Browse Category: Continuum…

SOMETIMES, WHEN IT SNOWS

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

(for a friend who is missed)

SOMETIMES, when it snows, I miss you.

The last time that I saw you, it snowed. Remember? You waited at the door while I ran through the slippery parking lot to get the car. I knew it would be warm for you if I let it run while I cleared off the windows. You held my arm so that you would not fall on the steps, then waited for me to open the door for you, as I always did gladly.

As I drove you to your destination just a few miles away, so many things that I wanted to say raced through my mind. I knew you were going away. Not knowing where to begin or which important thing would mean the most to you, I asked if you were warm enough and comfortable. Maybe that meant the most to you after all. You knew me well enough to know the things I wanted to say.

We said a lot to each other during those days, those days that we thought would never end. Remember? Was there anything we did not feel comfortable telling each other? I know, I did most of the talking half of the time. Thank you for never minding and for never asking me to be quiet. Maybe it needed to be that way so that you would not forget me when you left.

Your smile always made my day. I remember periods of time when it was difficult for you to smile and days when you didn’t smile at all. For a time, it was my mission to make you smile. I was happy when those days passed and smiles and laughter marked our times. Even if I live to be 120, I hope I never lose the memory of your smiling face.

I would travel to wherever you are right now just to see you smile, and to ask why you did not stay in touch. You called a few times. Mostly, it was I calling you though. When you left you said we would always be close despite the miles. You told me you never wanted to lose that closeness. I don’t understand.

It was hard to say good-bye. It felt normal to have you in my life. I guess it was that foolish assumption that you would always be there that left me wide open to the harsh certainty of reality. The fact is that things change. People live. People die. They arrive. They leave. To be comfortable and feel that we can finally settle down and unpack is the folly of our existence. Even you, you who made it feel like the world had stopped and I could rest forever when you were near, have gone. Is life designed for love or for sorrow primarily? Once I thought I knew.

Truth be told, I miss you nearly every day. The snowy days only make that feeling more intense. Most likely, you will never read these words. But I had to tell someone that I miss you.

(For a follow-up to this article, read THIS ARTICLE.)

So Goes the World

(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

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It is said that when you see a ring around the moon at night, it is going to snow the next day. What if you see a rainbow around the sun? Does it mean the same thing? Because it is supposed to snow big time here today and tomorrow, possibly 10 to 14 inches in our area by the end of the day tomorrow.

I am not well “treaded” for this storm. The tires on my car are wearing pretty thin. I have no boots since I destroyed them on THIS ADVENTURE back in August. But all I have to do is make it home from work and I will be fine. It can snow all weekend then.

The photo above was taken while driving to work yesterday morning. I set the camera exposure extra low to make more of a contrast between the rainbow and the tree line, as well as to minimize the glare from the sun. The church in the picture is located in Fairmont, which is near Califon and Oldwick.

* * * * *
I was going to run again yesterday, even though I was debating if that would be a good thing right at the beginning of getting started again, especially given the fact that I’ve been averaging about four hours sleep per night lately. It’s at times like these, when I push myself a little too much, that I fear the Brain-Sucking-Monster-Migraine will get me. Still, I wanted to run.

However, even though the girl who sits next to me at work remembered to bring her running gear, even though we talked all morning about running at lunchtime, even though it was warmer than the day before, we didn’t go running. This time she changed her mind at the last minute when someone asked her to go out for Thai food for lunch. She didn’t stop there though! She, along with the Thai lunch instigator, stood at my cube and harangued (cool word, huh?) me about being too hard on myself for wanting to run again. What? I only ran once after loafing for how many months? How hard on myself was that? (Pretty damn hard, actually!) Well, they convinced me to go to lunch. Honestly, they didn’t have to harangue too long and I rationalized it all away and soon found myself behind an abundant plateful of mildly hot Thai food.

I am beginning to wonder about the girl who sits next to me at work though. Not only has she not gone running with me, now she has even resorted to haranguement (cool, but is it really a word?) to persuade ME to NOT run!

I will run today though, come hell or high water! Or snow.

* * * * *
Man, did I crash last night! I think I actually managed to get about seven hours of sleep for a change. I was extremely proud of myself for resisting the temptation to turn the computer on and going to bed instead.

* * * * *
Speaking of crashing…

On the way to work this morning, the driver in front of me stopped suddenly. I jammed on my breaks so hard that I gave myself a wedgie! I suppose it is better to give yourself a wedgie than to BE a wedgie by slamming into somebody else’s rear end.

* * * * *
So goes the world. Or at least my little portion of it.

Posted at 9:45 AM (EST)

NO MATTER WHAT… COME IN RUNNING

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

I STARTED running again.

Go ahead. Get all the Forrest Gump jokes out of your system right now.

I’ll wait…

This is the hundredth-millionth time I’ve started running. I run for a period of time and then quit, for one reason or another. Maybe the reason has been lack of time. Maybe it has been an injury. Once I hurt both of my knees so badly that I could hardly walk for almost two weeks. Another time I got sharp shooting pains up the back of my head every time I ran. I know. They are not very good reasons for not continuing to run, or at least continuing to exercise in one manner or another. They are excuses. I have no great expectations of Olympic style success this time either. What I do have is a desire to enjoy running and lose some weight in the process.

WEIGHT LOSS is definitely a necessity at this point. Right now I tip the scale at a gargantuan 220 pounds. “Tip” the scale? It’s more like “buckle” the poor thing. I look fat. I feel fat. (“Do these jeans make my butt look big?”) Some physical activities are getting rather strenuous. Such as climbing a few flights of stairs from the parking garage to my cubicle at work. I went to speak to someone as soon as I got into the office this morning and she asked, “Are you okay? Why are you so out of breath?” Because I’m a big greasy lard-belly.

In some manner of fairness to myself, the truth is that I do not look tremendously bad. Being over six feet tall, there is more area for the lard to cover, giving the impression that I cannot possibly weigh 220 pounds. But the scale does not lie! (It doesn’t do anything after I got on it two days ago.)

BESIDES, the main issue is that I want to feel better. Better about my appearance and better about my physical stamina and abilities. I want to be able to get to my cube in the morning and be breathing at a level that allows me to say, “Hi,” to someone without it sounding like a wheeze. I want to regain the physical endurance that I had before, especially now that I am playing drums in a band again. (I know, I haven’t written about that yet. It may be news to some readers.) What does the average drummer look like? Skinny and tattooed, right? Sure, I’d like to feel comfortable enough about my looks to play with my shirt off and not have people wonder if that is the Michelin Man on drums. More importantly, I would like to build up the strength to play and play and play. This applies to other physical activities that I enjoy.

SO, why did I choose one of the coldest days of the year, below freezing, to start running again?

I’m glad you asked.

The girl who sits next to me at work runs nearly every day at lunchtime. She has often encouraged me to start running again. I always used one of my “reasons” why I couldn’t. After enough guilt from seeing her run consistently, and enough disgust at my own apathy in the matter, I told her I was going to start again. She recently had foot surgery. So, I told her that when her doctor tells her she can run again, I will start then. On Tuesday she said, “That’s it! Tomorrow is the day!”

I was ready. I even bought new sweatpants for the occasion. I was psyched!

She didn’t run. “Oh, I forgot my running clothes at home.”

Uh-huh.

I ran anyway.

RUNNING is 99% psychological and only 1% physical. It is a battle for mastery over your own mind and will. Both positive and negative thoughts enter your mind while you are running.

While I was running, my thoughts were all over. At first I felt so motivated to be running again. I was ready to conquer the world. A half mile down the road and I hated myself and wished a truck would come by and run me over. I imagined people saying things like, “Excuse me. What is that swooshie looking logo on your pullover jacket just above your jiggly belly? Is that a tusk icon for your clan, The Royal Order of the Pale Walrus?” Or someone else muttering, “Gee… Now I know where the inspiration came from for those song lyrics, ‘I feel the earth move under my feet.’”

My goal was to run two miles: one mile to the end of the road by the old grist mill and one mile back. In spite of the nonsense going on in my head, I made it to the mill and felt great at that point. On the return mile I was faced with some uphill sections. I was doing my best to play the psychological game with myself to keep going. About halfway back, for some mysterious reason, I stopped running and walked all of a sudden. My brain was saying, “You can do it! You can make it!” My legs were saying, “Stick it in your ear!” I walked about 20 yards and started running again. I was within a few hundred yards of our office building when I stopped again, walked another 20 yards.

At that point, my brain said to my legs, “Look… At least come in running. Don’t walk us in plain view of the building, especially on this side where all those people in the cafeteria will see us. Please don’t make us look like a chubby old quitter now. No matter what… come in running.”

I ran the rest of the way like a champ! Down the road and into the parking garage right beneath the big cafeteria windows. (Is that the theme song from “Rocky” playing in the background?) I did it! In the last section of the run, my focus was on the words, “come in running.” I said it to myself with each step. It worked. I won a small victory in the psychological game. The first run was complete. I was satisfied because I came in running. That is what runners do.

Lunar Eclipse

(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

On November 8, 2003 there was a total lunar eclipse which was visible from most of North America (so I’m told by my NASA sources). I wanted to write about it at the time, but, well…

Yesterday, I received an email from my mom’s friend, Pete. (Hi, Pete!) She must know what astronomy geeks my mom and I are. She happened to mention that she couldn’t see the eclipse from her home in California as we could in New Jersey because it was too cloudy there. So, for Pete’s sake (Sorry, I couldn’t resist that one.), here is a series of photos taken by none other than my mommy. It’s neat to see them all together and see the moon’s progression. Click the pictures to enlarge them.

For further info and pictures of this lunar eclipse, here are a few sites:

November’s Lunar Eclipse – this is the Astronomy Picture of the Day website from NASA (which happens to be what I have my home page on my browser set to. I told you I was an astronomy geek!)

Eclipsed Moon in Infrared – funky.

Photos by David Cortner – taken in North Carolina.

OF MAKING WORDS

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

IF I WERE TO WRITE about the art of writing, my words would fail to carry the true substance of the issue. They might convey my thoughts, but not the love.

Case in point: “the love” of writing. It is not just love. It is also passion. Excilerating and possessive at the same time. Never mind that he has only slept three hours the night before. Fitful sleep at that because his mind was rushing with ideas. When the inspiration, the muse, the demon is upon him, he must write. Rest escapes him. He knows that he will pay the price in a few hours when his responsibilities drag him from his pillow with the dawn. Yet, it does not matter than his eyes burn and his brain is bleeding down the back of his neck. He will drink his strong coffee and savor it as good wine, or maybe morphine. He is content because…

Because he has written. He has made words. He has taken of the common stock of linguistic supplies and made words. His words. He has turned them, chiseled them, tapped them into place. He has struggled to find the right words. They may not be the fanciest of words. They may not be the most popular of words. But they are the right words, for they are his. He has made them.

Perhaps his words fall into the mind or heart of a reader and take root. Perhaps the reader feels some of the author’s true mind in them. Maybe the reader is moved to tears, maybe to laughter. The reader may be left with an urgency to know more, to know who, to know why. The writer’s words have transmitted life. He is satisfied.

Yet, of deeper satisfaction to him is the process of writing itself. His mind conjures ideas and half thoughts. The ideas incubate until finally their hour has come. The writer must write. He must give birth to new words. Once his literary child emerges and stands tangibly before him, he is satisfied, or at least relieved of its burden to a great degree.

Is it not at that point that several new ideas enter his mind to replace the one he has just sent forth? The act of writing has itself inspired the writer. Each time he writes, he desires to write again. Such is his love of the craft.

Was it so with Salinger? Steinbeck? Kerouac? Just to pull a few names off the shelf. Did the love and necessity of writing grip them and refuse to let go until they scrawled out their words?

I do not know. I do not much care. It is so with me. There is satisfaction in making words. Whether appreciated or neglected, received or rejected, I love to make words. Sometimes the writing turns out well. Other times not. Someone else can judge that matter. I only know that I would betray my very being if I did not write. My satisfaction is in the making of the words.