Fitbit Mystery

My wife was preparing for bed and removing her Fitbit. It was a few minutes after midnight. She said, “There’s no way you’re going to have more steps than me today.”

A weird thing to say a few minutes after midnight. The Fitbit resets at midnight.

She showed me her steps: 69,697.


The next morning (yesterday), she was at an even 70,000. “Fix it for me,” she said. “I tried syncing and I couldn’t.”

Well, I logged in and looked at her settings. Everything was good. She hadn’t synced, her account said, since last November. I synced it and searched for why she may have had a surge. Nothing came up on the net and the Fitbit working fine today.

Just one of those mysteries, I guess. I do have a theory and I’ll check that later.

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Dawn broke the darkness at 7:39 AM. Its light had been stealing in like a child sneaking up to take a cookie that they weren’t supposed to take. But it officially came at 7:39. The backside comes at straight up 5 PM.

Today is January 11, 2022. This will be the only day this year with that date. Make it a special day in honor of its uniqueness. Our temperatures remain warm, 40 F at dawn, 52 now, on our way to 58 to 60. A faded winter sky overlooks a fusion landscape of fall and spring, bare trees and new growth.

I have Steve Winwood’s 1988 song, “Don’t You Know What the Night Can Do?”, parading through the morning’s mental music stream, a reflection of a night of vivid dreams and contemplations about spectrums — the spectrum of time, life, and biology. How the night can change a mood is impressive. One can fall into sleep, awaken a zillion hours later and feel fantastic. Not what the night can do, per se: don’t you know what a good night of sleep can do?

In other news, scientists are using the idea of warm balls as a possible male contraceptive. There are some limits: “In the hotter tests of the experiment, however, the balls atrophied, and in some—depending on how much iron oxide was injected, and how hot the nuts got—showed “distinct black discolorations” and the testes were “severely damaged at 7 days.” If they were cooked above 113 degrees, the balls didn’t recover.” Imagine contraceptive underwear being offered for sale at Target as a holiday stocking stuffer.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax and boosters. Excuse me, I’m gonna refresh my coffee. Here’s the music, with a little Letterman and Schaffer. Cheers

Apple Diet After Math

The three-day apple diet was endured. Yeah, not bad, except in maddening fits when habits drive hunger. Like relaxing, watching television or reading in the evening invites a food companion. Not anything big but the apple slices weren’t satisfying in those moments.

That was rare, though. I’m satisfied with results. I suffer from edema brought on by Amlodipine taken to manage my high blood pressure. Apples only for three days had a dramatic impact. Likewise, as I’ve aged, mild bloating plagues me. That disappeared. And I felt damn fine. I’d recommend it to others.

Rising yesterday morning, I wasn’t hungry and ate breakfast a little later than usual. Energy level was high. I didn’t have any dramatic urges or desires to stuff myself. For dinner, we enjoyed fish with seasoned boiled potatoes, steamed broccoli, and a salad.

The cats rose up. “Fish! Real food. At last, we have been delivered from our suffering.” They charged my plate, leaping up onto the table. They know they’re not allowed on the table.

My response: “Get down. Back. This is my food. You don’t see me going after your food.”

They all jumped down and scattered back a few feet. The head floof said, “You can eat my kibble any time you want. I’ll trade.”

I told him I’d passed. He walked away, muttering to himself, tail swishing.

I don’t think he was happy.

Apple Diet, Day Three

After enjoying scrambled eggs with bacon, toast, and hash browns, I returned to the apple diet. Then I awoke from my dream.

A pattern emerged regarding my hunger. I eat breakfast within my first hour of being awake. You know, bathroom, feed cats, shower-shave-dress, and then breakfast. Day 1 of the AD, I ate apples for breakfast, but was hungry throughout the day, and ended the day hungry. On the second day, I didn’t get hungry until about three in the afternoon. Today, I wasn’t hungry until noon, but I was then ravenous. Television viewing affected it today. I watched NFL football. Any idea how many times food commercials are shown during NFL games? They’re all about pizza and fast food. I don’t eat meals from fast-food restaurants, but I enjoy burgers and pizza.

Granny Smith apples are at the bottom of my apple list. Just so damn sour. Think sour Gummis. Sour Patch Kids. Lemons which aren’t ripe. Grapes that aren’t ripe. An IPA with high IBUs. I adjusted by cutting my GS up first thing in the morning, and then eating a slice or two with the other apples.

The cats have learned that I’m not eating anything interesting. Using their noses and sound cues, they’ve quickly adjusted to the new diet and don’t come around to see what’s on my plate.

I’m already planning my first meal after this is over. Anyone want a Granny Smith? I have one left. They’re really good. Trust me.

Day Two of the Apple Diet

Walking along the streets yesterday, I realize that I’d picked the wrong time of day for a constitutional. It was dinner preparation time. Smells from people’s cooking clouded the air. I swear that I smelled a grilled steak with garlic bread and onions. And here I am, eating nothing but apples.

Stickers on fruit exasperate me. Yes, this is a first world complaint. Two or three stickers are on each apple. Removing them requires some thumb-nailing. One typically comes apart as five or six tiny pieces.

The apple diet is an Edgar Cayce thing. My wife and I discovered Edgar Cayce in our late teens. Cayce was as a clairvoyant who claimed to channel information from his higher self while in a trance-like state. People wrote to him for advice, especially about their health. We came to learn about Cayce through books by Jess Stern.

Cayce made a lot of predictions that didn’t work out. But some of his notions intrigued us, and we adopted some of his eating and healing guidance. One of those things is the apple diet. On it, you eat nothing but apples for three days. You also drink water. Black coffee is permitted, too. The idea is that eating only apples will detox you or cleanse your system of its toxins. We’ve done this diet many times before, but not in several years. Now in our mid-sixties, battened down against COVID-19, limited in diversions because travel is restricted, we thought we’d entertain ourselves by eating only apples. I mean, I’ve been working on a jigsaw puzzle, but the pieces don’t taste as good as apples. I’m doing this to be a supportive husband, though. That’s what I tell myself. Several times a day.

We went out on Thursday and bought a variety of apples totaling enough for two people eating six apples a day for three days. That makes some number that is two times six times three. Beyond that, it’s pretty easy. Put six apples into a bowl each morning. Peel off the stickers, wash it, slice it up, and eat it when you’re hungry.

It’s not bad, as diets go. (That’s what I tell myself. Several times a day.) Limited in scope and duration. Easy to follow. And we like apples. I wouldn’t want to do it for longer than three days, though, although I do like the cleanup. Much easier than the messes made by plant-based burgers, pasta, fish, etc.

The most interesting part of this are the looks received from the cats when I bring in a plate of sliced apples. They’re like “Hey, what do we got?” Sniffing is exercised. Then comes the stare. The stare says, “Seriously? Where’s the real food?” The stare is fraught with betrayal and disappointment.

“I know how you feel,” I answer. Their expressions change to pity. One of them pushed a piece of kibble to me.

Seriously, the apple diet is not bad. That’s what I tell myself. It’s. Not. That. Bad. At least I still have coffee.


Infloofture (floofinition) – To be emotionally or spiritually in debt to an animal.

In use: “She was inflooftured to the small rescue dog, a white thing of uncertain breeds with a perpetual smile, for he calmed her son whenever he was frightened, anxious, or upset, going to the boy before anyone else even knew what was wrong and then just sitting with him, leaning against him, reassuring him that someone was there.”

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