I like to eat. Ex-wife #2 called me an “Eater” once. I never forgot it, nor the shame I felt when she said it, her tone filled with derision and contempt. After my last doctor visit, where I learned I was diabetic and hypertensive, I started exercising again. First I resumed power walking. My weigh did not drop.

Finally I returned to Weight Watchers (now calling itself WW) . Their program works! Because I love to eat, WW gives the best of both worlds. I can enjoy what I eat and still lose weight because of their points tracking system. They assign food a “points“ value and I have daily points budget to work within. The program includes a budget of “weekly” points to use, should you exceed your daily points budget.Sounds harder than it is.

Eating is an obsession in both my nuclear and extended families. Relatives, like my Mom, died prematurely due to diabetes, heart disease or stroke.

This Lent, my Lenten reflection will be about considering my values and attitude toward food. I have to take the mystique and allure out of food. This requires a level of mindfulness I can assert, but rarely do.

So diet and exercise are back as priorities. Sounds kind of cliched’ to put it in those terms, but it is necessary.

Since returning to WW on January 19, and to swimming five times a week, I’ve lost 9 pounds. I’ve lowered my time over a mile distance by 5.5 minutes.

Life is good and getting better.

The best part about retirement is never having to leave home unless you want to be someplace else, except maybe for funerals, doctor visits, and dental appointments.

I went to bed, woke up, went back to bed, woke up again, went back to bed again, and woke up again, in the endless cycle of retirement being. I better stay up because I go to the pool in about an hour.

Outside it is thawing after yesterday’s sleet, snow and ice. I see Mr ☀️ trying to shine, a good thing, right now. We’ve had some really lame snowfalls, nothing over three inches. I want one of those one foot plus storms, where you think that maybe you should have that freeze-dried survival food on hand.

No matter.Another four weeks til Spring. Maybe we will have baseball for a full season this year. I might even watch it.

Yesterday, I had time to kill between lunch w J and my scheduled time in the pool. The First Watch we visited is located on an outparcel of the Regency Square Mall property, here in suburban Richmond, VA. I had not been inside Regency Mall for years. The “anchor” stores have all closed over a period of years, Macy’s, Sears, J.C. Penney. The lesser stores nearly all closed too. What remains include ethnic hair care salons, a healthcare uniform shop, a tobacconist that promotes their carrying of CBD products, and Spencer Gifts.

This mall , twenty six years ago, had, as its “kitchen store”, The Rolling Pin Kitchen Emporium. I quit the insurance business one day, walked into this store, applied for a job, and was hired. I had lots of fun for about three years, working there. I was underpaid, surviving on my divorce settlement. On balance, it was the best money I ever spent.

Now, the mall is reinventing itself, like so many other malls. The Surge Adventure Park, whatever that is, and Nova Aquatics, a natatorium for high school and club swimming, will be the new anchors. This is an interesting new trend, activity replacing consumerism.

When I worked at “The Mall”, in what seems not all that long ago, the enclosed mall had the reputation as a perennial fixture of American retailing. Now, young “Vlog-ers” are chronicling their demise across the country. These hobbyist journalists were the “mall rats” of yesteryear, the time of video arcades, Swiss Pretzel Shops, Baskin-Robbins, Sbarro’s, and Spencer Gifts. These folks are recording the lost venues of their youth.

So strange, but encouraging, to see the transformation of Regency Square.

Anybody else of a certain age remember that old song from The Mamas And The Papas? Anybody else remember The Mamas And The Papas?

I knew this kid in high school, Woody. He was “disturbed”, as they say now. Truth be told, he was deeply disturbed, to the point where he murdered two people and then committed suicide, with a shotgun, about 27 years ago in Paso Robles, California.

Hate starting with the epilogue, but Woody would sing, in his bad voice, Monday, Monday in German class. Anyway, few people liked Woody and he did nothing to make himself likable. Whole story was tragic.

Monday has been another damp and chilly day. I did go swimming. I’m losing weight and my clothes fit better.

We went to eat at one of our favorite restaurants, and I did not eat the bread they always put on the table. That is a major weight management victory .

So this Monday turned out OK. 15 February is my late ex-wife #2’s birthday. She would have been 72, had she not died of cancer five years ago. Yeah, she did smoke, as a matter of fact. Too bad she missed out on how our son (#2) and her stepson (#1) turned out. She would have been proud.

That’s all.

Homecoming

Homecoming

— Read on dispatchesfromdystopia.com/2020/09/17/homecoming/

The snow morphed into slush as freezing rain pelted us. There was ice and places like the Y closed.

“Stay Home!” commanded The Universe. And we did. The roads were passable, that is until downed trees blocked them. Staying home was a great idea today.

We stayed home, except to assess road conditions. I used the sojourn for a chance to buy strawberries and a Valentine Card for J.

I went up early, watched a a DVD of I Love Lucy episodes from the autumn of 1952 I watch, actually listen, to Lucy for the score and orchestration of the soundtrack. The music still holds my attention, after a lifetime of watching the show. The stories, even as well-acted as they are, are kind of lame.

There came a point where I awoke and could not fall back asleep. I went downstairs, prayed the Rosary with the webcast from Lourdes. I’ve come to like praying at the grotto, albeit virtually.

J won’t be going to the store until 10:00 AM. Nice. She doesn’t need to find out just how dangerous black ice is.

So that’s about all I have to say. I’m sleepy. Whatever was blocking my sleep has gone.

What better way is there to celebrate a cold, snowy, wintry day than to go for a swim? Indoors, of course.

I cleared the snow off the vehicle, noted that the Circle in my little circle community of townhouses was cleared, and off I drove to my local branch of the Young Men’s Christian Association for some swimming in their indoor pool.

It seems like the “lap” pool is a little warmer than in the past. Whatever the reason I’m not complaining. It has only been fifteen days since I returned to swimming. Day by day, my times are going down. I swam 1650 meters in 44 minutes/46 seconds today, four minutes faster than just a week ago.

In the pool, it’s summer or so it seems. The snowy day and the warm-ish pool is that lovely blend of both worlds. I can think about the warm seasons, even dream a little about doing summer “right”, with strolls along the beach, getting tanned, swimming in the warm surf. The summer of my dreams is like the Christmas of my dreams. We have one of each, Christmas and Summer, all planned out. These dreams are the Impossible Dreams of the Don Quixote we all have living inside of us. These are the paradigms we use to take the shine off the Right Nows spread before us. Learn to to get over your plans. They really don’t matter.

But, when all is said and done, I’m pretty damn grateful for what I do have, slush and all.

It snowed. Visually it’s most beautiful. It’s cold out but not terrible. Sent pictures to a friend, who said it was “greeting card beautiful“. And so it is

COVID-19 closed the Y in Mid-March 2020. That meant I had no access to the pool and hence no swimming. The Y and its pools reopened around July 1, but for various silly reasons, excuses really, I did not start swimming again til January 28, 2021.

Since then I have regained my enthusiasm for swimming and the Y’s cleaning protocols allow me enough time to complete my 1 mile swim. The lifeguards will let you start ahead of the official start time or run a little over. My times for the distance are rapidly approaching the 45 minute allotted time slot.

It’s all good.

The difference to my overall demeanor is incredible, as in a totally positive change in my outlook. I see many familiar faces, and even with mask-wearing and social distancing, we can have downright friendly conversation.

Of course due credit must be given the exercise component, but the intangible of fellowship with both members and staff makes a huge difference.

Anything to take one away from the ongoing political melodrama, or comedy of errors, is a positive thing. Isolation with nothing but the television was a prescription for a mental health breakdown. I’m surprised more people didn’t go crazy.

Adequate and effective self-care is a major component in coping with this madness. We’ve all been beat up by the political discord and prevention protocols we’ve experienced in recent years. Doesn’t matter whose side you were on. You are a casualty.

Get out there and act like a civilized person again. Those are your neighbours after all, not your enemies.

“With malice toward none,with charity to all.”-Abraham Lincoln

I’m thinking about all that stuff that makes life so beautiful, like love, sleeping beside your lover, all kinds of sentimental crap.

Right now, I hear night sounds. I think they’re maybe bugs, and I don’t know if anyone else ever hears them, but when it’s night I hear them. I hear the bugs and the heat pump and occasionally the refrigerator. They are my night friends.

At night, when I was in my twenties, I would make plans with A, whom I would later marry. I don’t know what became of the plans, but our marriage fell apart, we divorced and she ended up dying of cancer.

And now that whole time haunts me.

Plans? What were we thinking? We didn’t know nothin’. But forty-plus years ago, at three o’clock in the morning, at least we weren’t lonely.