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July 9th update
Okay, I've been busier than a one-armed paperhanger with fleas over the past six days, so please forgive my not getting the next post up by now.
Actually, what I'm gonna do it just start from scratch. I've written an extensive prologue which completely explains the back-story of our house situation, and I've nearly completed a NEW ‘Part I,’ which properly connects the prologue to the place where I originally began the series. So all of the existing posts will change slightly, at very least by part number.
Trust me, it'll all be much clearer in the end... :)
I guess it's safe to say that I'm realizing exactly how bad I am at writing about things as they happen. Guess I would suck at being a news reporter, huh?
I've decided I much prefer laying out a scenario over which I have more control, but oh well, I guess that's just the way I roll.
Needless to say, the upshot is that this particular post, Part 4, will be going away completely and will be replaced by a completely updated entry on where we stand in the process — and where we stand right now is in the position of being eleven days (and counting) away from ‘outta here’ and into our new apartment.
And if that makes your head snap back, think about mine!
I'm going to make every effort to get that new beginning posted by tonight (and I'll make another temporary post to announce that, so don't bother looking until I tell you it's done), but I hope you'll forgive me if I have to extend that timeline just a bit.
Things have never been crazier for Michelle and me than they are right now, but we've also never felt so much at peace in the wake of it all. Amazing.
Seeya soon...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
SOLD!
Lots to tell. This is a temporary post that will be replaced by the actual one, um... 'soon,' with the complete story of some great news.
Our house has sold! It only took six days when the average, I've been told, for days-on-the-market in our area is sixty.
This story is happening and turning so fast I can hardly keep it straight in my mind — let alone in this blog. Things will be settling down a bit after about three weeks' time, but for now it's full speed ahead. After burning the candle at both ends for five solid weeks, we still have to turn it up yet another notch. We've gotta be outta here by July 30th!
Gotta go rent an apartment.
Gotta go rent another storage unit.
I'll be spending my next three weeks dealin' with mortgage brokers, home inspectors, repairmen, and apartment managers.
Then all will be quiet on the western front — until December...
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
A Moving Experience...
(an ongoing series) — Part 3
And so it begins…
Okay…I’ve got just about an hour before I have to be out of the house. Let’s see if I can pump this bad boy out in one sitting.
If you’re thinking that I might be writing this early in the morning, trying to get a post off before work, well, you’d be wrong. Actually, it’s already mid-morning on Friday. I’m off work today, here at home, but needing to be someplace else an hour from now.
Where, you ask? Well…anywhere, really; anywhere but here.
You see, our house officially went on the market this past Wednesday afternoon; a full day past the already once-postponed target date of Tuesday, but it’s all good.
Actually it’s great!
Within two hours of our MLS listing hitting the Internet, the realtor gals were receiving requests for showings from other agents; three yesterday, one so far today (which is why I need to vacate the premises this morning). Four showings in less than 48 hours: not bad…not bad at all.
And though we’re hoping this initial frenzy of interest becomes fruitful soon, there is still at least a little bit of work yet to be done. Small items, such as replacing the rotted, split post capitals on our front porch and steps railing (which I need only to go out and screw on). Also needed is one final coat of paint on the built-in drawer unit up here in the bonus room, which looks good enough to show, but also which my dogged anality won’t allow me to leave unfinished.
Likewise, the baseboards are all painted, but none of them are caulked, leaving an unbecoming look of untidiness that just won’t fly in AJ’s book. My good friend Kelly, who did a fabulous job laying down new kitchen linoleum for us last week, has agreed to help me do the caulk-job, which is something I’ve always been reticent to even attempt, for fear of doing it badly.
There’s a real art to caulking and producing that neat, straight, manicured-looking seal between baseboard and wall, that’s the true mark of a professional paint job. However I’ve never actually seen it done, and as simple as squeezing the trigger of a caulking gun may seem, I have enough trouble squeezing out a straight swath of dental creme on my toothbrush; so forgive me if I’m more than a little gun-shy to just jump in there and go it alone.
Fortunately there’s my pal, Kelly, who has answered my cry for help. I want to learn how to do the job right, from a master-handyman and floor-covering craftsman like Kelly, who I am deeply grateful to have as a friend, not only for his professional abilities of course, but because he’s just a great guy.
(I’d actually, like to write a lot more about him in this space, but methinks I need to clear it with him first…)
The Reluctant Do-it-Yourselfer
I’ve not afraid to admit that I’m not the most enthusiastic DIY’er, and with good reason. In California, Michelle and I rented a house for eleven years before moving here to Nashville. That place was more than enough of an object lesson to cure me of the notion that ‘doing it yourself’ is necessarily a good idea.
Our landlord for that house was an itinerant welder, who fancied himself a general contractor as well.
Um…no, Tony.
He may have been able to wrought iron with the best of ‘em, but his building chops left a lot to be desired.
Room additions, elaborate wall coverings, funky ‘indoor-outdoor’ carpet installations, a gawd-awful-looking wooden lattice treatment across the font of the house (which I absolutely hated), everything this guy did by himself, and most of it absolutely screamed ‘amateur.’ Dude never wanted to spend a dime to have anyone do anything to the place.
I determined that when I owned a house of my own, I would never be that short-sighted. To this day it’s a point of contention at times between Michelle, a born-again HGTV enthusiast, and me, treading that fine line defining when it’s prudent to try something yourself, or to hire someone who does it for a living.
I’ve seen so much of the phenomenon in my own line of work as a graphic designer; people often have the notion that merely owning a computer and a few graphics programs makes them a designer.
WRONG.
Tools may facilitate the work, but they can’t replace the expertise that manipulates them.
As far as I’m concerned, I want things done right when it comes to my house. I have nothing against doing things that I know I can do as well, or nearly as well as a professional, but also I know my limits.
My motto has always been, “if you can’t do it like a pro, don’t be a schmoe: SPEND THE DOUGH.” Problem is, we’re about as tapped out on the financial end of things as we can be right now. We’ve already spent well over a grand on supplies, fixtures, and services to get our house to this point. And we additionally have a most pressing financial commitment for which we HAVE to be ready next month (which I’ll talk about in my next installment).
So Kelly’s willingness to help me do it right is a read godsend. I’ll end up insisting that I pay him something for his trouble, but I imagine he’ll probably refuse to accept it.
It’s those gremlins, itellya…
Finally the other remaining task, albeit a fairly low-priority one, will be to straighten up the garage. It’s a frightening proposition to consider that for the past four to five weeks, Michelle and I have been moving crap out of that garage, both to our storage unit and to the dump, yet it still looks as though we’ve hardly put a dent in de-cluttering its appearance.
I think the gremlins are playing with our minds…
In fact, we’ve now realized that we’ll need to rent a second storage unit when we eventually move into an apartment, following the sale of the house. While I’m reasonably certain we’ll be able to squeeze our remaining furniture pieces into one of the two-bedroom flats we’re considering moving into (hopefully soon), I’m just as certain there’ll be no place at all for the garage stuff.
We have all but completely filled the current 10 x 10 unit we have under contract. There’s no way we’d be able to fit any of my larger tools, (including both a table and mitre saw), a large industrial drafting desk (which weighs well over 200 pounds), all of the kids’ stuff that we’re holding for them, our camping gear, Michelle’s assorted ‘project’ furniture pieces, garden tools, etc, etc, etc, into the existing storage unit. So add yet another $60-$80-per-month expense to the budget. However fortunately for us, that will kick in only after the current big-ticket expense we’re saving for has been paid off.
But as far as the garage is concerned, all I really want to do is make the current mess a relatively neat one, perhaps stacking everything up against one wall, to clear as much space as possible, in order to show off what is actually a pretty spacious double-car garage.
So that’s what’s up this weekend, although if things keep going at the present pace we may have to abandon ship during much of the daylight hours over the weekend for more house showings. In fact, our lead real estate gal just called to let me know she’d scheduled another showing for this Sunday afternoon, and she expects several other requests to come in today for more showings throughout the weekend.
She mentioned that one of the prospective buyers who saw the house yesterday was very impressed, and wants to be alerted as to any offers being made on the house. So it appears we have at least one serious contender. Hopefully a few more of that type of sentiment will be rendered toward good ol’ Casa AJ in the days to come.
And as far as getting the last-minute projects done, there’s always the 30-day escrow period following the sale, while we’re in the actual process of moving. So we’ll see; I can only do what I can do.
Good thing is, most of the work is already complete. Now the waiting game begins; all we can do is sit back and observe what kind of fruit our month-and-a-half of labor will bear.
Hey lookie there…49 minutes. Who says this kid can’t produce under pressure?
Okay…I’ve got just about an hour before I have to be out of the house. Let’s see if I can pump this bad boy out in one sitting.
If you’re thinking that I might be writing this early in the morning, trying to get a post off before work, well, you’d be wrong. Actually, it’s already mid-morning on Friday. I’m off work today, here at home, but needing to be someplace else an hour from now.
Where, you ask? Well…anywhere, really; anywhere but here.
You see, our house officially went on the market this past Wednesday afternoon; a full day past the already once-postponed target date of Tuesday, but it’s all good.
Actually it’s great!
Within two hours of our MLS listing hitting the Internet, the realtor gals were receiving requests for showings from other agents; three yesterday, one so far today (which is why I need to vacate the premises this morning). Four showings in less than 48 hours: not bad…not bad at all.
And though we’re hoping this initial frenzy of interest becomes fruitful soon, there is still at least a little bit of work yet to be done. Small items, such as replacing the rotted, split post capitals on our front porch and steps railing (which I need only to go out and screw on). Also needed is one final coat of paint on the built-in drawer unit up here in the bonus room, which looks good enough to show, but also which my dogged anality won’t allow me to leave unfinished.
Likewise, the baseboards are all painted, but none of them are caulked, leaving an unbecoming look of untidiness that just won’t fly in AJ’s book. My good friend Kelly, who did a fabulous job laying down new kitchen linoleum for us last week, has agreed to help me do the caulk-job, which is something I’ve always been reticent to even attempt, for fear of doing it badly.
There’s a real art to caulking and producing that neat, straight, manicured-looking seal between baseboard and wall, that’s the true mark of a professional paint job. However I’ve never actually seen it done, and as simple as squeezing the trigger of a caulking gun may seem, I have enough trouble squeezing out a straight swath of dental creme on my toothbrush; so forgive me if I’m more than a little gun-shy to just jump in there and go it alone.
Fortunately there’s my pal, Kelly, who has answered my cry for help. I want to learn how to do the job right, from a master-handyman and floor-covering craftsman like Kelly, who I am deeply grateful to have as a friend, not only for his professional abilities of course, but because he’s just a great guy.
(I’d actually, like to write a lot more about him in this space, but methinks I need to clear it with him first…)
The Reluctant Do-it-Yourselfer
I’ve not afraid to admit that I’m not the most enthusiastic DIY’er, and with good reason. In California, Michelle and I rented a house for eleven years before moving here to Nashville. That place was more than enough of an object lesson to cure me of the notion that ‘doing it yourself’ is necessarily a good idea.
Our landlord for that house was an itinerant welder, who fancied himself a general contractor as well.
Um…no, Tony.
He may have been able to wrought iron with the best of ‘em, but his building chops left a lot to be desired.
Room additions, elaborate wall coverings, funky ‘indoor-outdoor’ carpet installations, a gawd-awful-looking wooden lattice treatment across the font of the house (which I absolutely hated), everything this guy did by himself, and most of it absolutely screamed ‘amateur.’ Dude never wanted to spend a dime to have anyone do anything to the place.
I determined that when I owned a house of my own, I would never be that short-sighted. To this day it’s a point of contention at times between Michelle, a born-again HGTV enthusiast, and me, treading that fine line defining when it’s prudent to try something yourself, or to hire someone who does it for a living.
I’ve seen so much of the phenomenon in my own line of work as a graphic designer; people often have the notion that merely owning a computer and a few graphics programs makes them a designer.
WRONG.
Tools may facilitate the work, but they can’t replace the expertise that manipulates them.
As far as I’m concerned, I want things done right when it comes to my house. I have nothing against doing things that I know I can do as well, or nearly as well as a professional, but also I know my limits.
My motto has always been, “if you can’t do it like a pro, don’t be a schmoe: SPEND THE DOUGH.” Problem is, we’re about as tapped out on the financial end of things as we can be right now. We’ve already spent well over a grand on supplies, fixtures, and services to get our house to this point. And we additionally have a most pressing financial commitment for which we HAVE to be ready next month (which I’ll talk about in my next installment).
So Kelly’s willingness to help me do it right is a read godsend. I’ll end up insisting that I pay him something for his trouble, but I imagine he’ll probably refuse to accept it.
It’s those gremlins, itellya…
Finally the other remaining task, albeit a fairly low-priority one, will be to straighten up the garage. It’s a frightening proposition to consider that for the past four to five weeks, Michelle and I have been moving crap out of that garage, both to our storage unit and to the dump, yet it still looks as though we’ve hardly put a dent in de-cluttering its appearance.
I think the gremlins are playing with our minds…
In fact, we’ve now realized that we’ll need to rent a second storage unit when we eventually move into an apartment, following the sale of the house. While I’m reasonably certain we’ll be able to squeeze our remaining furniture pieces into one of the two-bedroom flats we’re considering moving into (hopefully soon), I’m just as certain there’ll be no place at all for the garage stuff.
We have all but completely filled the current 10 x 10 unit we have under contract. There’s no way we’d be able to fit any of my larger tools, (including both a table and mitre saw), a large industrial drafting desk (which weighs well over 200 pounds), all of the kids’ stuff that we’re holding for them, our camping gear, Michelle’s assorted ‘project’ furniture pieces, garden tools, etc, etc, etc, into the existing storage unit. So add yet another $60-$80-per-month expense to the budget. However fortunately for us, that will kick in only after the current big-ticket expense we’re saving for has been paid off.
But as far as the garage is concerned, all I really want to do is make the current mess a relatively neat one, perhaps stacking everything up against one wall, to clear as much space as possible, in order to show off what is actually a pretty spacious double-car garage.
So that’s what’s up this weekend, although if things keep going at the present pace we may have to abandon ship during much of the daylight hours over the weekend for more house showings. In fact, our lead real estate gal just called to let me know she’d scheduled another showing for this Sunday afternoon, and she expects several other requests to come in today for more showings throughout the weekend.
She mentioned that one of the prospective buyers who saw the house yesterday was very impressed, and wants to be alerted as to any offers being made on the house. So it appears we have at least one serious contender. Hopefully a few more of that type of sentiment will be rendered toward good ol’ Casa AJ in the days to come.
And as far as getting the last-minute projects done, there’s always the 30-day escrow period following the sale, while we’re in the actual process of moving. So we’ll see; I can only do what I can do.
Good thing is, most of the work is already complete. Now the waiting game begins; all we can do is sit back and observe what kind of fruit our month-and-a-half of labor will bear.
Hey lookie there…49 minutes. Who says this kid can’t produce under pressure?
Thursday, June 21, 2007
A Moving Experience...
(an ongoing series) — Part 2
Not-ready-for-Primetime
I'll admit I'm a little disappointed, although not shocked to say that we didn't meet our goal of having the house ready to sell by this past Tuesday. According to our real-estate gals, the month of June through the middle of July is 'Primetime' in the housing market's summer sales season. It's the fairly brief period between the end of the school year and family vacation time, when people are most likely to pursue buying a home. It had had been stressed that it would be in our best interests to get the house ready to go as early in this period as possible.
Had we only been a day off our targeted 'go' date, we still could have done it this week. But as of yesterday, our agents suggested we postpone yet a few more days. We'll now be listing the house next Tuesday instead of this past one.
Our real estate gals suggested the full-week delay because they're really set on Tuesday as the best day of the week to hold an 'Agent Showcase' to preview our property to their local peers, thereby expanding the potential for finding a buyer via a third party. Once that's done, the house will then be opened to viewing by the general public.
So the bottom line is, I now have the weekend to finish up my painting, and as it's turning out, I'm really gonna need it.
Door-Jammin'
When all is said and done, the front door will have taken me nearly a week to paint, due to the limited number of weeknight evening-only hours to get things done.
I didn't even get started on it until Tuesday night, while finishing up one of the two other doors from the bonus room that I also have to paint.
Since it was so blistered by the sun (and really should have been repainted over a year ago), the front door was a nightmare to prep. I spent well over an hour scraping and sanding it. Add to that my work on the other door earlier in the evening, and that was about all the time and energy I had for that particular night.
Then last night (Wednesday) was spent masking and priming the sucker, and tonight I'll apply the first coat of new paint, with the final coat coming Friday evening.
In the meantime, I should be able to finish the remaining bonus room door and trim, and have everything ready for pictures by Sunday or Monday.
To be fair, the extra time needed to complete our tasks could not have been avoided; we simply had too much to do. Michelle, trooper that she is, has spent the past several evenings painting all the baseboard trim throughout the house; a backbreaking job. And she's still got a lot more to do: re-arranging and resetting-up the furniture and room decorations still disorganized from last week when we moved everything around to have the carpets cleaned.
Needless to say, we tried, but just didn't realize how much more we were biting off than we could actually chew.
Nevertheless, our initial disappointment over missing out on the start of 'Primetime' in the homeselling season has subsided quite a bit over the past 24 hours. Turns out, the delay may actually pay some dividends.
Our lead realty gal told me last night that another home in our neighborhood with square footage numbers similar to ours just went on the market at a price point nearly $10,000 higher than what we'd initially planned to seek. This obviously elevates our asking value by at least another five grand if we choose to compete with this other property right off the bat. We conceivably could price the house thousands less and still come out way ahead in profit.
So sometimes good things DO come to those who wait...
Or miss deadlines...
Or are just plain lucky...
Take your pick.
:)
Next: And so it begins…
I'll admit I'm a little disappointed, although not shocked to say that we didn't meet our goal of having the house ready to sell by this past Tuesday. According to our real-estate gals, the month of June through the middle of July is 'Primetime' in the housing market's summer sales season. It's the fairly brief period between the end of the school year and family vacation time, when people are most likely to pursue buying a home. It had had been stressed that it would be in our best interests to get the house ready to go as early in this period as possible.
Had we only been a day off our targeted 'go' date, we still could have done it this week. But as of yesterday, our agents suggested we postpone yet a few more days. We'll now be listing the house next Tuesday instead of this past one.
Our real estate gals suggested the full-week delay because they're really set on Tuesday as the best day of the week to hold an 'Agent Showcase' to preview our property to their local peers, thereby expanding the potential for finding a buyer via a third party. Once that's done, the house will then be opened to viewing by the general public.
So the bottom line is, I now have the weekend to finish up my painting, and as it's turning out, I'm really gonna need it.
Door-Jammin'
When all is said and done, the front door will have taken me nearly a week to paint, due to the limited number of weeknight evening-only hours to get things done.
I didn't even get started on it until Tuesday night, while finishing up one of the two other doors from the bonus room that I also have to paint.
Since it was so blistered by the sun (and really should have been repainted over a year ago), the front door was a nightmare to prep. I spent well over an hour scraping and sanding it. Add to that my work on the other door earlier in the evening, and that was about all the time and energy I had for that particular night.
Then last night (Wednesday) was spent masking and priming the sucker, and tonight I'll apply the first coat of new paint, with the final coat coming Friday evening.
In the meantime, I should be able to finish the remaining bonus room door and trim, and have everything ready for pictures by Sunday or Monday.
To be fair, the extra time needed to complete our tasks could not have been avoided; we simply had too much to do. Michelle, trooper that she is, has spent the past several evenings painting all the baseboard trim throughout the house; a backbreaking job. And she's still got a lot more to do: re-arranging and resetting-up the furniture and room decorations still disorganized from last week when we moved everything around to have the carpets cleaned.
Needless to say, we tried, but just didn't realize how much more we were biting off than we could actually chew.
Nevertheless, our initial disappointment over missing out on the start of 'Primetime' in the homeselling season has subsided quite a bit over the past 24 hours. Turns out, the delay may actually pay some dividends.
Our lead realty gal told me last night that another home in our neighborhood with square footage numbers similar to ours just went on the market at a price point nearly $10,000 higher than what we'd initially planned to seek. This obviously elevates our asking value by at least another five grand if we choose to compete with this other property right off the bat. We conceivably could price the house thousands less and still come out way ahead in profit.
So sometimes good things DO come to those who wait...
Or miss deadlines...
Or are just plain lucky...
Take your pick.
:)
Next: And so it begins…
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
A Moving Experience...
(an ongoing series) — Part I
**June 21, 2007 Update**
“Don't go gettin' all excited, now; this isn't a full scale post or anything...”
Aw heck, who am I kiddin'? Of course this is another full-scale post! in fact I've decided to make it a series; a series of updates on how things are going in the process of getting our house ready to sell, which currently stands at t-minus 6 days, 18 hours, and 3 minutes from the time of this posting.
I'll probably go back and retrofit things with some of the events that
chronologically came prior to what I'm starting with here, so I may be shoe-horning a prologue in here eventually, at which point it will no longer be a miniseries, but I'll try not to get ahead of myself here.
How long the series will last, who knows, but it's a fast write and something I'll probably be glad I chronicled later on down the road, despite the fact that I've always tried to avoid "diary" posts. Besides, today is Summer Solstace; the longest day of the year. Let's just call this a tribute to things that take a long time to get through...you know, like my stories.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Bonus Round
I've gotta tellya, the past two weekends have been pure hell for Michelle and me. The backbreaking and exhausting work of cleaning, sorting through, packing, and then either hauling away or storing away fifteen years worth of trash and treasure has been far tougher on my wife and me than either of us had imagined it would be.
We've been working together constantly for the past two weeks, nearly every weekday evening to go along with the 15-20 hours a day we put in on the weekends. Needless to say, tempers have flared more than a couple times. But by the same token, we've also experienced a lot of joy at our accomplishments.
This past weekend we installed new cabinets in the laundry room on Friday night, then on Saturday and Sunday, tackled what we knew would be the Everest of our uphill battle to get our house ready for market: the Bonus Room. It's the room above the garage and is by far the largest in our house. It's also the most consistently cluttered and least attended to room in our home as well. Oh, and I think I've already mentioned, it's also the room where I spend the bulk of my time, and um, yeah, that fact just might have something to do with its condition.
For the first seven years that we were in this house, the Bonus Room was the office of my freelance Graphics and Web Design business. I practically lived up there, so accordingly, it was my man-cave as well. I have my cool stereo system set up there along with my computer(s), a couch and one of our two TVs.
The room also features a drafting table on which I used to do all of my old-school paste-up/layout graphics work before I got full-on into web design. During the time it was being employed as my primary workspace, I understandably was forced to always keep it cleared; my papers were always filed neatly into file cabinets. I actually had a nice, logical little system in place.
However, after the mid-90s, with my web work increasing and print graphics jobs tailing off, my work became more and more relegated to computer-only projects. I suddenly didn't need to worry about keeping that nice, big table clear. My natual packrat/clutterbum tendencies took over and my drafting table morphed into one large open-air filing cabinet. I mean, why bother filing things in folders and cabinets when I could access them so much easier in nice, neat little piles of printouts and notes, on top of the drafting table.
My enslavement to the pile management filing system had begun. But as crazy as it might sound, to be honest, it worked pretty well — at first, anyway. I rarely lost track of things. I just mentally assigned a space on that table top and then somehow remembered how to distinguish one pile from another.
For about the next ten years, I threw everything — printouts, bills, invoices, instructions, sticky notes, hardware, software, everywhere — on that table. As I said, things were fine at first. The problems began when I had to start creating piles on top of piles. But when those piles became so dense that I actually started having to search to find something, I just expanded my filing system to the floor. Again, the piles multiplied, leading to a circumstance in which eventually there were only pathways of vacant space on that once expansive piece of home real estate.
Now before you start assuming the room resembled one of those news reports of some old cat-lady's house, with trash stacked up to the ceiling and furry varmints scurrying about, relax — it wasn't that bad. However, it wasn't that good either. I honestly don't know how much longer I could have let that room go, but these things have a way of working themselves out I guess. At any rate, the clean-up has easily been as interesting as it has been daunting.
Going through all this stuff has been amazing. It was like excavating a historic dig; each pile seemed to be a remnant of a different year; a different point of stress, joy, growth, or atrophy in my life and marriage. It has evoked a wide range of memories for me; some painful, some prideful. It's certainly the subject matter for a story in of itself and hopefully I'll be able to get around to it at some point soon.
However I can't take credit for all of the mess, my wife contributed a bit herself. In addition to all of my junk, the Bonus Room was also home to Michelle's sewing machine. It was the birthplace of her side decorating and window-treatment projects, adding to the clutter as well. Her fabric scraps and associated materials occupied about a quarter of the room's floor space on its own.
Another considerable component of the room's clutter was its use as a graveyard of my various computer-upgrade projects over the years. I don't quite know why, but I've just never been able to make myself part with old computer components, including obsolete processors, cases and peripherals. I guess I've always figured that one day I'd need them for something. As a result, parts of four different computers (not including my primary one) — remnants of ten-plus years of PC evolution — also lay along the outskirts of the room, just taking up space.
Yeah, I'm a true packrat. I just never realized how much. And worse still, I had no idea how long it would take to go through all this crap.
Over the past ten days, I've been finding out.
It has literally taken a week and a half of constant purging and filing simply get to the point where I could move the freaking furniture and paint the walls, which we did this past Sunday. We still have to do the trim, but we're determined to get it done this week. And there's still have a bunch more stuff to be boxed up and either thrown away or carted off to the storage unit that I rented a couple weeks ago.
We got next
After the Bonus Room, the ride gets easier, but not by much. This Thursday the tub guy comes in to patch the cracks in our two bathtubs, Friday the carpet cleaner comes to clean all the carpets (including the Bonus Room, which further heightens our urgency to get everything completed over the next two nights), and Saturday, my friend Kelly comes over to lay new linoleum in the kitchen. Saturday and Sunday are also the two days we have alloted to finish the gradual process of cleaning out the garage, which from the outset was every bit as much a mess as was the Bonus room.
Then Monday, the real estate ladies come to take pictures. Tuesday our house officially hits the market.
Whew!
Think we can do it? I'll talk to you in exactly one week and let you know.
Wish me luck.
“Don't go gettin' all excited, now; this isn't a full scale post or anything...”
Aw heck, who am I kiddin'? Of course this is another full-scale post! in fact I've decided to make it a series; a series of updates on how things are going in the process of getting our house ready to sell, which currently stands at t-minus 6 days, 18 hours, and 3 minutes from the time of this posting.
I'll probably go back and retrofit things with some of the events that
chronologically came prior to what I'm starting with here, so I may be shoe-horning a prologue in here eventually, at which point it will no longer be a miniseries, but I'll try not to get ahead of myself here.
How long the series will last, who knows, but it's a fast write and something I'll probably be glad I chronicled later on down the road, despite the fact that I've always tried to avoid "diary" posts. Besides, today is Summer Solstace; the longest day of the year. Let's just call this a tribute to things that take a long time to get through...you know, like my stories.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Bonus Round
I've gotta tellya, the past two weekends have been pure hell for Michelle and me. The backbreaking and exhausting work of cleaning, sorting through, packing, and then either hauling away or storing away fifteen years worth of trash and treasure has been far tougher on my wife and me than either of us had imagined it would be.
We've been working together constantly for the past two weeks, nearly every weekday evening to go along with the 15-20 hours a day we put in on the weekends. Needless to say, tempers have flared more than a couple times. But by the same token, we've also experienced a lot of joy at our accomplishments.
This past weekend we installed new cabinets in the laundry room on Friday night, then on Saturday and Sunday, tackled what we knew would be the Everest of our uphill battle to get our house ready for market: the Bonus Room. It's the room above the garage and is by far the largest in our house. It's also the most consistently cluttered and least attended to room in our home as well. Oh, and I think I've already mentioned, it's also the room where I spend the bulk of my time, and um, yeah, that fact just might have something to do with its condition.
For the first seven years that we were in this house, the Bonus Room was the office of my freelance Graphics and Web Design business. I practically lived up there, so accordingly, it was my man-cave as well. I have my cool stereo system set up there along with my computer(s), a couch and one of our two TVs.
The room also features a drafting table on which I used to do all of my old-school paste-up/layout graphics work before I got full-on into web design. During the time it was being employed as my primary workspace, I understandably was forced to always keep it cleared; my papers were always filed neatly into file cabinets. I actually had a nice, logical little system in place.
However, after the mid-90s, with my web work increasing and print graphics jobs tailing off, my work became more and more relegated to computer-only projects. I suddenly didn't need to worry about keeping that nice, big table clear. My natual packrat/clutterbum tendencies took over and my drafting table morphed into one large open-air filing cabinet. I mean, why bother filing things in folders and cabinets when I could access them so much easier in nice, neat little piles of printouts and notes, on top of the drafting table.
My enslavement to the pile management filing system had begun. But as crazy as it might sound, to be honest, it worked pretty well — at first, anyway. I rarely lost track of things. I just mentally assigned a space on that table top and then somehow remembered how to distinguish one pile from another.
For about the next ten years, I threw everything — printouts, bills, invoices, instructions, sticky notes, hardware, software, everywhere — on that table. As I said, things were fine at first. The problems began when I had to start creating piles on top of piles. But when those piles became so dense that I actually started having to search to find something, I just expanded my filing system to the floor. Again, the piles multiplied, leading to a circumstance in which eventually there were only pathways of vacant space on that once expansive piece of home real estate.
Now before you start assuming the room resembled one of those news reports of some old cat-lady's house, with trash stacked up to the ceiling and furry varmints scurrying about, relax — it wasn't that bad. However, it wasn't that good either. I honestly don't know how much longer I could have let that room go, but these things have a way of working themselves out I guess. At any rate, the clean-up has easily been as interesting as it has been daunting.
Going through all this stuff has been amazing. It was like excavating a historic dig; each pile seemed to be a remnant of a different year; a different point of stress, joy, growth, or atrophy in my life and marriage. It has evoked a wide range of memories for me; some painful, some prideful. It's certainly the subject matter for a story in of itself and hopefully I'll be able to get around to it at some point soon.
However I can't take credit for all of the mess, my wife contributed a bit herself. In addition to all of my junk, the Bonus Room was also home to Michelle's sewing machine. It was the birthplace of her side decorating and window-treatment projects, adding to the clutter as well. Her fabric scraps and associated materials occupied about a quarter of the room's floor space on its own.
Another considerable component of the room's clutter was its use as a graveyard of my various computer-upgrade projects over the years. I don't quite know why, but I've just never been able to make myself part with old computer components, including obsolete processors, cases and peripherals. I guess I've always figured that one day I'd need them for something. As a result, parts of four different computers (not including my primary one) — remnants of ten-plus years of PC evolution — also lay along the outskirts of the room, just taking up space.
Yeah, I'm a true packrat. I just never realized how much. And worse still, I had no idea how long it would take to go through all this crap.
Over the past ten days, I've been finding out.
It has literally taken a week and a half of constant purging and filing simply get to the point where I could move the freaking furniture and paint the walls, which we did this past Sunday. We still have to do the trim, but we're determined to get it done this week. And there's still have a bunch more stuff to be boxed up and either thrown away or carted off to the storage unit that I rented a couple weeks ago.
We got next
After the Bonus Room, the ride gets easier, but not by much. This Thursday the tub guy comes in to patch the cracks in our two bathtubs, Friday the carpet cleaner comes to clean all the carpets (including the Bonus Room, which further heightens our urgency to get everything completed over the next two nights), and Saturday, my friend Kelly comes over to lay new linoleum in the kitchen. Saturday and Sunday are also the two days we have alloted to finish the gradual process of cleaning out the garage, which from the outset was every bit as much a mess as was the Bonus room.
Then Monday, the real estate ladies come to take pictures. Tuesday our house officially hits the market.
Whew!
Think we can do it? I'll talk to you in exactly one week and let you know.
Wish me luck.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Life Happens
Well I thought it would be 'soon'...
Three weeks ago I thought things were finally slowing down. After a month of near-crippling pain, my back started to feel better; following my Dreamweaver training, work had finally ebbed to a slow blur; and I could at long last, I was able to begin thinking about that, 'yipee, my kids have finally graduated from college!' post that I've been waiting so long to write.
Wrong.
My first effort, a 'miniseries' that started out as an innocent concert review, just spun completely out of control and has now morphed into a major multi-part series; and while I'll admit that I kinda let it overtake me, I really don't regret that it did. I'm still working on it, but I feel really good about what it says. I consider it an important statement about where I am in my life right now.
So that's still to come, but when, I can't say for sure. And that's part and parcel to how things have been going for me lately.
What I'm going through right now is as intense a series of 'life happens' events as in any time since I began writing this blog (three years ago, last Wednesday). And the most recent event is by far the most life-changing in that string.
We're buying a new house.
I'll obviously have a lot to say about it when I have the time — and that's the key. Right now, for the next two weeks, every evening, every weekend will be spent trying to get our current house ready to sell. Fortunately, due to the fact that Michelle has done such a great job in decorating it, there isn't a tremendous amount of 'big' stuff to do, but there's plenty of little things, and they'll definitely keep me hoppin.'
Most of what we have to do is simply de-clutter and remove about 25% of our personal acoutrements so as to make the house a neutral staging ground in which potential buyers can more easily 'plug themselves into' when they come to view it. Fortunately there's just one room that needs to be completely repainted (including trim), but it's also the largest room, containing the most junk, all of which needs to be gone through, sorted, and purged.
Do you even need to ask? Of course — it's my domain, the bonus room. So the bulk of that chore will be mine alone, and I'm really not looking forward to it.
That being said, I hope to at least find some time to write and complete the long series I'm so close to finishing. However I've decided that blog-wise, no longer will I do anything half-assed, and that includes starting a series and then leaving it out there, unfinished for any length of time. So while I've been aiming to get into shorter posts and fewer long series, so far that effort hasn't been so successful.
It actually may be time for me to go on official hiatus for awhile, but I'd really rather not. At any rate, if you don't hear from me much if at all over the next couple weeks, and the aforementioned is the reason. It's definitely not that I don't have anything to say, it's just that life is really happnin' right now, and I must heed its call.
Three weeks ago I thought things were finally slowing down. After a month of near-crippling pain, my back started to feel better; following my Dreamweaver training, work had finally ebbed to a slow blur; and I could at long last, I was able to begin thinking about that, 'yipee, my kids have finally graduated from college!' post that I've been waiting so long to write.
Wrong.
My first effort, a 'miniseries' that started out as an innocent concert review, just spun completely out of control and has now morphed into a major multi-part series; and while I'll admit that I kinda let it overtake me, I really don't regret that it did. I'm still working on it, but I feel really good about what it says. I consider it an important statement about where I am in my life right now.
So that's still to come, but when, I can't say for sure. And that's part and parcel to how things have been going for me lately.
What I'm going through right now is as intense a series of 'life happens' events as in any time since I began writing this blog (three years ago, last Wednesday). And the most recent event is by far the most life-changing in that string.
We're buying a new house.
I'll obviously have a lot to say about it when I have the time — and that's the key. Right now, for the next two weeks, every evening, every weekend will be spent trying to get our current house ready to sell. Fortunately, due to the fact that Michelle has done such a great job in decorating it, there isn't a tremendous amount of 'big' stuff to do, but there's plenty of little things, and they'll definitely keep me hoppin.'
Most of what we have to do is simply de-clutter and remove about 25% of our personal acoutrements so as to make the house a neutral staging ground in which potential buyers can more easily 'plug themselves into' when they come to view it. Fortunately there's just one room that needs to be completely repainted (including trim), but it's also the largest room, containing the most junk, all of which needs to be gone through, sorted, and purged.
Do you even need to ask? Of course — it's my domain, the bonus room. So the bulk of that chore will be mine alone, and I'm really not looking forward to it.
That being said, I hope to at least find some time to write and complete the long series I'm so close to finishing. However I've decided that blog-wise, no longer will I do anything half-assed, and that includes starting a series and then leaving it out there, unfinished for any length of time. So while I've been aiming to get into shorter posts and fewer long series, so far that effort hasn't been so successful.
It actually may be time for me to go on official hiatus for awhile, but I'd really rather not. At any rate, if you don't hear from me much if at all over the next couple weeks, and the aforementioned is the reason. It's definitely not that I don't have anything to say, it's just that life is really happnin' right now, and I must heed its call.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Soon. Very Soon.
Lots happnin'. Lots to talk about. Happy things, sad things. Serious things, silly things. Proud things and shameful things. All I need now is a week or two to write it all down.
I ain't dead yet, 'though a couple weeks ago I felt bad enough to wish I was.
More to come.
I ain't dead yet, 'though a couple weeks ago I felt bad enough to wish I was.
More to come.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
It Sux to Be in Flux
Just a short post to lament my busy life...
Things are better — they really are; just not any easier.
The good news is I’ve apparently weathered the storm at work, and for the immediate future at least, have the full support of my superiors. In fact, this week I’ll be spending three days in Atlanta, receiving what will hopefully be one of several forthcoming sessions of the software training that I’ve so desperately needed to get where I both want and need to be in my profession.
Remarkably, the atmosphere between my boss and me has done a one-eighty over the past four months. She now expresses a decided confidence in me; confidence that I really will do what have to do, and I’m gonna try like hell not to let her down — for my sake as much as hers.
The bottom line however, is that my struggle has left me drained and confused; drained by a now constant bombardment of JavaScript code syntax, Cascading Style Sheet architecture, and the contortions my brain is being forced into assuming in order to learn them; confused by the frustration of my own perception that my progress isn’t fast enough (which is an opinion no one but me seems to share, by the way). In all fairness I should be neither surprised nor frustrated since I knew this endeavor would be an uphill climb. Perhaps as usual I’m simply being too hard on myself; wouldn’t be the first time.
However that frustration is minor compared to that which involves the other half of my life; that portion of my time to which I devote my personal passions apart from my livelihood. Unfortunately, it appears that my professional experience isn’t the only thing that’s in a state of flux.
March Madness
As of about six weeks ago, I thought I was pretty much back on track and into a regular flow of producing content here on my blog, but recent circumstances have turned that around, and it’s really pissing me off.
Again, because of what’s going on at work, I’m just too drained to write during the week, for the most part anyway, so I always anticipate devoting at least a few hours exclusively to writing on the weekends, as I did throughout the month of February. It was supposed to be a kind of reward to myself for dealing with all the tedium of the new stuff I’m learning.
However at the beginning of March, the Franklins,’ our friends from Memphis, joined us in traveling to Chattanooga to see the penultimate play of my daughter Amy’s collegiate theatrical career, then spent the night and visited with us most of the day Sunday before returning home. There would be no writing that weekend.
The following weekend I had promised to attend the big annual local garden show with Michelle. That spawned a trip to Lowe’s and the first yard work of the impending spring. Another weekend shot.
Then came the weekend of March 17th, Michelle’s and my 28th wedding anniversary. I had taken Friday off from work and had planned to devote at least five hours to writing. However our clothes dryer crapped out earlier in the week, so instead I spent the better part of that day dancing with the dust bunnies, trying to resuscitate the dead appliance, and wound up spending most of the weekend shopping for and installing a new one.
Oh, but wait, there’s more…
The next day, on Monday, Michelle’s parents called to announce that they were coming to visit (which is something I’ll be writing more about soon). They arrived the next day and just returned home following an eight-day visit in which I swapped out my expertise solving some computer problems for my father in-law while he handled a few electrical issues we had around the house that I’d been reticent to tackle on my own. So it was a good thing to have them around, but as any of you who’ve been in those circumstances can attest, having in-house guests for an extended period can really be disruptive to the normal flow of things. So I got precious little writing done while the folks-in-law were here.
However the most inescapable factor of all in the added recent activity to my weekends is the weather. As of about four weeks ago, spring has sprung here in Middle Tennessee, and that means the start of my recurring seasonal chores: weekly yard work — now through September — making my already scant weekend writing time even more so.
Nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin.’
The point is, I’m not sure where-or-if this merry-go-round will end anytime soon; things have changed for me for sure. I’m now certain that 2-3 years ago I wasn’t doing something that I’m doing now. There’s no other explanation as to how I was able to write so consistently, so often, while also finding the time to keep up with a dozen or more of my Blogland neighbors’ sites, most of which now, I’m ashamed to say, I seldom darken the door. Where it was I found all that extra time to write I honestly don’t know, but I’m guessing that it wasn’t without the sacrifice of a few equally or more honorable endeavors.
I do know that during that period of flurry I stole a lot of my employer’s time either thinking about, researching or writing many of my early stories. And that’s probably the main reason my career is in the state of disarray it’s been in for the past year. For obvious reasons that malfeasance of my work day no longer occurs, nor will I ever allow it to again.
However I also know that I’m spending a lot more time now with Michelle and my physical family and friends than I did in 2004-2005, and that’s definitely a good thing regardless of how it affects my blog.
I guess the part I’m realizing is that my life needs a lot more balance than I’ve been affording it. I need to slow down and really focus on what’s important instead of what merely makes me feel good or “significant.” Writing a great blog isn’t going to feed my family or fund my retirement. And it sure as hell isn’t going to build a stronger relationship with the woman with whom I’ll be spending the rest of my life.
So I guess the moral of the story is that I need to let go. I didn’t say “give up” — just stop “kicking against the goads” so to speak. Whether this change in outlook truly affects my writing, and the frequency or quality thereof, only time will tell; it’s just something I need to do until I see at what point — or if — the merry-go-round returns to a less-dizzying speed.
Oh, and this weekend? Yard work yesterday, packing and errands today, and in a few hours, a four-hour drive to the ATL, where I’ll be until Wednesday. Oh, and I hear they’re playing some kind of important College basketball game there Monday night; the traffic should be lovely while I’m in town.
Yeah…I know; ’sux.
finis
Things are better — they really are; just not any easier.
The good news is I’ve apparently weathered the storm at work, and for the immediate future at least, have the full support of my superiors. In fact, this week I’ll be spending three days in Atlanta, receiving what will hopefully be one of several forthcoming sessions of the software training that I’ve so desperately needed to get where I both want and need to be in my profession.
Remarkably, the atmosphere between my boss and me has done a one-eighty over the past four months. She now expresses a decided confidence in me; confidence that I really will do what have to do, and I’m gonna try like hell not to let her down — for my sake as much as hers.
The bottom line however, is that my struggle has left me drained and confused; drained by a now constant bombardment of JavaScript code syntax, Cascading Style Sheet architecture, and the contortions my brain is being forced into assuming in order to learn them; confused by the frustration of my own perception that my progress isn’t fast enough (which is an opinion no one but me seems to share, by the way). In all fairness I should be neither surprised nor frustrated since I knew this endeavor would be an uphill climb. Perhaps as usual I’m simply being too hard on myself; wouldn’t be the first time.
However that frustration is minor compared to that which involves the other half of my life; that portion of my time to which I devote my personal passions apart from my livelihood. Unfortunately, it appears that my professional experience isn’t the only thing that’s in a state of flux.
March Madness
As of about six weeks ago, I thought I was pretty much back on track and into a regular flow of producing content here on my blog, but recent circumstances have turned that around, and it’s really pissing me off.
Again, because of what’s going on at work, I’m just too drained to write during the week, for the most part anyway, so I always anticipate devoting at least a few hours exclusively to writing on the weekends, as I did throughout the month of February. It was supposed to be a kind of reward to myself for dealing with all the tedium of the new stuff I’m learning.
However at the beginning of March, the Franklins,’ our friends from Memphis, joined us in traveling to Chattanooga to see the penultimate play of my daughter Amy’s collegiate theatrical career, then spent the night and visited with us most of the day Sunday before returning home. There would be no writing that weekend.
The following weekend I had promised to attend the big annual local garden show with Michelle. That spawned a trip to Lowe’s and the first yard work of the impending spring. Another weekend shot.
Then came the weekend of March 17th, Michelle’s and my 28th wedding anniversary. I had taken Friday off from work and had planned to devote at least five hours to writing. However our clothes dryer crapped out earlier in the week, so instead I spent the better part of that day dancing with the dust bunnies, trying to resuscitate the dead appliance, and wound up spending most of the weekend shopping for and installing a new one.
Oh, but wait, there’s more…
The next day, on Monday, Michelle’s parents called to announce that they were coming to visit (which is something I’ll be writing more about soon). They arrived the next day and just returned home following an eight-day visit in which I swapped out my expertise solving some computer problems for my father in-law while he handled a few electrical issues we had around the house that I’d been reticent to tackle on my own. So it was a good thing to have them around, but as any of you who’ve been in those circumstances can attest, having in-house guests for an extended period can really be disruptive to the normal flow of things. So I got precious little writing done while the folks-in-law were here.
However the most inescapable factor of all in the added recent activity to my weekends is the weather. As of about four weeks ago, spring has sprung here in Middle Tennessee, and that means the start of my recurring seasonal chores: weekly yard work — now through September — making my already scant weekend writing time even more so.
Nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin.’
The point is, I’m not sure where-or-if this merry-go-round will end anytime soon; things have changed for me for sure. I’m now certain that 2-3 years ago I wasn’t doing something that I’m doing now. There’s no other explanation as to how I was able to write so consistently, so often, while also finding the time to keep up with a dozen or more of my Blogland neighbors’ sites, most of which now, I’m ashamed to say, I seldom darken the door. Where it was I found all that extra time to write I honestly don’t know, but I’m guessing that it wasn’t without the sacrifice of a few equally or more honorable endeavors.
I do know that during that period of flurry I stole a lot of my employer’s time either thinking about, researching or writing many of my early stories. And that’s probably the main reason my career is in the state of disarray it’s been in for the past year. For obvious reasons that malfeasance of my work day no longer occurs, nor will I ever allow it to again.
However I also know that I’m spending a lot more time now with Michelle and my physical family and friends than I did in 2004-2005, and that’s definitely a good thing regardless of how it affects my blog.
I guess the part I’m realizing is that my life needs a lot more balance than I’ve been affording it. I need to slow down and really focus on what’s important instead of what merely makes me feel good or “significant.” Writing a great blog isn’t going to feed my family or fund my retirement. And it sure as hell isn’t going to build a stronger relationship with the woman with whom I’ll be spending the rest of my life.
So I guess the moral of the story is that I need to let go. I didn’t say “give up” — just stop “kicking against the goads” so to speak. Whether this change in outlook truly affects my writing, and the frequency or quality thereof, only time will tell; it’s just something I need to do until I see at what point — or if — the merry-go-round returns to a less-dizzying speed.
Oh, and this weekend? Yard work yesterday, packing and errands today, and in a few hours, a four-hour drive to the ATL, where I’ll be until Wednesday. Oh, and I hear they’re playing some kind of important College basketball game there Monday night; the traffic should be lovely while I’m in town.
Yeah…I know; ’sux.
finis
Saturday, March 17, 2007
It Was Twenty-Eight Years Ago Today
I was standing in front of the bedroom window in the California apartment where we would soon begin our life-trek together. The early morning sun streamed through the glass; I felt its warmth upon on my face, much as I did standing before the sliding glass door this morning, here in our current Tennessee home.
I remember thinking, “Today is the most important day of my life. Today everything changes. Today I’m getting married.”
And despite all the frustration, heartache, strife and malaise that has visited us off-and-on these past twenty-eight years, I still feel that same joy, that same excitement, the same thankfulness whenever I recall that wonderful moment; the moment when it really sunk in that my life would forever be changed by the woman God gave me to share my life with.
A woman who would bear my two wonderfully kind, gifted and vibrant children; a woman who would become the driving force in my life to slowly undo the not-so-positive conditioning of a passive father and mind-controlling stepmother, allowing me to become my own person, all the while weathering my passive-aggressive best attempts to resist her at nearly every turn.
A woman I truly adore.
That woman is you, Michelle.
Happy Anniversary.
I remember thinking, “Today is the most important day of my life. Today everything changes. Today I’m getting married.”
And despite all the frustration, heartache, strife and malaise that has visited us off-and-on these past twenty-eight years, I still feel that same joy, that same excitement, the same thankfulness whenever I recall that wonderful moment; the moment when it really sunk in that my life would forever be changed by the woman God gave me to share my life with.
A woman who would bear my two wonderfully kind, gifted and vibrant children; a woman who would become the driving force in my life to slowly undo the not-so-positive conditioning of a passive father and mind-controlling stepmother, allowing me to become my own person, all the while weathering my passive-aggressive best attempts to resist her at nearly every turn.
A woman I truly adore.
That woman is you, Michelle.
Happy Anniversary.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
“Nothing is Better…” (An Ode to Oatmeal)
— A Miniseries (3 of 3)
Sorely missed?
Earlier I mentioned two actions that were key to this story: an act of omission and another of commission. The omission was my doctor’s office dropping the ball in failing to re-up my prescription for Lipitor when I requested it in mid December of last year.
The act of commission was that of possibly the second most important woman in my life right now besides my lovely wife, Michelle, and it figures — she’s all about action. No dilly-dallyin’ around with this lady. She means what she says and says what she means. But she ain’t heavy; she’s my trainer.
I’m not sure how much I’ll be talking about her, so I’ll take the easy way out on the “what-name-to-come-up-with-for-this-person” dance I have to do each time I introduce someone from my real life into these stories; I’ll just call her Killah, because that’s what she does. She destroys me multiple times per week.
Killah is the in-house trainer at the fitness center on the grounds of my employer, The Company. She’s been there for a little more than a year, and after a period of adjustment for her in-your-face personality, she’s someone with whom I’ve become extremely comfortable trusting my fitness to. You see, in all the years I was a gymnast, I had some great coaches on whom I depended greatly. I depended on them to keep me going, because basically I’m a big baby. I have a difficult time putting myself through pain. But if someone else makes me do it, hell — I’ll run through a wall.
Killah is a great motivator. She’s in the mold of my all-time favorite gymnastics coach, my JC coach from my first two years of college — the first of which we won a National Championship as a team and the second of which I won one as an individual.
What made that 1976 season so special for me was the breakthrough I made personally, in large part through the pain-in-the-ass nagging of my coach. He had a way of making you so mad — at yourself, not him — that you’d do whatever he said just to shut him up.
Killah’s a little like that. She had me sized up, pretty much from the get-go, and doesn’t allow me to perform at anything less than the level to which I’m capable. And to her credit, she meets each and everyone else at that same individually based level. I came to respect her and her opinions on all things fitness from very early on.
She is essentially the reason I decided to go off my meds, and reintroduce oatmeal into my diet.
Back in December, a few days after running out of my prescription, I overheard Killah talking to a woman about the benefits of oatmeal. She said it was one of nature’s most perfect complex-carbohydrates and an excellent complement to a healthy diet, not even to mention its qualities as a cholesterol-reducer.
I pretty much made up my mind right at that point. Now you may be asking why, given its other healthy aspects I wouldn’t simply want to eat oatmeal for its nutritional value alone in addition to supplementing with Lipitor? Why stop using something that had provided such dramatic results (which I’ll detail in a later story), especially in light of my overall health picture?
The answer to that question is based upon a couple of things. One, I hate taking pills; always have. I take a baby aspirin (for my heart) and a multivitamin every day, and that’s bad enough. Those are two things I will continue to take for the rest of my life, and it’s reasonable to assume that at some point, as I grow older, I’ll need to add other daily medications to the mix as well. So why not eliminate one now if I can get away with it?
However as good a reason that is, it pales by comparison to the main one: muscular soreness. This is a well-known side effect of Lipitor and most other statin-type drugs. Some people are more susceptible to it than others, and had it not been for the horror stories detailed by my stepmother a couple of years ago, I likely wouldn’t have put two and two together with regard to my own circumstance.
Back in 2004, when Michelle and I traveled to SoCal in the first of what would be two such trips that summer to my former homeland, My doctor had just begun giving me Lip.’
Helen, my Pop’s wife was aghast.
“You take Lipitor? That stuff is horrible!” she exclaimed. “Nearly crippled me a few years ago! I had to get off of it. Doesn’t it hurt your legs?”
I went on to explain that I’d had no such symptoms, and that I was sorry to hear of her bad experience with the drug. Privately I wondered whether or not her age might have had anything to do with her reaction to it.
Now keep in mind that this was barely six months into my current two years-plus regimen of working out twice a week. Back then I wasn’t nearly as consistent as I am now, and the type of workout program I was engaged in was more aerobics-based than the strength training paces that Killah now puts us through, week-in and week-out. All that to say, I don’t believe that I was in as receptive a position to actually feel the effects of any soreness side-effects at that point, so I didn’t give a whole lot of credence to the aspersions my stepmom had cast upon this wonder drug.
The epiphany I had regarding my muscular soreness didn’t arrive until this past fall. After having then been involved with fitness training well over a year and a half, feeling really good, and pretty much seeing my body mold back into a shape which at least resembled that of my competing days, something happened that really opened my eyes.
Tennis (elbow), anyone?
It was a Saturday in early November, and I was performing my dreaded annual ritual of raking up the tiny elm tree leaves that would choke my back yard lawn into oblivion should I leave them (no pun intended) unchecked. The new grass that had sprouted from our early-September over-seeding had matured to the point that it could withstand light raking without extensive damage; and it had to be done before the cold, wet winter weather set in, or otherwise render a merely sucky job, pert’ near intolerable.
The tall, mature twin elm trees in my back yard are the only remaining originals that existed there before our house did. We specifically instructed that they be spared when the lot was cleared from its heavily wooded beginnings back in the fall of 1993. The two trees were actually one of the main reasons we chose that particular home site in the first place. They may not have been the most beautiful trees in the world, but they were perfectly positioned. Now directly in front of our deck, they provide shade for the back yard and a protective perch, from which the hundreds of birds that visit us each year can swoop down to Michelle’s well-stocked bird feeder below, just a few feet adjacent to them.
Michelle loves her birds, and we have always loved our big trees.
But unfortunately, there’s a downside to our precious elms: the leaves; those tiny, arrowhead-shaped rascals that float to the ground each fall. Not only does their size make them difficult to rake and pick up, they are also highly acidic and damaging to the grass they come to rest upon. So getting them picked up is pretty much a “gots-ta” situation, especially when the potential victims are the newly-emergent seedlings that will be depended on to keep that area beneath the trees from becoming a mud pond during the balance of the year.
So I’m always sort of between a rock and a hard place with regard to this circumstance. If I wait to over-seed until after the leaves have fallen and raked up, it’d be too late in the season at that point; the grass seeds wouldn’t germinate, due to the already inclement temperatures of the late fall. On the other hand, if I do nothing and allow the leaves to remain, their inherent acidity would kill most of the seedlings.
Tough call, ain’t it?
So I rake, knowing full well that I’m also uprooting a fairly decent percentage of my new grass plants in the process. Call it the lesser of two evils, I suppose. But one of those evils not only applies to the health of my lawn, but to mine as well through the toll that job takes on my body.
Raking those boogers is tough enough, but doing so without destroying the tender grass plants they cover is even more so. It requires a steady, consistent repetition of light, shallow strokes with the rake, and it’s an extremely tiring exercise.
I’m always exhausted when I finish this yearly chore. Because of the amount of repetitive effort required, I typically hurt for a couple days afterward. However this most recent episode didn’t just tucker me out, it absolutely blew me away.
Later that evening, I felt my left elbow begin to tighten. The next morning I could barely move the joint without excruciating pain. I’d had elbow soreness before, but nothing like this. It was obvious that the stress of the repetitive raking motion on my forearm/elbow area was the cause, but this wasn’t exactly my first rakin’ rodeo. Why was it so sore this time? I was scared. The pain continued for weeks with only moderate subsidence. I felt weak as a kitten. Would I feel this way forever?
My doctor said it was classic tennis elbow, which is basically just tendinitis. The only cure is rest, but how do you rest your elbow without putting your arm in a sling? I backed off using my left arm during the dumbbell exercises that Killah routinely puts us through in our weekly workouts, but I was becoming more discouraged as the weeks passed.
Fast-forward to mid-December and the aforementioned prescription lapse with my Lipitor, coupled with the subsequent lapse of follow-up by my doctor’s office. A funny thing happened during the 5-7 days that all this was transpiring: my elbow stopped hurting. And then it hit me: nothing was hurting, really. In addition to the elbow issue, I had long since assumed that the “normal” soreness I experienced on a daily basis was to be expected from my workouts. I had often felt some exasperation over the idea that having been at this for so long, I was still getting sore at all; and sometimes my discomfort was considerable. As a competitive athlete for over 25 years, I was no stranger to the rigors and associated after-effects of training, but for just two lousy days a week, this just didn’t seem right. But again, there was always the thought, “Well, maybe it’s just old age…” I didn’t like it, but I just accepted it as such.
But now, not more than a week after my prescription had expired, my pain does too? What’s goin’ on here?
Que the light bulb!
Oh-my-GAWD! Could it be the Lipitor after all?
Beginning the first week of 2007 I decided to begin a self-imposed clinical test on the effects of oatmeal versus Lipitor on my cholesterol levels and overall feelings of well being.
I also decided to do something else that I should have from the outset; something that would certainly provide additional positive benefits. I resolved to add an extra day to my workout regimen, bringing it up to three per week, which I’d known for years is considered the minimum number of weekly vigorous exercise sessions necessary for real improvement of one’s fitness level.
I had tried my best to convince myself that I couldn’t sacrifice the time, but c’mon, AJ, what’s an extra 90 minutes a week from your life? I really don’t believe they’ll yank Law & Order off the air if you miss an episode or two.
So far, so(re) good
It has been eight weeks since I began my test; ten weeks since I stopped taking Lipitor. I’ve had my morning bowl of Quaker Oats at least six days a week (and usually seven) ever since and I feel great.
I’ve also noticed that in adding that extra workout day, my stamina has increased, my musculature has become better-defined, and that occasional late-night cookie rendezvous doesn’t seem to affect my midsection as affirmatively as it used to.
While I can’t say that I never get sore, there has definitely been a decided decrease. This is despite the fact that Killah’s program continues to progress, becoming more and more daunting with the passing of each six week period, as those of us participating in the Monday-Wednesday-Friday group become more and more fit. That I can live with.
But then again, I wonder; is it all in my head? Was my soreness anything more than the normal course that my body needed to take before breaking through to the next level, and now, in so doing, did that point just happen to coincide with the slip in my Lip’ prescription?
Am I doing myself more harm than would be wise at this point in my life; especially in view of my family history and my own known disposition for maintaining unhealthy levels of LDL cholesterol?
Time will tell. Actually I’ll know in about another month when I go back to my doctor for my six-month blood-work re-eval and annual complete physical. But what happens if he tells me I’m a dope for doing this without consulting him? What happens if even after eating oatmeal every day for twelve weeks my cholesterol is back up over 200?
But what if it’s not?
What if my EKG sings like a bird, proclaiming that my heart is ticking more strongly now than it has in years; what if my cholesterol is still at safe levels as a result of my increased exercise and healthier eating habits?
What if I can skip ‘The Lip’ for good?
Well, I’ll tell you what: that will be a great day, my friends; better health, an improved self-image; an extra thirty buck-a-roonies in my pocket each month…
Heck, that’s cause for a celebration!
Margaritas, anyone?
finis
Earlier I mentioned two actions that were key to this story: an act of omission and another of commission. The omission was my doctor’s office dropping the ball in failing to re-up my prescription for Lipitor when I requested it in mid December of last year.
The act of commission was that of possibly the second most important woman in my life right now besides my lovely wife, Michelle, and it figures — she’s all about action. No dilly-dallyin’ around with this lady. She means what she says and says what she means. But she ain’t heavy; she’s my trainer.
I’m not sure how much I’ll be talking about her, so I’ll take the easy way out on the “what-name-to-come-up-with-for-this-person” dance I have to do each time I introduce someone from my real life into these stories; I’ll just call her Killah, because that’s what she does. She destroys me multiple times per week.
Killah is the in-house trainer at the fitness center on the grounds of my employer, The Company. She’s been there for a little more than a year, and after a period of adjustment for her in-your-face personality, she’s someone with whom I’ve become extremely comfortable trusting my fitness to. You see, in all the years I was a gymnast, I had some great coaches on whom I depended greatly. I depended on them to keep me going, because basically I’m a big baby. I have a difficult time putting myself through pain. But if someone else makes me do it, hell — I’ll run through a wall.
Killah is a great motivator. She’s in the mold of my all-time favorite gymnastics coach, my JC coach from my first two years of college — the first of which we won a National Championship as a team and the second of which I won one as an individual.
What made that 1976 season so special for me was the breakthrough I made personally, in large part through the pain-in-the-ass nagging of my coach. He had a way of making you so mad — at yourself, not him — that you’d do whatever he said just to shut him up.
Killah’s a little like that. She had me sized up, pretty much from the get-go, and doesn’t allow me to perform at anything less than the level to which I’m capable. And to her credit, she meets each and everyone else at that same individually based level. I came to respect her and her opinions on all things fitness from very early on.
She is essentially the reason I decided to go off my meds, and reintroduce oatmeal into my diet.
Back in December, a few days after running out of my prescription, I overheard Killah talking to a woman about the benefits of oatmeal. She said it was one of nature’s most perfect complex-carbohydrates and an excellent complement to a healthy diet, not even to mention its qualities as a cholesterol-reducer.
I pretty much made up my mind right at that point. Now you may be asking why, given its other healthy aspects I wouldn’t simply want to eat oatmeal for its nutritional value alone in addition to supplementing with Lipitor? Why stop using something that had provided such dramatic results (which I’ll detail in a later story), especially in light of my overall health picture?
The answer to that question is based upon a couple of things. One, I hate taking pills; always have. I take a baby aspirin (for my heart) and a multivitamin every day, and that’s bad enough. Those are two things I will continue to take for the rest of my life, and it’s reasonable to assume that at some point, as I grow older, I’ll need to add other daily medications to the mix as well. So why not eliminate one now if I can get away with it?
However as good a reason that is, it pales by comparison to the main one: muscular soreness. This is a well-known side effect of Lipitor and most other statin-type drugs. Some people are more susceptible to it than others, and had it not been for the horror stories detailed by my stepmother a couple of years ago, I likely wouldn’t have put two and two together with regard to my own circumstance.
Back in 2004, when Michelle and I traveled to SoCal in the first of what would be two such trips that summer to my former homeland, My doctor had just begun giving me Lip.’
Helen, my Pop’s wife was aghast.
“You take Lipitor? That stuff is horrible!” she exclaimed. “Nearly crippled me a few years ago! I had to get off of it. Doesn’t it hurt your legs?”
I went on to explain that I’d had no such symptoms, and that I was sorry to hear of her bad experience with the drug. Privately I wondered whether or not her age might have had anything to do with her reaction to it.
Now keep in mind that this was barely six months into my current two years-plus regimen of working out twice a week. Back then I wasn’t nearly as consistent as I am now, and the type of workout program I was engaged in was more aerobics-based than the strength training paces that Killah now puts us through, week-in and week-out. All that to say, I don’t believe that I was in as receptive a position to actually feel the effects of any soreness side-effects at that point, so I didn’t give a whole lot of credence to the aspersions my stepmom had cast upon this wonder drug.
The epiphany I had regarding my muscular soreness didn’t arrive until this past fall. After having then been involved with fitness training well over a year and a half, feeling really good, and pretty much seeing my body mold back into a shape which at least resembled that of my competing days, something happened that really opened my eyes.
Tennis (elbow), anyone?
It was a Saturday in early November, and I was performing my dreaded annual ritual of raking up the tiny elm tree leaves that would choke my back yard lawn into oblivion should I leave them (no pun intended) unchecked. The new grass that had sprouted from our early-September over-seeding had matured to the point that it could withstand light raking without extensive damage; and it had to be done before the cold, wet winter weather set in, or otherwise render a merely sucky job, pert’ near intolerable.
The tall, mature twin elm trees in my back yard are the only remaining originals that existed there before our house did. We specifically instructed that they be spared when the lot was cleared from its heavily wooded beginnings back in the fall of 1993. The two trees were actually one of the main reasons we chose that particular home site in the first place. They may not have been the most beautiful trees in the world, but they were perfectly positioned. Now directly in front of our deck, they provide shade for the back yard and a protective perch, from which the hundreds of birds that visit us each year can swoop down to Michelle’s well-stocked bird feeder below, just a few feet adjacent to them.
Michelle loves her birds, and we have always loved our big trees.
But unfortunately, there’s a downside to our precious elms: the leaves; those tiny, arrowhead-shaped rascals that float to the ground each fall. Not only does their size make them difficult to rake and pick up, they are also highly acidic and damaging to the grass they come to rest upon. So getting them picked up is pretty much a “gots-ta” situation, especially when the potential victims are the newly-emergent seedlings that will be depended on to keep that area beneath the trees from becoming a mud pond during the balance of the year.
So I’m always sort of between a rock and a hard place with regard to this circumstance. If I wait to over-seed until after the leaves have fallen and raked up, it’d be too late in the season at that point; the grass seeds wouldn’t germinate, due to the already inclement temperatures of the late fall. On the other hand, if I do nothing and allow the leaves to remain, their inherent acidity would kill most of the seedlings.
Tough call, ain’t it?
So I rake, knowing full well that I’m also uprooting a fairly decent percentage of my new grass plants in the process. Call it the lesser of two evils, I suppose. But one of those evils not only applies to the health of my lawn, but to mine as well through the toll that job takes on my body.
Raking those boogers is tough enough, but doing so without destroying the tender grass plants they cover is even more so. It requires a steady, consistent repetition of light, shallow strokes with the rake, and it’s an extremely tiring exercise.
I’m always exhausted when I finish this yearly chore. Because of the amount of repetitive effort required, I typically hurt for a couple days afterward. However this most recent episode didn’t just tucker me out, it absolutely blew me away.
Later that evening, I felt my left elbow begin to tighten. The next morning I could barely move the joint without excruciating pain. I’d had elbow soreness before, but nothing like this. It was obvious that the stress of the repetitive raking motion on my forearm/elbow area was the cause, but this wasn’t exactly my first rakin’ rodeo. Why was it so sore this time? I was scared. The pain continued for weeks with only moderate subsidence. I felt weak as a kitten. Would I feel this way forever?
My doctor said it was classic tennis elbow, which is basically just tendinitis. The only cure is rest, but how do you rest your elbow without putting your arm in a sling? I backed off using my left arm during the dumbbell exercises that Killah routinely puts us through in our weekly workouts, but I was becoming more discouraged as the weeks passed.
Fast-forward to mid-December and the aforementioned prescription lapse with my Lipitor, coupled with the subsequent lapse of follow-up by my doctor’s office. A funny thing happened during the 5-7 days that all this was transpiring: my elbow stopped hurting. And then it hit me: nothing was hurting, really. In addition to the elbow issue, I had long since assumed that the “normal” soreness I experienced on a daily basis was to be expected from my workouts. I had often felt some exasperation over the idea that having been at this for so long, I was still getting sore at all; and sometimes my discomfort was considerable. As a competitive athlete for over 25 years, I was no stranger to the rigors and associated after-effects of training, but for just two lousy days a week, this just didn’t seem right. But again, there was always the thought, “Well, maybe it’s just old age…” I didn’t like it, but I just accepted it as such.
But now, not more than a week after my prescription had expired, my pain does too? What’s goin’ on here?
Que the light bulb!
Oh-my-GAWD! Could it be the Lipitor after all?
Beginning the first week of 2007 I decided to begin a self-imposed clinical test on the effects of oatmeal versus Lipitor on my cholesterol levels and overall feelings of well being.
I also decided to do something else that I should have from the outset; something that would certainly provide additional positive benefits. I resolved to add an extra day to my workout regimen, bringing it up to three per week, which I’d known for years is considered the minimum number of weekly vigorous exercise sessions necessary for real improvement of one’s fitness level.
I had tried my best to convince myself that I couldn’t sacrifice the time, but c’mon, AJ, what’s an extra 90 minutes a week from your life? I really don’t believe they’ll yank Law & Order off the air if you miss an episode or two.
So far, so(re) good
It has been eight weeks since I began my test; ten weeks since I stopped taking Lipitor. I’ve had my morning bowl of Quaker Oats at least six days a week (and usually seven) ever since and I feel great.
I’ve also noticed that in adding that extra workout day, my stamina has increased, my musculature has become better-defined, and that occasional late-night cookie rendezvous doesn’t seem to affect my midsection as affirmatively as it used to.
While I can’t say that I never get sore, there has definitely been a decided decrease. This is despite the fact that Killah’s program continues to progress, becoming more and more daunting with the passing of each six week period, as those of us participating in the Monday-Wednesday-Friday group become more and more fit. That I can live with.
But then again, I wonder; is it all in my head? Was my soreness anything more than the normal course that my body needed to take before breaking through to the next level, and now, in so doing, did that point just happen to coincide with the slip in my Lip’ prescription?
Am I doing myself more harm than would be wise at this point in my life; especially in view of my family history and my own known disposition for maintaining unhealthy levels of LDL cholesterol?
Time will tell. Actually I’ll know in about another month when I go back to my doctor for my six-month blood-work re-eval and annual complete physical. But what happens if he tells me I’m a dope for doing this without consulting him? What happens if even after eating oatmeal every day for twelve weeks my cholesterol is back up over 200?
But what if it’s not?
What if my EKG sings like a bird, proclaiming that my heart is ticking more strongly now than it has in years; what if my cholesterol is still at safe levels as a result of my increased exercise and healthier eating habits?
What if I can skip ‘The Lip’ for good?
Well, I’ll tell you what: that will be a great day, my friends; better health, an improved self-image; an extra thirty buck-a-roonies in my pocket each month…
Heck, that’s cause for a celebration!
Margaritas, anyone?
finis
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
“Nothing is Better…” (An Ode to Oatmeal)
— A Miniseries (2 of 3)
“Quaker? I just met ‘er!”
Unless you’re nearly as old as I am, you probably don’t remember when that gentleman with the long, white locks and wide-brimmed hat, whose grinnin’ puss is still depicted on the Quaker Oats package, actually spoke on that venerable cereal’s television commercials. His lips never moved, but for years the spots would end with the sound of his deep, kindly voice uttering a familiar slogan, “Nothing is better for thee than me.”
I’m not sure why, but somehow over the years that fact apparently slipped my mind.
I had always loved oatmeal; I can’t remember not loving it. However after having eaten the ubiquitous porridge for breakfast practically every day of my life — from nursery school through high school — for some reason, I just stopped when I became an adult. It wasn’t as though I’d decided I no longer liked it, or had even grown tired of eating it — I just got out of the habit, I suppose. Of course the fact that when I became a bachelor, I would then have actually had to boil the water myself to make it might have had something to do with it…
Whatever the reason, the years passed and I just never thought about it, save for those very few occasions when I’d see someone enjoying a bowl in the caf’ at work, and think, “Hmmm…it sure has been a long time since I’ve had oatmeal.” But then the thought would pass and nothing more would be done.
Call me a pathetic, pampered chauvinist, but that earlier poke at myself regarding boiling water isn’t all that far-fetched. Until recently I had honestly never prepared a batch of oatmeal myself — ridiculous as that may sound. I had on various occasions done the instant microwave variety but that stuff just tastes like so much hobby paste to me; I’m sure those experiences didn’t exactly rekindle my affinity for oatmeal either.
However, my ineptitudes in the kitchen aside, there is one good reason why I don’t cook. Michelle has completely dominated our relationship in that regard from the first time she stepped foot into my apartment back when we were dating. She pan-fried me a rib eye steak one evening that absolutely melted in my mouth; I’ve been wrapped up in her culinary spell ever since.
Michelle believes that cooking is as much her role in our marriage as mowing the yard is mine. It’s just another of the myriad reasons why, physically as well as emotionally, I’d be up shit creek without a paddle if she ever left me.
Beyond that, growing up in the South as she did, with her Southern Belle Mother doing the cooking, it was grits, not oatmeal was a part of normal breakfast faire. In that regard Michelle was the exact opposite of me, having experienced oatmeal much more after she left home than she had during her childhood.
I actually learned to like grits after we got married, on those occasions when Mom-in-Law cooked them for breakfast — that is, just so long as I was allowed fix them up like I always did my oatmeal — with butter, a little sugar and a splash of milk. This of course was near-cause for the renting of garments amongst the in-laws; it was the quintessential yankee-fication of a cherished southern breakfast staple, for which I was good-naturedly chided many times over. But undaunted, I enjoyed the grits, not so much for the taste as for the way eating it made me feel; that connection to my past that the warm cereal, dressed in butter, sugar and milk always seemed to make.
But despite the many times that eating my Mother-in-Law’s grits drew forth memories of my childhood, I still never followed up on that always-fleeting thought to add oatmeal back into my diet. It should have been a no-brainer a long time ago; ever since my doctor diagnosed me with cholesterol high enough to put me on 40 milligrams per day of Lipitor, the well-known statin-type anti-cholesterol drug.
Oatmeal’s benefits in controlling “bad” cholesterol are well-known, but it still never dawned on me that it might actually be in my best interest to try. Interestingly though, how I eventually did was a result of two acts — one of omission and the other of commission — by separate parties who both play a vital role in my life and overall health.
Don’t gimme no ‘Lip’
The ommisive act was that of my doctor’s office. Since I began my cholesterol drug therapy a little more than two-and-a-half years ago, my doctor wanted to closely monitor my progress. Given the family history of my Dad, in 2002, followed by my eldest brother, Jack, two years later going under the knife for multiple-bypass heart surgeries, I realized that I am most certainly at risk for heart disease. Now more than at any other time in my life, I need to treat that risk seriously — ’bout as serious as a heart attack, I reckon.
Heart disease and high blood pressure run in my family on my Pop’s side, the biggest factor for which is naturally-high cholesterol. But to be honest, that’s not something I’d spent a lot of time thinking about over the years— hardly any in fact. I always figured that if anything, what I would need to be concerned about was the Early-Onset Alzheimer’s from the maternal end of the family gene pool.
But wouldn’t you know it, just at the point I’d become reasonably certain I had dodged the family curse, Jack calls and says he’s going in for a double-bypass, and warns that I now need to start thinking about my heart — and not just my head.
I guess there just ain’t no easy ticket, is there?
But as usual, I digress…
I had been on a consistent regimen of Lipitor since March of 2004 when in the middle of last December 2006 I realized I had run out of my prescription.
Like most people in my position, whenever my standing prescription runs out I simply call my Doctor’s office to let them know, and in short order — usually within a day — my ‘script is renewed and I can go get my drugs.
However this time, when I discovered my dilemma it was a Saturday, and obviously the Doc’s office was closed. So I called the pharmacy to see what they could do. They told me that they would fax my doctor on Monday, and that things like this were common; no biggie. They said I wouldn’t have to do anything more; just check back on Tuesday and the prescription should be in place.
“Okay,” I thought, “I’ll check back on Tuesday.”
On Tuesday I called the pharmacy and my doctor’s office still hadn’t responded. They told me to give it another day. “Great,” I thought, “Should I try and contact the office or just wait like the pharmacist suggested?”
Then I realized that it was now a week away from Christmas, all the presents had been purchased and we were pretty much out o’ dough — with nearly two weeks to go until the next payday, no less. The fact of the matter was I really couldn’t justify spending the $30.00 it would cost to refill the prescription anyway, so I let it ride. I’d had lapses in my Lipitor therapy before; what was another one gonna hurt?
But then I began to think about it and all of a sudden, another reason to skip the Lip’ occurred to me.
I had a field test to conduct.
Next: Sorely missed?
Unless you’re nearly as old as I am, you probably don’t remember when that gentleman with the long, white locks and wide-brimmed hat, whose grinnin’ puss is still depicted on the Quaker Oats package, actually spoke on that venerable cereal’s television commercials. His lips never moved, but for years the spots would end with the sound of his deep, kindly voice uttering a familiar slogan, “Nothing is better for thee than me.”
I’m not sure why, but somehow over the years that fact apparently slipped my mind.
I had always loved oatmeal; I can’t remember not loving it. However after having eaten the ubiquitous porridge for breakfast practically every day of my life — from nursery school through high school — for some reason, I just stopped when I became an adult. It wasn’t as though I’d decided I no longer liked it, or had even grown tired of eating it — I just got out of the habit, I suppose. Of course the fact that when I became a bachelor, I would then have actually had to boil the water myself to make it might have had something to do with it…
Whatever the reason, the years passed and I just never thought about it, save for those very few occasions when I’d see someone enjoying a bowl in the caf’ at work, and think, “Hmmm…it sure has been a long time since I’ve had oatmeal.” But then the thought would pass and nothing more would be done.
Call me a pathetic, pampered chauvinist, but that earlier poke at myself regarding boiling water isn’t all that far-fetched. Until recently I had honestly never prepared a batch of oatmeal myself — ridiculous as that may sound. I had on various occasions done the instant microwave variety but that stuff just tastes like so much hobby paste to me; I’m sure those experiences didn’t exactly rekindle my affinity for oatmeal either.
However, my ineptitudes in the kitchen aside, there is one good reason why I don’t cook. Michelle has completely dominated our relationship in that regard from the first time she stepped foot into my apartment back when we were dating. She pan-fried me a rib eye steak one evening that absolutely melted in my mouth; I’ve been wrapped up in her culinary spell ever since.
Michelle believes that cooking is as much her role in our marriage as mowing the yard is mine. It’s just another of the myriad reasons why, physically as well as emotionally, I’d be up shit creek without a paddle if she ever left me.
Beyond that, growing up in the South as she did, with her Southern Belle Mother doing the cooking, it was grits, not oatmeal was a part of normal breakfast faire. In that regard Michelle was the exact opposite of me, having experienced oatmeal much more after she left home than she had during her childhood.
I actually learned to like grits after we got married, on those occasions when Mom-in-Law cooked them for breakfast — that is, just so long as I was allowed fix them up like I always did my oatmeal — with butter, a little sugar and a splash of milk. This of course was near-cause for the renting of garments amongst the in-laws; it was the quintessential yankee-fication of a cherished southern breakfast staple, for which I was good-naturedly chided many times over. But undaunted, I enjoyed the grits, not so much for the taste as for the way eating it made me feel; that connection to my past that the warm cereal, dressed in butter, sugar and milk always seemed to make.
But despite the many times that eating my Mother-in-Law’s grits drew forth memories of my childhood, I still never followed up on that always-fleeting thought to add oatmeal back into my diet. It should have been a no-brainer a long time ago; ever since my doctor diagnosed me with cholesterol high enough to put me on 40 milligrams per day of Lipitor, the well-known statin-type anti-cholesterol drug.
Oatmeal’s benefits in controlling “bad” cholesterol are well-known, but it still never dawned on me that it might actually be in my best interest to try. Interestingly though, how I eventually did was a result of two acts — one of omission and the other of commission — by separate parties who both play a vital role in my life and overall health.
Don’t gimme no ‘Lip’
The ommisive act was that of my doctor’s office. Since I began my cholesterol drug therapy a little more than two-and-a-half years ago, my doctor wanted to closely monitor my progress. Given the family history of my Dad, in 2002, followed by my eldest brother, Jack, two years later going under the knife for multiple-bypass heart surgeries, I realized that I am most certainly at risk for heart disease. Now more than at any other time in my life, I need to treat that risk seriously — ’bout as serious as a heart attack, I reckon.
Heart disease and high blood pressure run in my family on my Pop’s side, the biggest factor for which is naturally-high cholesterol. But to be honest, that’s not something I’d spent a lot of time thinking about over the years— hardly any in fact. I always figured that if anything, what I would need to be concerned about was the Early-Onset Alzheimer’s from the maternal end of the family gene pool.
But wouldn’t you know it, just at the point I’d become reasonably certain I had dodged the family curse, Jack calls and says he’s going in for a double-bypass, and warns that I now need to start thinking about my heart — and not just my head.
I guess there just ain’t no easy ticket, is there?
But as usual, I digress…
I had been on a consistent regimen of Lipitor since March of 2004 when in the middle of last December 2006 I realized I had run out of my prescription.
Like most people in my position, whenever my standing prescription runs out I simply call my Doctor’s office to let them know, and in short order — usually within a day — my ‘script is renewed and I can go get my drugs.
However this time, when I discovered my dilemma it was a Saturday, and obviously the Doc’s office was closed. So I called the pharmacy to see what they could do. They told me that they would fax my doctor on Monday, and that things like this were common; no biggie. They said I wouldn’t have to do anything more; just check back on Tuesday and the prescription should be in place.
“Okay,” I thought, “I’ll check back on Tuesday.”
On Tuesday I called the pharmacy and my doctor’s office still hadn’t responded. They told me to give it another day. “Great,” I thought, “Should I try and contact the office or just wait like the pharmacist suggested?”
Then I realized that it was now a week away from Christmas, all the presents had been purchased and we were pretty much out o’ dough — with nearly two weeks to go until the next payday, no less. The fact of the matter was I really couldn’t justify spending the $30.00 it would cost to refill the prescription anyway, so I let it ride. I’d had lapses in my Lipitor therapy before; what was another one gonna hurt?
But then I began to think about it and all of a sudden, another reason to skip the Lip’ occurred to me.
I had a field test to conduct.
Next: Sorely missed?
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