Report Card for #reboot2014

A review of my 2014 New Year's resolutions: five simple goals for better living that I called #reboot2014

-- Get weight down to 245/Body fat <20%   B-
47 pounds lost. 22 short of my goal with body fat percentage hovering at 25%. Most of my failing here is due to abuse of food. Rolling this one over to 2015

-- Read/Write 60 min/day:   C+
I did well for a while, even won a prize for a short story, but both activities tapered dramatically when I turned my attention to Frankenstein. I'm not going to lie to you: it was worth the sacrifice. But I'm blocking that hour a day off of my calendar again, starting, well, about 20 minutes ago, actually.

-- Exercise 60 min/day:   B+
Teaching has helped a lot here, and I have to say I feel more fit than ever, but certain data suggests I need to be more intentional about getting my own workouts in. (see goal #1 above)

-- Personal Contact with another human every day.  A
Of all my #reboot2014 goals, this was the one I was most faithful about, and it has returned great dividends in new and renewed friendships. I'm officially declaring this one an established rule for life. Never let a day pass without looking someone in the eye, and trying to see them, and allowing yourself to be seen.

-- Pray for the people I love every day. A-
No, not every day, but the days I skipped were pretty rare. I found this to be an especially healthy way to start my mornings, even before getting out of bed, I call to mind my friends and family, particularly those who are sick or sad or in trouble. I whisper their name. I hold them in my heart. I think of it as pestering God. I figure if I nag him enough, he'll help them just to get me to shut up. It also serves as a meaningful reminder that my life is not all about me. This one has also graduated from good intention to habit. I think I'll keep it.

Tomorrow, I'll share a few that I'm adding for 2015. Till then, Happy New Year, y'all!

Peace,
Bob

Suffer the Little Children...

At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” Then Jesus called a little child to Him, set him in the midst of them, and said, “Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore whoever humbles himself as this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever receives one little child like this in My name receives Me. Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to sin, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were drowned in the depth of the sea... Take heed that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that in heaven their angels always see the face of My Father who is in heaven. " ~ Matthew 18: 1-6, 10

This morning's prayers turned my mind toward the children in my life. Though I am not a father, I am an uncle. There are children in my building and neighborhood. I meet them in rehearsal, in stores, on my walks and runs, and at the Y. My friends introduce me to their own children, and those children introduce me to their friends. And I have always thought of them not as "your kids," but rather as "our kids."

There are people who scoff at the expression, "It takes a village to raise a child." Let them scoff. I was raised by the people in my neighborhood, not just my parents. They taught me manners and respect. They also taught me that there were people who lived and believed differently than my own family did. They kept me safe when I was afraid or hurt. And they let me (and my parents!) know when I was behaving badly. Some of them had kids of their own. Others were just neighbors: the village of people who taught me what it meant to be a man. 

And so this man Jesus, this eternal Word made flesh, this incarnation of the Creator of the universe -- he came into the world as a child. He cried. He pooped and puked. He drove his parents nuts sometimes.He asked too many questions. And as a child, he learned what no God could ever know. He learned what it was to be helpless, to be at the mercy of people unimaginably more powerful than he. He learned what it was to be taught, to be raised by a village.

Did he also know pain and abuse? This passage from Matthew's gospel suggests that he may have. Jesus speaks passionately about the holiness of children in their humility and simplicity, but he is also fierce in his condemnation of anyone who harms them. "Do not despise them," he warns, for they have heavenly advocates before God. Heaven itself is diminished when anyone harms a child.

Jesus is not sentimental about children. He does not coo and weep about them. He holds them up as the model of what it is to be human. In their humility, their curiosity, their capacity for trust, and even their propensity for mischief, children taught Christ what the experience of being a creation was really like. 

We need to raise our children, yes. But as we offer them guidance and discipline, we must remember Jesus exhortation: better to die than to harm a child. When we meet a child, we are meeting Christ. In each of them, we encounter our strange, aggravating, surprising, curious, inspiring, and ever loving God. May we receive them not only as our responsibility, but also and always as our teachers.

A few days before Christmas, a woman brought her little granddaughter to swim in the pool where I was teaching a water fitness class. This is against the rules. During class time, the pool belongs to us. The girl jumped in the water in her little life vest, and her grandmother laughted as she squealed and splashed. I noticed a few heads turn disapprovingly, and finally one class member waded discreetly over to the lifeguard and whispered something I did not hear. The next thing I knew, the guard was speaking to the grandmother, asking her to take her child and leave. It offended something deep inside me. "Wait," I said. "There is plenty of room. Let's not send a child away at Christmas." I was afraid I might make a few class members mad by breaking the rules. But I was more afraid of what Jesus might think about being chased away. It is one of the first bible stories I remember hearing in Sunday school. Lord, may I never forget it.

Then they brought little children to Him, that He might touch them; but the disciples rebuked those who brought them. But when Jesus saw it, He was greatly displeased and said to them, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of God. Assuredly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by no means enter it.” And He took them up in His arms, laid His hands on them, and blessed them. ~ Mark 10: 13-16

Alive!

KING LEAR, 2013. Fat Man Acting

     "I was hoping you wouldn't do it," Mum said to me. "I don't want you to get sick again." She was talking good sense. Ever since I was in High School, I've always gotten some kind of malady right before or after the run of a play. Fatigue and anxiety take their toll, and it's only gotten worse as I've grown older. After my last two productions, I've fallen into such deep depression that my therapist seriously considered involuntary hospitalization. I was determined to make this show a turning point. Whatever it took, I wanted to hold on to my artistic standards AND my mental health.

     And I'm happy to report success on all fronts.

 

The whole Summer Session class came to the show. (all but little Sammy)

   Even before going to the theatre to pick up my script, I sat down with my calender and scheduled my rest. I may be the only person in the world whose daily agenda includes naps. My work as a runner and a trainer had taught me the importance of rest and recovery. I also knew how much fatigue contributed to my depression in the past. I wasn't going to let that happen. Once the rehearsal schedule was posted, I contacted my supervisors and colleagues at the Y. I was going to need backup to cover classes, and my YMCA family jumped right in. They supported me from the first day, and a lot of them even came to see the show. I'm not being funny when I call mine the #bestjobever. It's a fact.

     Time was only one of the resources I had to marshal. I was going to need the people I loved, too. Friends and family all stepped up to support me. They checked in to make sure I was doing OK. Invited me out to lunch or a movie. Paid visits. Dropped notes. Joined me for workouts and walks. Offered support and laughter. Trusted me with secrets. Asked for help and support. 

     The emotional toolbox I had assembled during the past year with my therapist was packed and ready. Managing setbacks. Coping with distractions. Accepting the hards times without letting them take over. I didn't spend a minute buried under the covers; didn't miss a single commitment because of depression, and that is mostly thanks to the skills I learned from my head shrinker. 

   

Lot of pushups in those old arms.

 Once I was confident about my emotional health plan, I turned my attention to my body. I had already set my sleep program in stone, but I knew that the role of the Creature was going to make some pretty intense physical demands. I changed the focus of my training to increasing strength, especially in my upper body. I stopped training like a runner, and started training like a lifter. One of my jobs was to pick up and carry a grown man at the end of the play, and I wanted us both to feel good about my ability to do that. I won't pretend there wasn't some vanity involved. I was going to be shirtless for the creation scene, and I wanted to look as good as I could. Maybe I was no Adonis, but I looked my best.  

Frankenstein and Son. Tim Hull as Victor.

 

    I usually dive in to the script with a single-minded focus that neglects nearly everything else. I thought I was making the Theatre the center of my life; I now realize that I was using it as a substitute for my life: a place to hide from all the things that I didn't want to have to think about. I thought I was being an Artist. Instead, I was an Addict. I abused acting as a drug to take away the pain of real life. The unique thing about my preparation for this role was that I put my life in order first. How different my career might have been if I had understood this lesson when I was 20, but I am so very grateful to have learned it now.

A company I will hold in my heart forever.

     The play itself was a joy from start to finish. Part of that is due to the changes in me, but a large part of it is because of the beautiful script and the wonderfully talented group of artists who came together to make the play happen. I'm not going to call them out individually because there is no way I could do everyone justice. But I have to say that Bo List's adaptation of Mrs Shelley's story is a terrific ride, for the actors and the audience. The role of The Creature is a masterpiece. The chance to play a character from infancy to adulthood, climbing through each level of physical, mental, and spiritual development toward a final, magnificent epiphany... it is an actor's dream. I will always be grateful to Bo for endowing his "monster" with so gigantic, terrifying, and tender a soul.

     You know, it's funny: I always wanted to be a great Shakespearian actor. I wanted to be remembered as Prospero or Lear. And I don't think I stunk in those parts. But at one point during the run, someone told me that in a strange and wonderful way... I just may have been born to play Frankenstein's monster. There was a time when I would have been insulted to hear that. I'm glad I've lived long enough to be proud instead. And I can't wait to see what the Theatre has in store for me next.

     

Pretending Frankenstein

We've been rehearsing about three weeks, now. Long enough to stage the whole play, and get a cautious, choppy run through in. Like Victor Frankenstein's famous Creature in the night, our production is starting to pick itself up from playwright Bo List's silent pages and stumble around the mountains and laboratories of Jerome Wills' increasingly fascinating set. I say increasingly, because every night we actors arrive to find that Tech Director, Dawn Connerley and her crew have built some new detail or structure for us to play around, under, or on top of. Last night, composer, Rob Thomas was in the booth, supplementing our on-stage rehearsal with some of the music he has created for the world of Frankenstein, and it was like having lightning bolts shoot through me as I played. So much talent is coming together to make this all happen.

Patti Heying, our director has conducted our cast like a maestro. She seems to have an instinct for knowing just how to work with actors of many different backgrounds all at once. She might tell one young actor, "You know what? I cast you because I liked YOU. You don't have to pretend to be somebody else, just be yourself and imagine what you would do if this happened to you." To a grizzled veteran, she can just nod with a furrowed brow or a knowing smile and tell you all you need to know about where to go next.

Getting my own Creature up off the slab has been a painstaking, joyful process of asking questions, and trying on answers to see if they fit. You ask physical questions. How does the Creature walk? What does his voice sound like? What does it feel like to be electrocuted back to life from the dead? What happens to your joints, your brain, your senses, your emotions when you are suddenly, violently reborn?

You ask psychological questions, too. What does the creature want? What stands in his way? What does he love? What scares him? What drives him? What does he learn? How does he change?

And of course, you point your curiosity toward relationships as well. Who matters to him? Who disappoints? Whose approval does he need? Who does he want to hurt?

And always, you are asking, "Why?" Why do I run away? Why do I hide? Why do I keep coming back when people are always hurting me? Why is the old blind man's love so important to me? Why do I kill some people and spare others? Why do I speak like a child one moment, and like a Shakespearean tragic hero the next?

See what happened there? Sooner or later, you stop thinking about "Him." The role stops being "That Guy." He isn't somebody else. He's me. He's Bob, pretending to be a monster in 18th century Geneva. You stumble and limp and chase down blind alleys and try all the possibilities, but finally you have to stop thinking about the guy and become the guy. I'm not there yet. But I'm getting tantalizingly close in spots.

In a famous video clip circulating on Facebook, Sir Ian McKellan explains acting the role of Gandalf in Lord of the Rings this way: "I imagined what it would be like to be a wizard, and then I pretended..." And that really is what we all do. Because, you see, whether you are Ian McKellan or a 10 year old boy in a little community theatre in Versailles Kentucky, the way you act is just the same: you ask yourself, "What would it be like to be that person?" And then you pretend.

Does Fitness Have to be Complicated?

Simplify, simplify, simplify! When I started thinking about fitness, I read everything I could get my hands on. I studied YouTube videos. I quizzed trainers and other people in the gym. I was like a sponge, and it seemed like every new idea or piece of equipment made its way into my routine. Soon, I was spending hours planning my training programs. I was using machines and barbells, a little bit of running, some bands, a few dumbells, swimming laps, swinging the kettlebell, riding the bike, and taking classes for Pilates. Yoga, TRX, and Spinning. I was like a new convert at church. If the gym doors were open, I wanted to be there. Sometimes I would be there for two or three hours a day. And yes, I felt great.

But the truth is, most of us have other things to do besides workout all day. The whole idea behind fitness isn't moving iron and spinning treadmills, it's about having the strength, endurance, and flexibility to do the things that make your life fulfilling and meaningful. Sometimes, simpler is better. As summer starts to wind down and schedules get busier, here are some ideas for workouts that produce results with a little less equipment, planning, and time.

You don't workout because you don't own any gear? Got a room with a wall in it? Here's a full body No-Equipment Workout from Self that you can do in about 20 minutes.

Ten minutes? Seriously? For this No Weights to Lose Weight Workout from Shape, all you need is a floor, and maybe a yoga mat. It would be a great way to start your day, to squeeze exercise into your lunch break, (or even your coffee break), or instead of that sugary desert after dinner.


Feel like something a little more hardcore? In this video, Kelly Lee from Grokker leads a turbo-charged 15 Minute High Intensity Interval Training Workout. This one is tough, and Kelly is a real drill-sergeant type, but if you want to build strength while you burn a ton of calories, she can help you get it done in a hurry.

Concerned about posture, back pain, that pooch around your belly or just maintaining stability and balance? Maybe you want to focus on your core. Core work isn't all about washboards and six-packs, you know. The system of muscles from your shoulders to your hips is your powerhouse. Healthways Fit offers 15-minute Workouts to Rock Your Core that will help keep your center strong, and tone up those muscles that make you look so good in a tight shirt.

Here's a 30-Minute, No-Gym Bodyweight Workout you can do in the park, on a playground, in the back yard, anywhere, really. All you need is your own body and 30 minutes. I like these little graphics from Greatist. I can imagine hanging this one up like a poster in the room where you exercise and just following along. And yes, you will be tired when you're finished!

Health Magazine calls this Your Perfect No-Gym Workout, but this is quite a little pile of bands, balls, dumbbells and rollers to keep around the house. Every decent gym should have plenty of these for you to use, and a lot more room than I have in my apartment to store them. This should take you 20 or 25 minutes, but be prepared to linger on that roller when you are finished. It can feel heavenly after a good workout.

Finding a place for a fitness ball in your house can be a challenge, but a big rubber band will fit in your jacket pocket. Resistance bands are inexpensive, easy to find, and available in many different forms and levels of tension so it's easy to increase intensity when your muscles outgrow those beginner level bands. Those folks at Greatist offer yet another nifty poster of 7 movements that will build a great 30-minute workout. If you get bored and want to mix in some other exercises, they've also included descriptions of 33 Resistance Band Exercises You Can Do Anywhere.

To Build A Creature

Charles Stanton Ogle, Frankenstein, Edison Studios, 1910

Today is the first rehearsal of Frankenstein, a modern adaptation by Bo List in which I have been cast as The Creature. I was just thinking, I remember my first audition, way back in 4th grade, but I don't remember my first rehearsal. There aren't very many memorable ones. Still, the anticipation of the ritual is so exciting.

Nick Vannoy, Frankenstein ,2011

This afternoon, I will sit with a new company of actors. Some are old friends, and some are people I've watched and admired for quite a while. Some are strangers to me. We are going to review the routine tasks of scheduling and policy that go with keeping any herd of artists organized, and then we will open our scripts, pick up our pencils, and set about reading together for the first time. The script has had several productions around the country, and I was present for Nick Vannoy's moving performance as The Creature in the world premier at the Kentucky Conservatory Theatre's SummerFest in 2011. His work is sure to haunt me. He isn't the only ghost who will pursue me as I try to create my own interpretation of the role of the Big Fellow.

Colin Clive and Boris Karloff, Frankenstein, 1931

No, not alive, not yet. But the process of gathering pieces to stitch together has begun. I have had the script in hand for a couple weeks, and I've been pouring over it. I'm not really doing intense analysis at this point, just trying to take it all in through a wide lens. I've read Mrs. Shelley's novel. The story was born in her nightmares: the teen-aged free-thinker whose birth caused her mother's death, and whose elopement with the already married Percy Bysshe Shelley led to estrangement from her father and poverty. She wrote Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus on a dare during the famous summer of 1816 when she and her husband were guests of the notorious Lord Byron at his home on Lake Geneva.

Gene Wilder and Peter Boyle, Young Frankenstein, 1974

The novel isn't a page turner like Bram Stoker's action packed Dracula. It is more of a psychological portrait, told mostly in the voice of Victor Frankenstein, the ambitious scientist whose grief over his lost mother led him to seek the secret of life and reanimation. It is also a moral examination of a man who, like Prometheus, seeks to serve humankind by bringing down fire from heaven, only to find his hubris punished by the gods with an eternity of bondage and agony.

Kenneth Branagh and Robert De Niro, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, 1994

Bo List's adaptation is faithful to this psychological, moral tone, but also draws on more theatrical parts of the Frankenstein myth that have developed since the novel was published. Consequently, I've been digging into some famous and not so famous films. I'm sure I'll be gleaning insights from all of them.

Bela Lugosi, Karloff, and Basil Rathbone, Son of Frankenstein, 1939

In our script, The Creature (who never does get a name,) learns reading and language from hours spent reading Paradise Lost, John Milton's cosmic tale of Satan's fall from heaven and revenge against his Creator. Digging through Paradise... is not exactly light reading, but it helps to understand how the Creature's psyche was rebuilt after Victor's traumatic experiments left his mind a nearly blank slate. It also sheds light in the deep longing for love and acceptance that underlies the "monster's" desire for a companion... and the tragic consequences of Victor's failure to provide a bride for his miserable "son."

Elsa Lanchester, Boris Karloff, Bride of Frankenstein, 1935

Soon, it will be time to put all these outside resources back on the shelf, and turn my full attention to our script and  playing with my fellow actors. Till that time comes, I'll be relishing the opportunity to absorb the ideas and stories that will be components of my own Creature. It's a much more pleasant process than the one poor Victor had to go through. I won't have to dig up any graves.


.

Get On UP

I saw Get On Up last night, and I can't say enough about how fantastic I thought it was. It is an unfailingly engaging biography of the Godfather of Soul, James Brown, and I don't think you will be disappointed if you get your funky self to the theatre and check it out.

And speaking of getting on up, there has been some important news published this week about the dangers of our sedentary lifestyle. Believe it or not, your chair is a murderer. I have not read Get Up! Why Your Chair is Killing You And What You Can Do About It yet, but believe me, it's on my list. Dr. James A. Levine says sitting has become our favorite drug, and it is toxic.

Chair addiction -- like the alcoholic thirsting for another Scotch -- is the constant need we have developed to sit. We slouch from bed to car seat, to work seat, to sofa. The cost is too great; for every hour we sit, two hours of our lives walk away -- lost forever. 

In an interview with Rex Huppke of the Chicago Tribune, Levine, a doctor and director of the Mayo Clinic/Arizona State University Obesity Solutions Initiative explains that we were never meant to sit. 

Rather, we are structurally and physiologically intended to be upright, running from saber-toothed tigers and gathering wood and tending crops and such.

In the modern world, we are rarely called to choose fight or flight. And while our farm dwelling great grandparents usually only sat down to eat or read at the end of the day, we spend most of our time in the unnatural and, according to a growing body of research, suicidal posture of sitting.

Consider the chilling findings of a study recently published in the Journal of the National Cancer Institute.

Sitting can be fatal. It’s been linked to cancer, diabetes, and cardiovascular disease... Researchers examined close to 70,000 cancer cases and found that sitting is associated with a 24% increased risk of colon cancer, a 32% increased risk of endometrial cancer, and a 21% increased risk of lung cancer. 

The really bad news: You can’t exercise away the habit’s harmful effects. “Adjustment for physical activity did not affect the positive association between sedentary behavior and cancer,” the authors write. Even participants who achieved the daily recommended levels of physical activity were at the same risk as those who spent their day sitting. 

Think about that for a second. You already know you can't out-exercise an unhealthy diet, but this study suggests that a sedentary lifestyle is so destructive to our physical health that it cancels out the benefits of exercise.

So what can we do? How can we save our lives from the soft seated murderer waiting for us in the office, on the bus, and in front of the television? Osteopath and best selling author, Dr. Joseph Mercola puts it simply, "Defy gravity with intermittent movement." Here are a few exercises you can do right in your cubicle to keep your body in motion, not reclining slowly toward an early grave.

• Standing Neck-Stretch: Hold for 20 seconds on each side.
• Shoulder Blade Squeeze: Round your shoulders, then pull them back and pull down. Repeat for 20-30 seconds.
• Standing Hip Stretch: Holding on to your desk, cross your left leg over your right thigh and "sit down" by bending your right leg. Repeat on the other side.
• The Windmill: Stand with feet shoulder-width apart, then pivot your feet to the right. Push your hip out to the left. Raising your left arm skyward, and your right arm toward the floor, lower your body toward the floor while looking up, and then raise your torso back to standing position. Repeat on the other side.
• Side Lunge: Starting with your feet together, take a medium step sideways, and bend down as if you're about to sit. Use your arms for balance by reaching out in front of you. Return to starting position, and repeat 10-20 times. Repeat on the other side.
• Desk Push-Up: Place hands a little wider than shoulder-width apart on your desk. Come up on your toes to make it easier to tip forward. Do 10 repetitions.
• Squat to Chair: With your feet shoulder-width apart, sit down, reaching forward with your hands, and stand back up in quick succession. Do 15-20 repetitions.
• Single Leg Dead Lift: Place your right hand on your desk, and place your weight on your right leg. Fold your torso forward, while simultaneously lifting your left leg backward. Do 10 repetitions on each side.
• Mountain Climber: Get into a push-up position on the floor. Pull your right knee forward to touch your right wrist or arm, then return to push-up position. Repeat on the other side. Try to pick up the pace, and do 20 quick repetitions.

Dr Levine suggests that you can help yourself by moving as little as ten minutes per hour. A study by the American Diabetes Association found measurable benefits from breaks that were as short as four-and-a-half minutes. If you don't want to use one of the recommended exercises, take a walk around the building. Climb the stairs. Have "strolling meetings" instead of sitting down at at coffee shop.

And if you won't take advice from the doctors, listen to Soul Brother Number One.

GET ON UP!

Zucchinipalooza! 2014

sacredsandwich.com

Every gardener knows the story. It's a beautiful August morning. You've just poured the first cup of coffee. Standing over the sink, taking in the beautiful morning light through the kitchen window, you glance at your little plot and gasp. Good Lord! Where did all that come from?

Every gardener's neighbor knows the story, too. You open the front door, and there's one on the porch railing. You reach into the mailbox, and find a green giant stuffed in there with the Rent-A-Center circular. You climb into your car, and find four of the things on the passenger seat. By the time clock at work, there is a carton piled high with a sign begging, "Take all you want. Please!"

It's Zucchini season. You cant escape them, so you might as well learn to love this meaty, tasty, giant squash while they are plentiful and vine fresh. Here are a few ways you can celebrate...

ZUCCHINIPALOOZA! 2014

(I hope you'll share your own favorite recipes in the comments section!)

Mom's Zucchini Bread, Allrecipes.com

Ratatouille, Foodnetwork.com

Zucchini Fritters, 12Tomatoes.com

Zucchini Cobbler, Tasteofhome.com

Pici with Summer Squashes and Tarragon,
Marthastewart.com

Chilled Curry Zucchini Soup, heatherchristo.com

Zucchini and Spinach Lasagna, myrecipes.com

And 

Vegan Taco Stuffed Zucchini Boats, ohmyveggies.com

What You Eat in Private...

Some of these Facebook memes can sting a little, huh?

As July comes to a close, I realize that I have made very little progress toward some of my goals. My weight is just about where it was at the end of June. Why? Pain and cheating.

Knee pain continues to keep me from running. While  walking and the classes I teach are continuing to improve my cardiopulmonary performance, I'm just not generating the strength and caloric deficits that running would give me. I had my initial visit with a Physical Therapist today. I was happy to discover that he is a runner and a student of running mechanics. We are determined to get me back on the road with more strength and stability to protect my joints from future damage. I could easily have gotten a surgeon who was eager to open me up or a therapist who only cared about getting me back to minimal functioning. Meeting Jeff was a providential match.

Oh, yeah... calories. At the same time that I'm not burning enough fuel, I've been keeping the tank filled to overflowing... or at least to the break-even point. In spite of the fact that my mental health is as good as it has been in years, (or maybe ever), I've been doing quite a bit of cheating:  nervous eating. Or maybe a better word is "mindless" eating You know, the chips you munch while watching Netflix. The cookies you take with you to your favorite reading chair. The meatloaf sandwich that's on my desk right now as I'm typing this. Cheating episodes are a lot like telling lies: after the first one, they just keep getting easier to do.

I've done well eliminating one toxic influence a week from my life: Pop, Dairy Queen. Candy. Computer games. It may be time to add "eating on the go" to that list. Time to move meals from the desk or the bed to the dinner table. Maybe nutrition is too important for multitasking.

As I alluded to earlier, one area where I have made encouraging progress is my inner life: spiritually, mentally, and emotionaly. I have embraced the discipline of daily prayers, and am reading or writing nearly every day. I am learning that I am not quite as socially clumsy as I thought; people often enjoy my company, and I enjoy theirs. Maybe most importantly,I am practicing the skills I need  in order to accept and make room for negative feelings without allowing them to stop me from living a rich and fulfilling life.

So, no, the weight isn't where I'd like it to be, but I'm very happy about the foundation I'm building during #reboot2014. My hope is that by staying on course on the inside, the outside won't fall apart as easily as it has in the past.

I have much to celebrate about July, and much work still to be done in August. Today, I'm just about the best Pennsy I've ever been. I'm grateful and excited to discover what the Dog Days have to teach me.



Peace,
Pennsy

Review: The Twelve Houses of My Childhood, E. Reid Gilbert

Everybody should have at least one teacher they remember with love. I hope you do. I've been lucky to know a couple, but none raises warmer feelings of affection and gratitude than E. Reid Gilbert. Reid was my movement teacher during the three years I spent earning my Master of Fine Arts degree in Acting at The Ohio State University back in the 1980's. He was unlike any teacher I had ever had, and didn't resemble any college professor I had ever imagined. Born and raised in the mountains of Carolina, Reid was country right down to his bones. There must have been something in the water up in that holler though, because Reid fell in love with learning there. He left the farm to go to Duke to study Sociology. Then he was off to Texas for a degree in Theology from SMU. Given his country background and his down-home upbringing, what could be a more logical next step for the young fellow than the Upper West Side of Manhattan and Union Theological Seminary for a degree in Religious Drama. He must have grown accustomed to Yankee winters, because he became Dr. E. Reid Gilbert at the University of Wisconsin, where he specialized in Asian Theatre. He travelled a little bit. Studied Mime at Lecoq in Paris; practiced the No theatre in Japan; preached some; taught some; acted and directed; earned two Fullbright awards, the first to study the Kathakali theatre of India. Thirty years later came the second Fullbright to travel to Thailand to teach storytelling. And somewhere along the way, he met a young actor from Pittsburgh, and taught him as much about the spirituality of art, the love of God, and living with integrity as anyone I can think of. I have never built a role in a play without using Reid's lessons. When I finally got the chance to teach acting to college students, I filled about half of my syllabus with the things he had taught me.

A few years ago, Reid and I were reunited on the great village square of our times: Facebook. I learned that he had written a collection of the "Jack Tales" he so loved to share with us. Sophisticated, cosmopolitan graduate students would sit wide-eyed and cross-legged on the floor in our stocking feet like children as our professor hunkered down and told us stories of joggle boards in the woods, of swinging on honey suckles, and of haunted trips to the privy in the Carolina winter moonlight. When I received my copy of Trickster Jack from Amazon, there was a miracle inside. Had the seller known how much I would treasure that title page, she would not have let it go so cheaply.

While Trickster Jack was a work of imagination, The Twelve Houses of My Childhood is Gilbert's true life memoir of growing up in the hills and small towns of North Carolina and Western Virginia during the Great Depression and World War 2. At least I hope it's all true. Like all the best stories, "if it ain't true, it ought to be".

It all began, as I was told, on November 15, 1930, after my mother's thirty hours of intense labor to bring forth her second child, her first son. The event occurred on East 22nd Street in Winston-Salem, NC. Decades later, I read with some chagrin that prolonged birthing labor by the mother often accounted for diminished intelligence of the new human creature. By the time I learned this factoid it was too late for anyone to do anything about it, but it does five me a medical excuse for any intellectual shortcomings.

Eddie Reid's story (he never used the "Eddie") meanders like a creek finding its way down a piney mountainside. Along its banks, we find stories of the gypsies Gilbert credits with instilling his life-long wanderlust,  and big sister Susie, who later insisted on "Della Sue" because she didn't want the same name as the milk cow. Brother "Baby Ott" and sister Mary Evelyn come along a few houses later, and spend the rest of their lives teasing and tormenting one another.

Evelyn ran to Mamma, crying again. "Evelyn, what's wrong now?" 

"He's still makin' faces at me."

"How do you know? Didn't he keep the door closed?" 

"Yeah, but I looked through the keyhole, an' there he was makin' a face."

Later, big brother Reid realizes "it was a game they both enjoyed playing... and would continue for years".

Gilbert tells his family's story with humor and empathy. His loving description of his Mamma scrubbing their clothes in a metal tub with lye soap, water hauled from the spring and heated over an open fire, and a washboard that left her hands red and raw for days after is both inspiring and heartbreaking. 

In one particularly moving passage, he tells of the lesson his Daddy learned  one day after church, while walking with his younger son on the way to check the traps for turtles.

     Daddy was feeling a little guilty to be doing something so enjoyable on a Sunday, He and Ott had to cross a newly plowed field to get to the creek. Because of his uneasyness, Daddy strode across the field rather quickly and in large strides before anyone might see them.      

    Suddenly, he heard Ott behind him, grunting and seemingly gasping for breath. As he looked back, he asked,"What's wrong, Son?" 

   "Daddy, it's hard stepping in your tracks."

Chastened, the young father and Sunday School Superintendent passed the lesson his child had taught him along to the adults in his class at church."

Folks, you better be careful where you're walkin' an' which way you're goin'. There'll be some little tyke followin' close behind, trying so hard to follow your example."

Yes, The Twelve Houses of My Childhood is a southern coming-of-age story. Young Reid encounters "the fair sex" from time to time, with mixed success. He hunts possum. He is introduced to the principles of social justice, not only as a witness to the segregation of his "colored" playmates, but also as a target of mockery and neglect from his more affluent white neighbors and teachers. But this tenderly rendered tale is also a loving portrait of a family and a time when things like running water, electric light, and a real Frigidaire to save Mamma from having to fetch milk from the spring house were faraway miracles, not givens of domestic life. Holding my electronic tablet in my hands, laughing out loud as my old professor learned to plow a straight row, or shift gears in the makeshift tractor that they called a "Doodlebug," I couldn't help feeling a little spoiled by all the gadgets and gizmos that fill my life. I wonder if a few less illuminated screens, and a few more walks in the trees with loved ones might not be better for my soul.

How to sum up the experience of reading the memories of a man I have loved every day, even though I have not seen him for thirty years? I was shaken almost to tears when I turned the last page. I'm still grieving, a little. I loved this book so much that it hurt to have to finish it. I appreciate the Kindle convenience, but I think I'll be ordering a copy for my bookshelf. I want to be able to share it.

Here's hoping my old teacher has another volume or two in him. Maybe "The Twelve Apartments of My College Years?"

Peace,

Pennsy

Order The Twelve Houses of My Childhood  from Amazon, here.

Born to Walk

Walking has always been a part of my running life. Frequent walk breaks on long runs have allowed me to keep going and to stay injury free. I really don't think my current knee pain is a result of overuse, as much as just the normal aches and pains of a geezer with my medical history. We'll see what the orthopedist has to say next week. In the meantime, I've resumed jogging a little, continued walking a lot, and noticed some meaningful differences between the two.

The most obvious difference is the amount of time you spend on the road. The miles take a lot longer to cover when you're walking. I might schedule an hour for a 4 mile trainer during the week. A four mile walk is liable to take half again as long. So a walker has to plan the day a little more carefully. On the other hand, going for a walk isn't as much of a production as going for a run. You don't need as many specialized clothes. You don't come home a sweaty, exhausted mess. And it is easy to break your miles up into several shorter sessions over the course of the day. 

Another difference is in the calorie burn: according to this calculator on healthstatus.com, my hour long, brisk walks only burn about 60% of the calories that a light jog uses in the same amount of time. A runner who switches to walking will need to make some changes in the kitchen or risk adding pounds, in spite of the hours spent on the road. On the other hand, walking any length of time burns 100% more calories than sitting on the couch watching Netflix, so don't underestimate the power of this low-intensity exercise, especially if you're just getting started.

That lower intensity is important, because while a runner needs to build plenty of recovery time into a training schedule, a walker can be out there every day, several times a day. Vigorous exercise strengthens us, but it also beats up our bodies. Days off are crucial. Walking feels more like it is built into our engineering. Walking is the way we were designed to get from place to place. With apologies to Bruce Springteen, it seems to me, Baby, that we were Born to Walk.

It's in the mental experience of walking that I start to find more meaningful differences. The famous "Runner's High'" is a real thing, a kind of endorphin intoxication that is really quite transporting. But it also takes a long time to achieve. Grete Waitz, the legendary marathon champion said that she never felt it at all. I have experienced it myself maybe four times, and always somewhere out around mile 18 of a race or long slow training run. So the euphoria of the "Runner's High" really isn't something that comes along every day.

But I do experience a kind of trance-like state almost every time I run. The rhythm of foot fall and breath, the heightened heart rate, the passing pavement below, the rush of the air in my ears all work together to take me to a place beyond thought. 

That doesn't happen to me with walking. In the absence of the powerful physiological affects of running, my mind is much more active. Some days, my thoughts wander, drifting aimlessly from place to place, person to person. At other times, I focus on a particular issue or subject that might have been gnawing at me. Now, that can be dangerous: I can find myself latched onto some pretty negative self talk. It takes a certain amount of mental discipline to choose just where I want to turn my attention.

Running is spiritual meditation for me. My mind quiets, and if I am aware of anything, it is of my presence as a participant in creation. When I run, I feel God's companionship, as if we were training partners. I frequently sense God speaking to me when we run together, but our walks are more like conversations. I am more than just present, I am aware of the world. I notice and  acknowledge fragrances, colors, and sounds that can zip right past when I'm puffing along on a run.

Walkers see and greet neighbors differently, too. It's easy to jog right past the porch-loungers and stoop-smokers when you're running out in the street. But up on the sidewalk, even at a brisk pace, it feels odd not to smile and wave, to acknowledge the presence of another human. When runners meet, they almost always nod, but non-runners have more mixed reactions. A lot of folks think we're crazy. People are more likely to greet a walker. There's just something more normal about us. 

I am in love with running. I'm proud to be a runner. And I won't lie to you, there is a certain amount of ego gratification in trotting along a street or a country road as the cars speed by. The drivers might think I'm crazy, but they know I'm out there doing something that a lot of people don't have the will or the ability to do. I hope I'll always be able to run. 

But in the past few weeks, as I nurse my arthritic knee back to health, I'm learning the joys of walking, too. I think I may have a new sweetheart.

Which reminds me... I've got a date with four miles of sidewalk before dinner. Maybe I'll see you out there, huh?

Peace,

Pennsy