I was born in a small town.
Really, I was. I was born in Rensselaer, Ind., a town of about 5,000, as far as I recall. It is in northwestern Indiana, maybe 90 minutes from Chicago. When I lived there we made periodic trips to visit my grandmother in Chicago, but it's hard to recall how long those trips were.
The town is a few miles off the interstate, is the county seat of Jasper County and is surrounded primarily by farmland. I don't recall how close we were to another significant town, but our town was an island unto itself.
I left Indiana nearly 30 years ago, after my parents divorced. My parents' story is a rather bizarre tale, one I probably won't tell here, no matter how anonymous my blog is. When the divorce was final, mom decided she had no reason to stick around Indiana, all her family was back in Minnesota, where she grew up. While I still claim my Hoosier heritage occasionally, as a practical matter my life started over in Minnesota, and I have little connection to my years in Indiana.
But spending the earliest years of my life in Indiana left many lasting memories, whether I want them or not. I revisited the old hometown a year or so after moving. While spending part of the summer with my dad, he took us back to Indiana for about three days, providing an opportunity to visit several people from my recent past.
I made a couple of passes through town a decade or more later. In the spring of 1993 I drove through town during a return trip from Florida. It was early on a Sunday morning and still kind of dark, but it was a chance to make a quick pass through town. A few years later I made another pass through on a Saturday afternoon. I was on my way a bit further south to attend the wedding of my next-door neighbor from Rensselaer, and had time to spare. I don't remember much about what I saw during either of those passes, they were relatively brief glimpses into a world that I rarely think about.
I've lost touch with just about everyone from the early chapters of my life. Nobody has tracked me down via social networking, at least not as of yet, and I haven't gone looking for anyone, either. I still keep in touch, barely, with Jodi, my former nextdoor neighbor who now lives in Lafayette, but she's the only person I'm still in touch with.
For mom, Rensselaer was where she spent most of the 1970s, but it's not where she grew up, and she's about three decades removed from life there. Yet she's in touch with several people from her days in Rensselaer, and decided that as part of this year's trip to Gulf Shores she wanted to make a cameo in Rensselaer. She has remained in touch with a former co-worker, a widow, who invited us to stay overnight at her house on Thursday night, which we did.
Due to some miscommunication, however, Louise wasn't home when we arrived in town on Thursday night, so mom called her friend Barb, who was once my babysitter. Barb had been married, had kids, divorced, moved back east, got married again, had another kid, went back to school and, shockingly, returned to Rensselaer after more than three decades. I don't know the details of Barb's story, but I think her first ex-husband has remained in Rensselaer, and therefore Barb's kids have had some connection to the city their entire life. It's cheaper to live in Rensselaer than it is to live out east, undoubtedly, and if you like small town life, Rensselaer fits the bill. For whatever reason Barb found her way back to Rensselaer, and mom learned of this through the connections she has maintained in said city.
Like most small towns, Rensselaer has its share of amenities and familiarities. When I was a kid, it was a big deal to get a McDonald's three miles east of town, at the northerly exit of the interstate. There was already a Kentucky Fried Chicken out there, and I think Dairy Queen was built a couple of years before Mickey D's. Nowadays you can't go five miles without running into the Golden Arches, but back then, it was a big deal to get a McDonald's at our exit.
The old McDonald's is still there, but there's one in town as well, relatively close to the small, private Catholic college that put Rensselaer on the map more than a century ago.
The grocery store, pharmacy and big box retailer of my youth have all been replaced by similar businesses. I swear the old, classic downtown movie theater I went to a few times in my youth was out of business during the 1990s, but last week it was alive and well. I think a small multiplex theater opened somewhere, yet the small downtown theater is still making a go of it.
The downtown district has a large courthouse within it, and I was sure it wouldn't be as massive as I remembered it, but that's where I was wrong. As a kid the distance from point A to B seemed longer than it does now, and things seem smaller to me, for the most part, yet the courthouse is still an impressive structure.
I could easily spend hours driving around that town, jogging my memory and reminiscing, but on Friday morning mom and I spent about 10 minutes driving around before we departed. I saw a number of memorable things, and of course we had to drive past the old house on Jefferson street, a house that I'm sure I'd be stunned by how small it really is inside. I remember the basic layout to this day, and if you offered me a chance to walk through it, I wouldn't pass it up.
I knew we were staying overnight in Rensselaer, but I had no interest in trying to track down anybody from my past. Those I do remember, besides my neighbor, are likely elsewhere. But I'm sure a couple of people still live in town to this day.
I don't miss Rensselaer, and I wouldn't want to move back there, but maybe some day I'll get a chance to spend more than 15 minutes driving around town. Maybe I'll be able to walk the streets again and revisit a lot of memories I probably don't even know I have. And if I do, I'll certainly ponder how my life might be different had my parents never divorced. Perhaps I'd still be living in Rensselaer today.
Somehow I doubt it.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Blog early, blog often
I'm going to blog several times this weekend. Sometimes it'll be a quick five-minute post, other times I might put a little effort into my output. I have a million things going on this weekend, although nothing that would make anyone jealous, obviously, as I'm sitting here blogging on a Friday night.
This time last Friday I was in Birmingham, Ala., watching TV in a motel room. I had just eaten at a Sonic drive-in for my first time and I was looking forward to 3-1/2 days of mild weather in Gulf Shores, Ala. Next Friday I'll be in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. So I can live with the fact that I'm busy taking care of lots of crap in my apartment tonight and not running around freezing my ass off.
So what is the first topic of my weekend of blogs? Farewell, Jilf.
Jilf is the divorcee who sits near me at the office. She is a nice person, but a little too full of personality for her own good. She's a serial dater, and borderline psychotic.
Through a conversation she had with a co-worker this afternoon I learned that Jilf is leaving my prestigious media organization. I'm not sure when her last day is, but knowing I won't hear her laughing at her lame wisecracks much longer is all I need to brighten my day.
She's a cowgirl, and through the fine folks at match.com she met her latest boyfriend. I haven't heard her reference a boyfriend prior to today, and I'd bet she was single two months ago. But I guess when you find your soul mate...
She was telling another co-worker that she's going to work for this guy in some capacity. At least that's what it sounds like. Her new job is somehow related to her new boyfriend, who is a cowboy, evidently. He's not your typical match.com guy, Jilf claimed. I'm not sure what that means, but if he wants to roll in the hay with Jilf regularly, and is willing to have periodic conversations with her as well, then he can't be the typical match.com guy, because even the losers on match.com would struggle with her overbearing personality, I'm sure.
Maybe she's like Roast Beef's childhood buddy. Mark was a complete ass clown around his buddies, all the time. Yet despite that he found a woman who could tolerate him enough to marry him. According to Beef, Mark dials down the ass clown in his personality when he's with a woman. Perhaps Jilf is like Mark, perhaps she's tolerable in a one-on-one setting outside of the office. I wouldn't bet $5 on it, but stranger things have happened.
So Jilf is leaving for some job tied to Mr. Wonderful the cowboy, and I couldn't be happier for her. My only fear is that one of the sales skanks takes over her territory and brings a whole new world of psychosis into my corner of the world. Considering I put up with Jiggly prior to Jilf, I'm pretty sure I can handle whatever comes my way next.
This time last Friday I was in Birmingham, Ala., watching TV in a motel room. I had just eaten at a Sonic drive-in for my first time and I was looking forward to 3-1/2 days of mild weather in Gulf Shores, Ala. Next Friday I'll be in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. So I can live with the fact that I'm busy taking care of lots of crap in my apartment tonight and not running around freezing my ass off.
So what is the first topic of my weekend of blogs? Farewell, Jilf.
Jilf is the divorcee who sits near me at the office. She is a nice person, but a little too full of personality for her own good. She's a serial dater, and borderline psychotic.
Through a conversation she had with a co-worker this afternoon I learned that Jilf is leaving my prestigious media organization. I'm not sure when her last day is, but knowing I won't hear her laughing at her lame wisecracks much longer is all I need to brighten my day.
She's a cowgirl, and through the fine folks at match.com she met her latest boyfriend. I haven't heard her reference a boyfriend prior to today, and I'd bet she was single two months ago. But I guess when you find your soul mate...
She was telling another co-worker that she's going to work for this guy in some capacity. At least that's what it sounds like. Her new job is somehow related to her new boyfriend, who is a cowboy, evidently. He's not your typical match.com guy, Jilf claimed. I'm not sure what that means, but if he wants to roll in the hay with Jilf regularly, and is willing to have periodic conversations with her as well, then he can't be the typical match.com guy, because even the losers on match.com would struggle with her overbearing personality, I'm sure.
Maybe she's like Roast Beef's childhood buddy. Mark was a complete ass clown around his buddies, all the time. Yet despite that he found a woman who could tolerate him enough to marry him. According to Beef, Mark dials down the ass clown in his personality when he's with a woman. Perhaps Jilf is like Mark, perhaps she's tolerable in a one-on-one setting outside of the office. I wouldn't bet $5 on it, but stranger things have happened.
So Jilf is leaving for some job tied to Mr. Wonderful the cowboy, and I couldn't be happier for her. My only fear is that one of the sales skanks takes over her territory and brings a whole new world of psychosis into my corner of the world. Considering I put up with Jiggly prior to Jilf, I'm pretty sure I can handle whatever comes my way next.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Memories (unedited)
I hate anniversaries, mostly because they're not worth commemorating.
Yesterday was the three-year anniversary of my pacemaker surgery. My life is as meaningless today as it was three years ago, probably more so.
Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of the great apartment fire. My life isn't worse off because of it, but it isn't exponentially better, and I will continue to live with the repercussions of said fire for at least several more months.
As it turns out, the one-year anniversary is also the start of my second annual pilgrimage to Gulf Shores, Ala., with mom. Last year we departed about 10 days later, but mom's schedule allows her to depart tomorrow, so we depart tomorrow.
Six days on the road and in Gulf Shores with my mom, not exactly the dream of most single, 38-year-old men. It's winter in Minnesota, however, so I'll take what I can get.
My junior year in high school was the toughest time of my life. In hindsight it was all rather ridiculous and stupid, but it was tough at the time, and I learned a few life lessons the hard way.
I'm going to have a lot of time to ponder my life here in Minnesota, and I will for a few hours. And maybe for a minute or two I'll forget all about it, but it's the life I have to come back to next week, whether I like it or whether I don't.
I don't.
But given I don't have a choice, when I do come back, all hell will break loose.
I promised myself I was going to die this year, and the death of me begins in Gulf Shores.
Yesterday was the three-year anniversary of my pacemaker surgery. My life is as meaningless today as it was three years ago, probably more so.
Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of the great apartment fire. My life isn't worse off because of it, but it isn't exponentially better, and I will continue to live with the repercussions of said fire for at least several more months.
As it turns out, the one-year anniversary is also the start of my second annual pilgrimage to Gulf Shores, Ala., with mom. Last year we departed about 10 days later, but mom's schedule allows her to depart tomorrow, so we depart tomorrow.
Six days on the road and in Gulf Shores with my mom, not exactly the dream of most single, 38-year-old men. It's winter in Minnesota, however, so I'll take what I can get.
My junior year in high school was the toughest time of my life. In hindsight it was all rather ridiculous and stupid, but it was tough at the time, and I learned a few life lessons the hard way.
I'm going to have a lot of time to ponder my life here in Minnesota, and I will for a few hours. And maybe for a minute or two I'll forget all about it, but it's the life I have to come back to next week, whether I like it or whether I don't.
I don't.
But given I don't have a choice, when I do come back, all hell will break loose.
I promised myself I was going to die this year, and the death of me begins in Gulf Shores.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Retirement (unedited)
I have a feeling I'll be making a few retirement announcements in the coming year. Not all of them will be the subject of a blog post, and not all of them will be that impressive, but in the year of my death, it seems only appropriate to retire from a few things rather than let them die on the vine.
One of the less impressive retirements I'm planning: jumping in the lake. Each year on New Year's Day there's an organized jump into a hole in the ice of a local lake. This "dive" into a large rectangle cut into the ice started with just eight people jumping into the lake in 1991, as a way to sustain a New Year's Day tradition for a transplant from somewhere in California.
It became a public event that has grown annually. Some years it grows just a little. In 2009 the dive broke its 2008 record by more than 200 participants. More than 900 people jumped into four feet of open water, waded or swam 20 feet to the ladder on the other side of the squared circle and climbed a ladder out of the water.
I've participated in this event five times during the past 10 years, including Thursday morning's rendition. The problem with the event is that the venue at which the event takes place is too small to accommodate the mass of people that show up to participate.
With more than 900 participating, it's a nice problem to have. There's a participation fee for the event which offsets costs associated with it, but also raises money for charitable purposes. It went from being a running club activity to being a fundraising public spectacle.
But it's too big. With everyone descending upon the event for a 9:30 a.m. kickoff, it's a bit of a fiasco. The event center that hosts the event is too small to accommodate 900 divers. The makeshift warming house in its warmer level is overwhelmed with participants readying to line up at the hole.
I have enjoyed participating in the event, but being crammed into a building like a sardine for more than an hour, waiting for the privilege of jumping in a frozen lake for 15 seconds, just ain't worth it any more.
There's a certain pride in telling people I did it, again. And lord knows there's little to be proud of in my life, so I take anything I can get. But I need to find a greater source of pride in 2009. Not necessarily at the expense of my New Year's Day pride, but without changes in the event, I'm not going back. And even with changes in the event, changes in my life may prevent me from going back in 2010. I'm banking on it.
Whatever be the reason, I have retired from the New Year's Day dive.
One of the less impressive retirements I'm planning: jumping in the lake. Each year on New Year's Day there's an organized jump into a hole in the ice of a local lake. This "dive" into a large rectangle cut into the ice started with just eight people jumping into the lake in 1991, as a way to sustain a New Year's Day tradition for a transplant from somewhere in California.
It became a public event that has grown annually. Some years it grows just a little. In 2009 the dive broke its 2008 record by more than 200 participants. More than 900 people jumped into four feet of open water, waded or swam 20 feet to the ladder on the other side of the squared circle and climbed a ladder out of the water.
I've participated in this event five times during the past 10 years, including Thursday morning's rendition. The problem with the event is that the venue at which the event takes place is too small to accommodate the mass of people that show up to participate.
With more than 900 participating, it's a nice problem to have. There's a participation fee for the event which offsets costs associated with it, but also raises money for charitable purposes. It went from being a running club activity to being a fundraising public spectacle.
But it's too big. With everyone descending upon the event for a 9:30 a.m. kickoff, it's a bit of a fiasco. The event center that hosts the event is too small to accommodate 900 divers. The makeshift warming house in its warmer level is overwhelmed with participants readying to line up at the hole.
I have enjoyed participating in the event, but being crammed into a building like a sardine for more than an hour, waiting for the privilege of jumping in a frozen lake for 15 seconds, just ain't worth it any more.
There's a certain pride in telling people I did it, again. And lord knows there's little to be proud of in my life, so I take anything I can get. But I need to find a greater source of pride in 2009. Not necessarily at the expense of my New Year's Day pride, but without changes in the event, I'm not going back. And even with changes in the event, changes in my life may prevent me from going back in 2010. I'm banking on it.
Whatever be the reason, I have retired from the New Year's Day dive.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Family feud, chapter 2 (unedited)
We had dinner at mom's on Christmas Eve, as usual. She invited Uncle Phil to join us. Uncle Phil was one of her two brothers that had Thanksgiving dinner with us.
Following dinner, talk turned to grandpa, Huggy Bear and the flooring business.
There was some sort of meeting that took place to discuss the future of the business. Uncle Phil doesn't work for the family business any more, he hasn't for many years. It's probably easier for him to raise concerns than for those working at the store on a daily basis.
Grandpa is starting to get it. He's starting to realize that the flooring business is suffering, like many other sectors of the economy. I'm not sure he's convinced that something has to change. He gets $11,000 a month in rent, and figures that if business is slow, perhaps it's time to cut some employees. He doesn't seem to think his rent checks should be reduced in order to keep the business afloat.
Things are really slow, evidently. I'm not sure if this applies to everybody working at the store or only the family members employed by the store, but my aunts and uncles, at minimum, haven't received a paycheck in December.
From what Uncle Phil can tell, grandpa funds the living expenses for him and Huggy Bear. Grandpa use to cook, especially in grandma's waning years because it was tough for her to do so at times. Grandpa doesn't cook any more, and neither does Huggy Bear. They go out to eat twice a day, every day. Huggy Bear wanted to have Christmas dinner at their house catered rather than have everybody bring food as we've always done in the past.
Huggy Bear has stock, a lot of stock, in a major corporation. It has been given to her by her brother. And since they got married, she continues to receive more. The theory is that she has spent very little of her money or income since marrying grandpa, and that she's living entirely on his dime, salting away all her money for her children and grandchildren. Mom referred to her as a piranha.
Grandpa doesn't have to worry about living another 25 years, and he's not obligated to leave a big lump of cash to his children, but he built a business over decades, and at a time when it's highly challenging to stay in business, he's flushing his legacy down the drain. A couple of my uncles have never worked for anyone other than grandpa, and a couple others have a lot of years invested in the company. His need for $11,000 a month is not only jeopardizing his retirement income, it's jeopardizing the livelihood of half of his 10 children. And he doesn't seem to see that.
Mom thinks it's time for a third party to step in and oversee his finances. But how do you tell somebody he's no longer allowed to spend his cash at will? It's a tough proposition, particularly since Huggy Bear certainly would have no interest in such an arrangement.
Grandpa definitely doesn't see the big picture. He came into the store on a recent Saturday morning, a Saturday when the weather was nasty. He shouldn't have been driving around, but he was. Given the weather and the lousy economy, it doesn't take the Amazing Kreskin to predict the store would be empty that morning. Yet grandpa showed up at the store and questioned why there weren't any customers in the store.
Mom was opposed to grandpa's wedding, and her objections seemed to be a bit self-serving at the time. I remember one of my uncles, perhaps Phil, suggesting that even if the marriage was less than kosher, grandpa is happy, and mom should be, too.
Unfortunately it appears that mom's objections have been validated by her siblings. And that's something nobody wanted, not even mom.
I hope it doesn't get ugly at Christmas dinner. There's no guarantee it won't.
Following dinner, talk turned to grandpa, Huggy Bear and the flooring business.
There was some sort of meeting that took place to discuss the future of the business. Uncle Phil doesn't work for the family business any more, he hasn't for many years. It's probably easier for him to raise concerns than for those working at the store on a daily basis.
Grandpa is starting to get it. He's starting to realize that the flooring business is suffering, like many other sectors of the economy. I'm not sure he's convinced that something has to change. He gets $11,000 a month in rent, and figures that if business is slow, perhaps it's time to cut some employees. He doesn't seem to think his rent checks should be reduced in order to keep the business afloat.
Things are really slow, evidently. I'm not sure if this applies to everybody working at the store or only the family members employed by the store, but my aunts and uncles, at minimum, haven't received a paycheck in December.
From what Uncle Phil can tell, grandpa funds the living expenses for him and Huggy Bear. Grandpa use to cook, especially in grandma's waning years because it was tough for her to do so at times. Grandpa doesn't cook any more, and neither does Huggy Bear. They go out to eat twice a day, every day. Huggy Bear wanted to have Christmas dinner at their house catered rather than have everybody bring food as we've always done in the past.
Huggy Bear has stock, a lot of stock, in a major corporation. It has been given to her by her brother. And since they got married, she continues to receive more. The theory is that she has spent very little of her money or income since marrying grandpa, and that she's living entirely on his dime, salting away all her money for her children and grandchildren. Mom referred to her as a piranha.
Grandpa doesn't have to worry about living another 25 years, and he's not obligated to leave a big lump of cash to his children, but he built a business over decades, and at a time when it's highly challenging to stay in business, he's flushing his legacy down the drain. A couple of my uncles have never worked for anyone other than grandpa, and a couple others have a lot of years invested in the company. His need for $11,000 a month is not only jeopardizing his retirement income, it's jeopardizing the livelihood of half of his 10 children. And he doesn't seem to see that.
Mom thinks it's time for a third party to step in and oversee his finances. But how do you tell somebody he's no longer allowed to spend his cash at will? It's a tough proposition, particularly since Huggy Bear certainly would have no interest in such an arrangement.
Grandpa definitely doesn't see the big picture. He came into the store on a recent Saturday morning, a Saturday when the weather was nasty. He shouldn't have been driving around, but he was. Given the weather and the lousy economy, it doesn't take the Amazing Kreskin to predict the store would be empty that morning. Yet grandpa showed up at the store and questioned why there weren't any customers in the store.
Mom was opposed to grandpa's wedding, and her objections seemed to be a bit self-serving at the time. I remember one of my uncles, perhaps Phil, suggesting that even if the marriage was less than kosher, grandpa is happy, and mom should be, too.
Unfortunately it appears that mom's objections have been validated by her siblings. And that's something nobody wanted, not even mom.
I hope it doesn't get ugly at Christmas dinner. There's no guarantee it won't.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
The death of me
My blog is not dying in 2009, but I am.
Technically it's the life I've known that's dying next year, not me, physically.
2008 wasn't a year to remember. It wasn't a bad year, but it wasn't anything special. Thanks to a fire in the main house where I formerly had an apartment, I was temporarily displaced on Jan. 8. Four months later I was moving into a new apartment, with all my belongings "cleaned" of their smoke damage, and repackaged somewhat randomly.
I use to value keepsakes and mementos. Not so much any more. I have reminders of my past, and a lot of old comic books and baseball cards I don't want. I don't want to throw them away or sell them all for peanuts, but I don't need them any more. I'll keep the White Sox troll doll Monica gave me many years ago. Those White Sox yearbooks from the 1980s, I don't need 'em.
I have a lot of old video tapes of movies and TV shows. Yeah, it's fun to watch old David Letterman anniversary specials. I might keep those tapes, but a lot of the stuff I've had on video for two decades, not worth the time.
I use to geocache periodically. I haven't done so since Jan. 1. I hope to get out some in the coming year, but a lot of the trinkets and boxes I've accumulated for the purpose of geocaching just take up space. I'm not in the business of creating geocaches any more, and having cool trinkets to leave is no longer of interest to me. This spring I'm going to dump all of that stuff into a few select geocaches.
I have a nice new lamp mom gave me for my birthday. I need that. I don't need most of the outdated electronic equipment I have accumulated. Adios to all that, one way or another. I have some nice stereo equipment, but little interest in a stereo any more, or many of my CDs for that matter. Not sure what to do with that stuff.
Beyond all that, I am finally at the end of my rope at the newspaper. This week it was announced that our 2009 vacation allotments are being cut 20 percent next year. That is being done to save the company money, even though it won't save a dime in Minnesota.
Allegedly our Texas offices are far more valuable than our holdings in other states. When people in Texas go on vacation they hire temporary help, evidently. That never happens in Minnesota. They even talked about hiring temporary help in a department where it is badly needed during this holiday season, but ultimately they sad "screw you" to those left in the department during a co-worker's leave of absense. They don't spend an extra dime to replace any of us in Minnesota, but because they do in Texas, everybody is going to lose vacation time next year. Merry Christmas to all of us who have worked our asses off for years.
I should have left for years ago. I knew it was time to go, but I didn't push myself to get out. I have wasted the last four years of my career. I can't get those back, but those assholes aren't taking any more good years from me.
Given the newspaper industry is dying a rather quick death, this means I won't be working in journalism in 2009, I'm sure.
And that's fine, there are a lot of things that need to change in 2009. The life I knew for the past 38 years is dead. Rest in peace.
Technically it's the life I've known that's dying next year, not me, physically.
2008 wasn't a year to remember. It wasn't a bad year, but it wasn't anything special. Thanks to a fire in the main house where I formerly had an apartment, I was temporarily displaced on Jan. 8. Four months later I was moving into a new apartment, with all my belongings "cleaned" of their smoke damage, and repackaged somewhat randomly.
I use to value keepsakes and mementos. Not so much any more. I have reminders of my past, and a lot of old comic books and baseball cards I don't want. I don't want to throw them away or sell them all for peanuts, but I don't need them any more. I'll keep the White Sox troll doll Monica gave me many years ago. Those White Sox yearbooks from the 1980s, I don't need 'em.
I have a lot of old video tapes of movies and TV shows. Yeah, it's fun to watch old David Letterman anniversary specials. I might keep those tapes, but a lot of the stuff I've had on video for two decades, not worth the time.
I use to geocache periodically. I haven't done so since Jan. 1. I hope to get out some in the coming year, but a lot of the trinkets and boxes I've accumulated for the purpose of geocaching just take up space. I'm not in the business of creating geocaches any more, and having cool trinkets to leave is no longer of interest to me. This spring I'm going to dump all of that stuff into a few select geocaches.
I have a nice new lamp mom gave me for my birthday. I need that. I don't need most of the outdated electronic equipment I have accumulated. Adios to all that, one way or another. I have some nice stereo equipment, but little interest in a stereo any more, or many of my CDs for that matter. Not sure what to do with that stuff.
Beyond all that, I am finally at the end of my rope at the newspaper. This week it was announced that our 2009 vacation allotments are being cut 20 percent next year. That is being done to save the company money, even though it won't save a dime in Minnesota.
Allegedly our Texas offices are far more valuable than our holdings in other states. When people in Texas go on vacation they hire temporary help, evidently. That never happens in Minnesota. They even talked about hiring temporary help in a department where it is badly needed during this holiday season, but ultimately they sad "screw you" to those left in the department during a co-worker's leave of absense. They don't spend an extra dime to replace any of us in Minnesota, but because they do in Texas, everybody is going to lose vacation time next year. Merry Christmas to all of us who have worked our asses off for years.
I should have left for years ago. I knew it was time to go, but I didn't push myself to get out. I have wasted the last four years of my career. I can't get those back, but those assholes aren't taking any more good years from me.
Given the newspaper industry is dying a rather quick death, this means I won't be working in journalism in 2009, I'm sure.
And that's fine, there are a lot of things that need to change in 2009. The life I knew for the past 38 years is dead. Rest in peace.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Year in review
I'm not going to review the highs and lows of the year that was. I certainly didn't foresee sitting where I am tonight as I unceremoniously ushered in the new year at the Naples, Fla., condo I was staying at while attending my cousin's wedding.
But I have wanted to look back at the bicycling year that was. Tonight I will.
It's hard to guess how many miles I biked in 1997 or 1998, the first years I began pushing myself to do distance riding. I bicycled the MS TRAM both summers. That ride is 300 miles over five days. And in 1998 I also bicycled the MS 150. Did I bike more than 2,000 miles those years? I have no idea, but based upon my experiences of the past few years, I doubt I ever made it to 2,000.
It wasn't until 2004 that it made sense to log my annual mileage. I don't know why it took me that long to do so, but that's the first year I did. I pushed myself in 2005 to better my 2004 performance, and I raised the bar again in 2006. It was in 2006 that I first reached 2,000 miles in a season. I finished with 2,120.
2007 was a letdown of sorts. Maybe I wasn't as committed to bicycling, but there were factors that definitely curtailed my bicycling at the end of the season. I finished with about 1,600 miles. I'm too lazy to go look up the final tally right now.
Given last year's letdown, there was a renewed sense of urgency to reach the 2,000-mile mark this season. Thankfully I made it, even if it took until Halloween to get there. I finished with 2,053 miles.
Most years I get started in April. It's not a substantial month of bicycling, but it's a good month for working out the rust. That didn't happen this year, however, as I was living with my mother in April. That pesky fire that drove me from my apartment in January resulted in nearly four months of temporary housing with mom. I didn't move into my new apartment until May 5, which meant I didn't have access to my bicycling clothes or gear until then.
Even though I moved in on May 5, it took time to get my act together. My first ride of the year: May 18. That 13-mile day is probably the latest I have begun a bicycling season . That date was less than a week before my annual spring camping trip over Memorial Day weekend. I was home by Memorial Day, but very tired from the weekend, and ultimately too lazy to bicycle that day...something that would not be forgotten by me for the remainder of the season.
some years I bike 100 miles or more in April. By the conclusion of Memorial Day weekend this year I had biked all of 52 miles. It certainly didn't look like I'd make it to 2,000 miles in 2008.
I began to pick up the pace after Memorial Day and finished May with 127 miles. That's not the least bit impressive, some years I bike 300 miles in May.
I quickly worked my way up to 40-mile rides, however, which helped me catch up for lost time. Ironically my June total doesn't include 150 miles of bicycling during the MS 150. For the first time in five years I skipped it, despite being registered. I wasn't as well prepared for it as I have been in years past, there was a slight chance of it being a rainy weekend and my friend Margaret, whom I have biked the MS 150 with during the past four years, was behind on her training, too, and didn't think she was prepared for the challenge this year. Put those factors together and it wasn't too hard to take the easy way out.
Despite that I pushed myself just about every weekend in June, thanks to the fact my life is relatively empty and meaningless. The high cost of gas this past summer helped encourage me to limit my travels. Instead of driving all over town I dedicated a few hours to bicycling each weekend. No, I'm not trying to kid myself. I wasn't exactly turning down social invitations left and right, but I didn't look for things to do, either. Like I said, my life is rather empty and meaningless these days.
During the end of June, however, I did something unusual by my standards. I took a week off from work. I usually take my time off in small increments, but with the Fourth of July being on a Friday, I used four vacation days and took the entire week off. I went up north and stayed at my friends' cabin that week, the site of my legendary 112-mile bike trips.
As noted previously, I wasn't prepared on Monday, June 30, to make the round trip to Fergus Falls, but I managed to do so in less-than-impressive fashion, finishing the trip after sunset, but finishing it nonetheless. With that last day ride I tallied 663 miles in June....probably a June record.
I did another 142 miles of riding during the rest of my stay that week. I had hoped to do even more than that, but getting out four times over six days wasn't too bad. I logged 250+ miles during my week up north, and that's better than most weeks of the summer.
Despite the 142+ miles of riding that first week of July, I managed just 410 miles that month. That put my seasonal total at 1,200 miles...which isn't bad, but I am underwhelmed by my July performance, and am at a bit of a loss to explain why I didn't do more.
With the sun setting earlier each night in August I hoped for a big month to get me on the doorstep of 2,000 miles. That push included the third annual Tour de Tonka on Aug. 2. The tour is an organized ride with three routes, the longest being 65 miles or so. Margaret and I planned to bike the 65-mile route, and that's what we started out to do that morning. And it was a beautiful day for bicycling.
Unfortunately for me, the gear-shift cable to my rear derailer snapped about three miles before the 30-mile rest stop. I was able to bike my way to the rest stop, but I couldn't shift gears, and I was stuck in the high gear. I had hoped I could get my bike repaired at the rest stop, but that didn't happen. It was the end of the day for me, less than half way to 65 miles.
I took my bike to my bike shop that afternoon and didn't get it back for several days. It was a serious setback to my bicycling aspirations.
When I did get my bike back, not all was kosher. I got a tune-up and new parts for the bike, but I had problems with my shifting, problems I hadn't had up until that point. I took the bike back and it was recommended I get a new chain. I did, and that didn't help. I continued to have problems shifting, problems that make a routine 25-mile bike ride less than enjoyable. I took the bike back to the shop yet again in hopes of solving the problem. While my situation improved, I managed to drop my chain periodically, much to my frustration. It became troublesome to bike uphill, and shifting while biking uphill was a recipe for disaster. I was not happy.
There was a point I was ready to give up on my bike. The costs of maintenance, and the inability to obtain a smooth ride, were starting to try my patience. I could have easily justified throwing in the towel on my dream of a 2,000-mile season, but I sallied forth.
I even managed a couple of back-to-back 40+ mile days in August, somehow. By the time the Minnesota State Fair rolled around, I was up to 215 miles.
For the second consecutive year I worked during the state fair. Given the hours I work, and the fact I'm on my feet all day, I had no energy to bike before working at noon during 10 of 12 days at the fair. This year, however, I did bike a few miles during the two days I didn't work at the fair. My total mileage for August: an unimpressive 245. My season-to-date total: 1,445.
Summer unofficially ends on Labor Day and I was more than 500 miles away from 2,000. By Labor Day the sun is setting before 8 p.m., and daylight is fading fast with each passing week. Despite that I managed to find time to push myself on evenings and weekends following Labor Day. I managed 48 miles on the first Saturday following Labor Day, and 30 miles one night the following week. It was downright hot on Labor Day, yet the day after the temperature dropped noticeably. Most Septembers feature a few days that are painful reminders of the dog days of summer. But that wasn't the case this year, it was as if the 70-degree valve was shut off after Labor Day.
And to complicate things, I got a cold Labor Day weekend. While I wasn't on my death bed, a cold provides no incentive whatsoever to pedal your ass off on a 62-degree evening. Nonetheless I pushed myself through September and finished with 315 miles. It's unusual for me to bike more in September than in August, but I'm a strange bird.
Honestly, my monthly totals for August and September would have been comparable had I not biked the Headwaters 100 on the final Saturday of September in northern Minnesota. Margaret and I had been planning to bike the event for months, and we had outstanding weather that day, making the mission far more pleasant to accomplish.
But the bottom line, I was 240 miles away from my goal on Oct. 1.
October has become a challenging month for me in the past few years. Besides the early-evening darkness and the dropping temperatures, I now work weekends in October at a local Halloween attraction. I love it, but the late nights and long hours on Friday and Saturdays makes it a challenge to motivate myself to bicycle on the weekend. Long before those weekends rolled around I was determined I would push myself to bike during the weekends in October, regardless of where my bicycling total was at. The fact I needed 240 miles to reach my goal provided extra incentive.
Even with dedication to my goal, those 240 miles didn't come easy. I didn't plan to take time off from the newspaper at the end of October, but when above-average temps were forecast at the end of the month, I seized the opportunity to burn off some of my vacation days to finish the mission. I biked 49 miles on Oct. 30 and biked my standard 24-mile route on Halloween to break the 2,000-mile threshold. I managed a decent 254-mile month in October.
November can provide several bonus days, and it can be a cruel reminder I live in Minnesota. I took a couple of days off before capitalizing on a stunning 74-degree day on Nov. 3. By my calculations, the last day of the bicycling season was Nov. 5. From that point forward it was too cold for me. I would have loved a bonus day or two in mid-November, but it was not to be.
Despite the obstacles, I persevered, and biked 2,000+ miles for the second time in three years. As always I can find a lot of fault with my efforts, but at the end of the year, I'm satisfied with the result.
But I have wanted to look back at the bicycling year that was. Tonight I will.
It's hard to guess how many miles I biked in 1997 or 1998, the first years I began pushing myself to do distance riding. I bicycled the MS TRAM both summers. That ride is 300 miles over five days. And in 1998 I also bicycled the MS 150. Did I bike more than 2,000 miles those years? I have no idea, but based upon my experiences of the past few years, I doubt I ever made it to 2,000.
It wasn't until 2004 that it made sense to log my annual mileage. I don't know why it took me that long to do so, but that's the first year I did. I pushed myself in 2005 to better my 2004 performance, and I raised the bar again in 2006. It was in 2006 that I first reached 2,000 miles in a season. I finished with 2,120.
2007 was a letdown of sorts. Maybe I wasn't as committed to bicycling, but there were factors that definitely curtailed my bicycling at the end of the season. I finished with about 1,600 miles. I'm too lazy to go look up the final tally right now.
Given last year's letdown, there was a renewed sense of urgency to reach the 2,000-mile mark this season. Thankfully I made it, even if it took until Halloween to get there. I finished with 2,053 miles.
Most years I get started in April. It's not a substantial month of bicycling, but it's a good month for working out the rust. That didn't happen this year, however, as I was living with my mother in April. That pesky fire that drove me from my apartment in January resulted in nearly four months of temporary housing with mom. I didn't move into my new apartment until May 5, which meant I didn't have access to my bicycling clothes or gear until then.
Even though I moved in on May 5, it took time to get my act together. My first ride of the year: May 18. That 13-mile day is probably the latest I have begun a bicycling season . That date was less than a week before my annual spring camping trip over Memorial Day weekend. I was home by Memorial Day, but very tired from the weekend, and ultimately too lazy to bicycle that day...something that would not be forgotten by me for the remainder of the season.
some years I bike 100 miles or more in April. By the conclusion of Memorial Day weekend this year I had biked all of 52 miles. It certainly didn't look like I'd make it to 2,000 miles in 2008.
I began to pick up the pace after Memorial Day and finished May with 127 miles. That's not the least bit impressive, some years I bike 300 miles in May.
I quickly worked my way up to 40-mile rides, however, which helped me catch up for lost time. Ironically my June total doesn't include 150 miles of bicycling during the MS 150. For the first time in five years I skipped it, despite being registered. I wasn't as well prepared for it as I have been in years past, there was a slight chance of it being a rainy weekend and my friend Margaret, whom I have biked the MS 150 with during the past four years, was behind on her training, too, and didn't think she was prepared for the challenge this year. Put those factors together and it wasn't too hard to take the easy way out.
Despite that I pushed myself just about every weekend in June, thanks to the fact my life is relatively empty and meaningless. The high cost of gas this past summer helped encourage me to limit my travels. Instead of driving all over town I dedicated a few hours to bicycling each weekend. No, I'm not trying to kid myself. I wasn't exactly turning down social invitations left and right, but I didn't look for things to do, either. Like I said, my life is rather empty and meaningless these days.
During the end of June, however, I did something unusual by my standards. I took a week off from work. I usually take my time off in small increments, but with the Fourth of July being on a Friday, I used four vacation days and took the entire week off. I went up north and stayed at my friends' cabin that week, the site of my legendary 112-mile bike trips.
As noted previously, I wasn't prepared on Monday, June 30, to make the round trip to Fergus Falls, but I managed to do so in less-than-impressive fashion, finishing the trip after sunset, but finishing it nonetheless. With that last day ride I tallied 663 miles in June....probably a June record.
I did another 142 miles of riding during the rest of my stay that week. I had hoped to do even more than that, but getting out four times over six days wasn't too bad. I logged 250+ miles during my week up north, and that's better than most weeks of the summer.
Despite the 142+ miles of riding that first week of July, I managed just 410 miles that month. That put my seasonal total at 1,200 miles...which isn't bad, but I am underwhelmed by my July performance, and am at a bit of a loss to explain why I didn't do more.
With the sun setting earlier each night in August I hoped for a big month to get me on the doorstep of 2,000 miles. That push included the third annual Tour de Tonka on Aug. 2. The tour is an organized ride with three routes, the longest being 65 miles or so. Margaret and I planned to bike the 65-mile route, and that's what we started out to do that morning. And it was a beautiful day for bicycling.
Unfortunately for me, the gear-shift cable to my rear derailer snapped about three miles before the 30-mile rest stop. I was able to bike my way to the rest stop, but I couldn't shift gears, and I was stuck in the high gear. I had hoped I could get my bike repaired at the rest stop, but that didn't happen. It was the end of the day for me, less than half way to 65 miles.
I took my bike to my bike shop that afternoon and didn't get it back for several days. It was a serious setback to my bicycling aspirations.
When I did get my bike back, not all was kosher. I got a tune-up and new parts for the bike, but I had problems with my shifting, problems I hadn't had up until that point. I took the bike back and it was recommended I get a new chain. I did, and that didn't help. I continued to have problems shifting, problems that make a routine 25-mile bike ride less than enjoyable. I took the bike back to the shop yet again in hopes of solving the problem. While my situation improved, I managed to drop my chain periodically, much to my frustration. It became troublesome to bike uphill, and shifting while biking uphill was a recipe for disaster. I was not happy.
There was a point I was ready to give up on my bike. The costs of maintenance, and the inability to obtain a smooth ride, were starting to try my patience. I could have easily justified throwing in the towel on my dream of a 2,000-mile season, but I sallied forth.
I even managed a couple of back-to-back 40+ mile days in August, somehow. By the time the Minnesota State Fair rolled around, I was up to 215 miles.
For the second consecutive year I worked during the state fair. Given the hours I work, and the fact I'm on my feet all day, I had no energy to bike before working at noon during 10 of 12 days at the fair. This year, however, I did bike a few miles during the two days I didn't work at the fair. My total mileage for August: an unimpressive 245. My season-to-date total: 1,445.
Summer unofficially ends on Labor Day and I was more than 500 miles away from 2,000. By Labor Day the sun is setting before 8 p.m., and daylight is fading fast with each passing week. Despite that I managed to find time to push myself on evenings and weekends following Labor Day. I managed 48 miles on the first Saturday following Labor Day, and 30 miles one night the following week. It was downright hot on Labor Day, yet the day after the temperature dropped noticeably. Most Septembers feature a few days that are painful reminders of the dog days of summer. But that wasn't the case this year, it was as if the 70-degree valve was shut off after Labor Day.
And to complicate things, I got a cold Labor Day weekend. While I wasn't on my death bed, a cold provides no incentive whatsoever to pedal your ass off on a 62-degree evening. Nonetheless I pushed myself through September and finished with 315 miles. It's unusual for me to bike more in September than in August, but I'm a strange bird.
Honestly, my monthly totals for August and September would have been comparable had I not biked the Headwaters 100 on the final Saturday of September in northern Minnesota. Margaret and I had been planning to bike the event for months, and we had outstanding weather that day, making the mission far more pleasant to accomplish.
But the bottom line, I was 240 miles away from my goal on Oct. 1.
October has become a challenging month for me in the past few years. Besides the early-evening darkness and the dropping temperatures, I now work weekends in October at a local Halloween attraction. I love it, but the late nights and long hours on Friday and Saturdays makes it a challenge to motivate myself to bicycle on the weekend. Long before those weekends rolled around I was determined I would push myself to bike during the weekends in October, regardless of where my bicycling total was at. The fact I needed 240 miles to reach my goal provided extra incentive.
Even with dedication to my goal, those 240 miles didn't come easy. I didn't plan to take time off from the newspaper at the end of October, but when above-average temps were forecast at the end of the month, I seized the opportunity to burn off some of my vacation days to finish the mission. I biked 49 miles on Oct. 30 and biked my standard 24-mile route on Halloween to break the 2,000-mile threshold. I managed a decent 254-mile month in October.
November can provide several bonus days, and it can be a cruel reminder I live in Minnesota. I took a couple of days off before capitalizing on a stunning 74-degree day on Nov. 3. By my calculations, the last day of the bicycling season was Nov. 5. From that point forward it was too cold for me. I would have loved a bonus day or two in mid-November, but it was not to be.
Despite the obstacles, I persevered, and biked 2,000+ miles for the second time in three years. As always I can find a lot of fault with my efforts, but at the end of the year, I'm satisfied with the result.
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