part of the day, giving the groceries a ride home with Devon and Tiggy. I told her to go on ahead, and I was going to walk home in the obscenely cold weather in lieu of a formal workout.

Have you ever heard of that wacky diet idea where you drink a gallon of ice water a day? The theory is that you burn X number of calories warming yourself back up, so you don’t have to exercise. Personally, I suspect most of the calorie burning comes from running to the bathroom every 2.9 seconds. I’m not down with all that, but one of the most effective ways to consume fat around here is to turn YOURSELF into an ice cube. Your body will have to work overtime warming back up from…oh…-47F, and voila! Burnt calories! (The only small flaw in this program is that your body then swears, “Never again!” And goes into overtime producing 72 more layers of fat for protection.)

Anyway, it was all I had left. As the cold began to sink in, my walk increased to a shuffle, and then a jog. Well, as joggy as I could be with full snow gear on. Picture a penguin running at warp speed.

Just then, Tina’s van rounded the block, stopping to wait as I crossed the street. Instead of driving my children and food home, she crept along, keeping pace with my frantic waddle. “This is even worse than exercising in front of Jack,” I thought to myself.

Then I saw that my little workout was being captured for posterity. Curse you, iphone inventor!  Even at his most ANNOYING, Jack only took still photos. Trust me, video is much, much worse. Tiggy is going to be lucky if she’s ungrounded by the time she’s 30.  

The closest to a "before" picture you're likely to get.

Well, I was pretty cold all right, even with enough fabric to wrap an entire walrus. It took a long while, and many calories, to restore me to some semblance of warmth. It felt so good that I hardly minded the extra 36 pounds I gained by morning.

Day 31: This is it! The end of one full month. I don’t look much thinner yet, but I feel different…better. I like it.

P90G - Week 3

Day 18:  Since it’s Sunday, I got to sleep in all the way to 6:15! I used to be able to make it till 8, if nobody else woke up and started racketing around. Working out is better than sleeping in. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Day 19: Instead of Oh-Dark-Thirty, I ended up working out after I got back from the bus. This led me to break my vow to only do the jump training thingy on holidays or weekends. Tina came over shortly afterwards, as I was trying to figure out how to walk. Awkward!

Day 20: I must be making progress. Even though I’m still only lasting about 20 minutes, I’m taking fewer breaks and getting most of the reps in. Of course, that also means I’m still generally In the Can’t-Walk-or-Move Category, but I have to work just a little harder to get there.

Day 21: Only time for the abs today, since Thanksgiving is coming up awfully fast. Whatever doesn’t get cooked today will have to compete with the (shudder) turkeys (shudder shudder) for my attention tonight and tomorrow.

Day 22: I’ll get my Thanksgiving workout in if possible. But with those TWO turkeys hanging over my head, I don’t have to worry about overeating. I hope I can eat at all. Besides, if I get sick to my stomach, that’s kind of an ab workout, isn’t it?

Day 23: Temporarily, it’s much easier to work out. I’ve been painting my bedroom floor, so my bed is out in the living room to make room to shuffle all the rest of the furniture around. With no bed, there’s a nice clear area in the middle of the floor. Even when the bed goes back in, I’m going to turn it the other direction and rearrange the dressers.

The new arrangement may have a bit more space, I’m hoping. It was sure hard to do the lunges around the corner of the bed. Lunge-pivot-lunge. Stop, turn. Lunge-pivot-lunge. Stop, turn. I had to turn sideways just to run in place, and suck in my stomach to do jumping jacks.

Yes, our bedroom is small, but that is only a challenge, not an impediment, to someone who is determined to get in shape. (Any shape besides round.) In case you’ve been over and are wondering why I’m no longer working out in the living room, we had too much trouble with unauthorized use of our living room TV, sometimes even in the middle of the night. So I moved it into the TV Protection Program, or TelSec for short. Thus the need for Corner Lunges and other adaptations – the only TV we still have is in our bedroom. Don’t even get me started on the Side Kicks. Crash! Kabang! Oops. Oh, and I almost forgot – the 45 Degree Side-Bend-Wrap-Around-the-Bed Pushup! That one is a real toughie!

Hey, nobody ever said fitness was easy.

Day 24: Another rest has rolled around already. Thanksgiving doesn’t count. Yes, I can make up my own rules as I go.

The End of Week 3. Can you believe it? Almost a month already. Eventually I may run out of new things to say, but it hasn't happened yet. 

P90G - Week 2

Day 11: Jack is home, and it’s harder than you might think to sneak in a workout when he’s not looking. I managed it, though, while he was in his Special Office with Running Water. You might wonder why the secrecy. Aren’t good marriages supposed to be transparent and open?

Well, yes. Mostly. I’m considering this to be under the “surprise gift” category, which is one of the few acceptable exceptions to the Transparency Rule. And he will be surprised, a year or two from now, when he notices that I’m looking much trimmer. (Unless he reads this blog post, but I’m taking my chances. I can’t wait that long to update the rest of you.)

The last attempt to participate in a strenuous exercise program involved Tina. Jack’s idea of participation mostly included sitting on the couch, laughing hysterically, and taking unflattering pictures of us. Granted, his abs got a killer workout, but the rest of us sent big frowny faces in his direction. (Muscles which do not need ANY extra workouts at all.) I can’t fool myself into thinking I look any more graceful now, so this regimen is going to stay a strictly solo act for some time to come. You won’t tell, will you?

Day 12: Special challenges attended this workout. I didn’t want Jack to wake and find me hopping about in the bedroom. I didn’t want his brother, sleeping on the couch, to wake and find me hopping about in the living room. The bathroom is far too small. Only one option remained: the laundry room, with no DVD help at all. That was ok, since the cats decided they would be my helpers instead.

Days 1 and 2 they were quite fascinated, even swatting playfully at my arms and legs as they waved wildly. After that, they lost interest, until I invaded their domain and leaped about by their food and litter box. Suddenly, all the old interest returned, and I had uncounted glowing yellow pairs of eyes following my every move. On shelves, the washer and dryer, behind the door, even from the litterbox itself, they all attended the splendid entertainment extravaganza I thoughtfully provided for their benefit.

Day 13:  See Day 12.

Day 14: This has been the only morning so far that I slept in past my workout, barely dragging my sorry derriere out of bed just in time for the bus. Jack had to leave out extremely early in the morning to fly back to Texas and begin working. When he woke up at 3, it took me a very long time to go back to sleep.  I just couldn’t quite make it up at Oh-Dark-Thirty, as Jack calls it.

In lieu of a formal workout, I went for an evening jog in the snow, with my phone called into use as a flashlight. At one point I started to slip on the ice, doing a clever little jig to maintain my footing. The flashlight began to turn off and on, baffling me for a moment until I realized that it was set to automatically flash SOS when shaken.

Day 15: Though challenging, twenty minutes no longer seems like quite enough. I barely made it through the warmup, and was just getting to the good stuff when it was time to quit. Tomorrow I’m going to try something new, just to shake things up.

Day 16: CANNOT MOVE LIMBS HELP ME AM TYPING WITH MY NOSE

Day 17: Oh, look! It’s already time to take a break again. How will I even manage until it’s time for the next wonderful workout? Yeah, right. I NEED A BREAK!!! I console myself that it’s not just being a wimp – that exercise on the rest of the days will actually be more effective for having a rest. Tomorrow’s a whole new day.

P90G

I’ve been needing to resume a regular exercise program. With the many unplanned events of the summer, a whole bunch of important things fell by the wayside, and that was one of them. With some trepidation, I’ve decided to restart a certain intense fitness program, for the simple reason that I already have it in my possession.

Originally, I decided to re-name it P90L, with L for Lazy. But this program is so intense that even 2 minutes a day is way above laziness. At the same time, there’s no way that my version could be called Xtreme, either. So I’ve settled on P90G, for Gentle.

Day 1: (November 7, 2013) 20+ minutes and I feel great! Why didn’t I start doing this a long time ago? I can hardly contain my rush of energy.

Day 2: Yesterday was arms, today legs. That’s good, since I can hardly lift a glass of water. All went well until I got a large splinter while leaping around in my bedroom. All efforts to retrieve it were in vain. 20+ minutes again, and feeling so alive, except for my throbbing foot.

Day 3: The splinter has become infected, and putting any weight whatsoever on it is proving extremely painful. Oh well, it’s not like I could walk anyway. Thankfully, it’s Sabbath, so I don’t need to worry about exercise. The actual program calls for a day of rest anyway, and it just happens that my day of rest coincided with day 3. Lucky me! Maybe by tomorrow I’ll be able to not only walk, but lift my arms high enough to eat.

Day 4: Hey, I can walk! It hurts a little, but how nice to have that shard o’misery out of my foot. Today was plyometrics, which is basically jump training. I think I’d better confine plyo to Sundays and holidays, so that when I can’t lift my head off the floor afterwards it doesn’t affect work. About 13 minutes in, the workout clock got stuck. I’m pretty sure it was only counting off about 3 seconds per minute.

Workout guy: You’re doing great! Go even higher!

Me: ***whump***

Workout guy: Ok now! Double time!!!

Me: I’m pretty sure that means half as many as before.

Staggering grimly, I gritted my teeth and kept going. I think it’s mean to make a one-legged man be part of the workout team on the video, so I can’t even feel sorry for myself. Will 20 minutes never end?

Suddenly, I glance at the clock. It has been 22+ minutes! I made it! And in case you wonder what all these +++ mean, it means + about 3 seconds. Not that anyone is counting.

I hope I don’t get any splinters in my nose down here. Prone is the new perky. Go team. I feel great. Really. Room fading. Blackness. Only 86 more days.

Day 5: For some reason my legs are beyond sore. Fortunately, today was mostly upper body. All the rest of the day, I keep finding myself frozen into weird stalagmite formations. I think tomorrow I’d better just work my abs. It’s the only part of my body that’s still functional.

Day 6: CANNOT MOVE HELP ME

Day 7: What can I do? The only thing that doesn’t hurt is my eyelashes, and I’ve never heard of a workout for eyelashes.

Day 8: Slightly better, I suppose. Maybe I’ve finally turned the corner, but I’m not going to stop and find out.

Day 9: Not too bad, actually. Did a combo of arms and abs today. My clothes all still fit the same, but I’m starting to feel better overall. Still have a nasty habit of waking up about 0430, but that’s not surprising. Time changes are stupid, and yes I am talking to you BENJAMIN FRANKLIN!

Day 10:  I thought this break would never come. Only 80 more days until I finish this round of torture, and start something even worse! (I’m considering upping the ante to P90M, for “Mediocre”.)

PS I have taken some “before” pictures, but there is no way they will ever see the light of day until there are some “after” pictures, too. So don’t even ask.

Prepping for Disaster...

...Without Becoming a Prepper

Pitiful descriptions have made their way into news articles about the 15-state EBT system crash. Women stood in the supermarket, weeping because they couldn't buy food for their children. Many large grocery stores reported near-riot conditions as people found out that they couldn't use their cards right then, right there. 

This time, it happened to be EBT cards, but I suspect the same thing would happen in many cases if any sort of disaster interrupted the normal flow of food to our stores. Or even just interrupted the store's continuous satellite access to the Visa/Mastercard systems. What would you do if you were suddenly unable to buy groceries for a few days, or even a few weeks? Hopefully after you read this post, the answer will no longer be, "Stand in the store and cry."

If you're a very organized person, you'll probably benefit more from this Red Cross emergency kit list. Personally, I'm a black hole of organization. It's never been my specialty. So anything I prepare for has as little preparation or maintenance as possible. I heard the saying, "If you want to know how to do something efficiently, ask a lazy person. They'll be able to figure out how to do the job with the least effort possible." The same thing applies for a disorganized person. Something this important can't be ignored, but I sure don't want to spend one more minute - or one more dollar - than I have to worrying about it.

One last note before we get down to business. Each part of the country has its own personal type of most likely disasters. My list may not exactly apply to your situation, but I know you have enough common sense to adapt it to whatever you may face.

1. Buckets of bulk food. We use what's readily available, which around here is stuff like wheat and lentils. Most years, we can get several gallons just given to us by kind local farmers. Sure, we have to carefully pick the grasshopper bits out ourselves, but it's free! Wal Mart has some other key items in bulk, such as flour and beans. 

I was fortunate. Dad bought me my set of buckets when we first moved up here. But even if you have to shell out some money for buckets right at the beginning, it's well worth it. They'll last for many years, and you won't have to worry about them again. They can stack neatly in your pantry or basement, available whenever you need them.

Because I don't want to have to keep a big, formal list to try and rotate stuff, I put a bunch of beans, or whatever, in its bucket, then use that to fill a smaller canister, which is what I use on a daily basis to cook with. Don't spend a bunch of money on canisters if you don't already have them. It's almost Christmas time, and you can get cans of popcorn for about $5 each. Instead of throwing away the cans, put them to use storing food for easy access. 

Once the 5 gallon bucket gets low, I add that item to my regular shopping list, and replenish the bucket. No fuss, and no extra work, since I just add it to my regular shopping list.

2. Canned foods. If you're anything like me, you're on a limited budget. In fact, on the few years that we've earned enough money to reach the poverty line, we've felt quite wealthy. We feel wealthy even during the poorest years, because we all love each other sooooooooo much!!!! But since you can't actually eat love, it's important to have a well-stocked pantry, no matter what the state of your checking account is.

Most of you will not be able to plunk down the many thousands of dollars per person for a towering year's supply of MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat) advertised by so many disaster preparedness companies. (If you are, then Emergency Essentials is a great place to start.) What you CAN afford to do, (get it - "can"?) is get a few extra cans of food each time you go shopping. Each time you go, get a few more, until your supply of non-perishables is comfortable.

Your definition of comfortable may be different than mine. Around here, just to survive an average winter, it's a good idea to keep AT LEAST one month's supply of the bare basics. Two months is better. Up here, winter qualifies as its own disaster, and arrives regularly every single year. 

If the power goes out for a month, as happened just before we moved up here, we can't count on outside supplies. We may get tired of beans, rice, and oatmeal, but we don't have to worry about starving.

3. Water. This is a bit easier for us. The water up here tastes so awful that we have to drink bottled water anyway. We get the big 5 gallon jugs, and refill them as needed. During the winter, especially, we keep our stock of water high, since we never know when a blizzard will strike and leave us stranded. If you don't already keep water at home, you can get 1 gallon jugs at Wal Mart for less than $1 each. Stick them in a cool, dark place and forget about them. If you're efficient, you can trade them out as recommended, and if you're more like me, still no worries. It may not taste the greatest, but it won't actually spoil if left to sit too long. If you're desperate enough to drink it, you'll just be thankful that it's wet.

4, Matches and batteries. Around this place, easier said than done. The menehunes come out at night and steal every single battery they can find. These pilfered sources of energy are then quietly inserted into children's toys and wasted. Far better to have one of those neato shakable flashlights, so you never have to worry about it. And matches are nearly as popular as batteries. Do your best to keep some on hand, anyway. That way you can light any candles that the menehunes don't filch. Or, if you want to be really fancy, you can get some of those cute little kerosine lamps for about $10/ea.

5. Emergency heater. For us, this is a must. It may not be quite as important for you. The coldest weather I personally have been in was Christmas Day of our first winter here, where it was -62 and Devon got frostbite on his ear. Our emergency heater runs on propane, and can be started with a match. (Which is another reason it's important to keep at least a few matches out of the reaches of menehunes.) A small heater has only a small risk of producing enough carbon monoxide to be harmful, but a detector is still a great idea. As we found out a few years back, even with a perfectly respectable propane furnace, a CO2 detector can still be a lifesaver.

During the month-long power outage that I mentioned, there were many elderly people out on farms, and who did not have a backup, non-electric source of heat. Good Samaritans in 4WD vehicles were going 24 hours a day at first, driving from farm to farm with a generator, running the heaters a bit for these folks, and then going on to the next place. They succeeded in keeping anyone from freezing to death, but some were extremely uncomfortable for quite a while.

6. A generator. This lovely piece of equipment is worth mentioning, but if you have the above categories taken care of, this is a strictly luxury item. We went through a number of years without one, and did just fine. A generator makes things more fun, but if you're depending fully on it, you have a host of new things to think about. Maintenance, fuel, fuel, more fuel... it's much easier and requires less thought if you have your basics in place, and save the generator to watch the news while all the other houses in town are dark. But then again, if you live in an area where a disaster might require speedy evacuation, you might NEED to have a couple cans of spare gas on hand. Along the same line, cash on hand might be useful in many cases, and vital in case of evacuation. Not our main problem, but it might be yours.

It's important, when there's a disaster, to make sure you're a part of the solution, and not the problem. If you aren't having to scramble around just to survive, you're then freed up to take care of the needs of others, and perhaps even save lives. 

Here is what has happened on numerous occasions, in the dead of winter, and often with no warning:

A raging wind howls around the house, driving the wind chill down to -40F. We're going about our evening, lights blazing, Jack watching Duck Dynasty in the bedroom. kids doing homework, with me washing dishes and starting to think thoughts of supper. Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, the lights flicker once, come back on, then go off for keeps. "Noooooo," comes a doleful voice from the bedroom. It was a new episode. "Hooray!!!!" comes from most other parts of the house as the homework is set aside.

I sigh. I was going to bake something for supper, and the oven will only work with electricity. "Oh, well." I reach in the drawer for the matches, and find the candles easily by touch in the top of my closet, which is conveniently located just off the kitchen. The light of one candle guides me to get out the kerosine lamps, which I place on the table and out in the living room. I light a burner on the gas stove, and begin to think what I can boil for supper. Macaroni sounds good.

"Here, Damon, light the emergency heater." I hand him the matches and calmly go on with supper. All this has taken 2-3 minutes, and then our evening goes on without a hitch. If the power stays off, the kids bring down their blankets and sleep in the living room, where it's warm. Life changes a little, but the only actual weeping comes from the interruption of Duck Dynasty, just as Willy was about to find out who put honey in his hunting boots. 

Before the evening is over, we fill the tub with water to flush the toilet with, just in case the power is off long enough for the town water tower to run out of water. If the power company doesn't know how many weeks it will be till the power is back on, we look through our stash of bulk non-perishables, and get out our "500 Ways to Cook Beans Cookbook". (Just kidding about that last part.) 

Then there was the time the tornado siren went off without warning, right in the middle of summertime. Just as we were hastily grabbing whatever animals we could find and heading to the basement, there was a knock on the door. A grandmother and her grandbaby were there, seeking shelter. They didn't have a basement. We all headed down together, where we played with the baby on blankets and a little toy until we found out all was clear. It was a relief to be safe - even though it's not nearly as bad as Tornado Alley, several people have been killed in recent years by tornados and microbursts, very close to us. Blizzards aren't the only things we have to be ready for.

If I had been one of the EBT people waiting in line last week, I like to think my story would have gone more like this:

Clerk: I'm sorry, but you won't be able to use that card to buy groceries. The system is down. Do you have an alternate method of payment?

Me: Nope, this is it.

Clerk: I'm sorry, but no one has been able to use the EBT system at all. You'll have to purchase your groceries when it's working again.

Me: No problem, I'll come back whenever it gets fixed. 

And then I go home and make spaghetti, or stir fry, or bread-from-scratch, or any of a host of things I have the ingredients for already in stock. I certainly do NOT stand around weeping that now my children will have to go hungry. Not because I'm rich - I'm not. Far from it! Most anyone but Tina would laugh at my food budget. But by doing a little at a time, ANYONE can be prepared, no matter how poor. 

Anyone, including YOU!

Note: In the Bible, Daniel 12 speaks of a terrible time of trouble. The best preparation to make for that is to become really wonderful friends with Jesus. No amount of earthly prepping is enough to live through the worst time ever! But in the meantime, bad things happen on an alarmingly regular basis - bad things for which we can, and should, make a sensible preparation. Happy non-prepping prepping!!!