Tag: walking

Wenzdaz Theme Music

The rain has ceased and it’s warmer.

Hi. Today is December 24, 2025 in Ashlandia. Just one week of 2025 remains.

It’s 45 F right now. Quite pleasant. The fog left for a while. Yesterday, buzzing around town on errands, brought beautiful vista of long silvery gray fog snakes crawling around the hollows and valleys, and scaling the mountainsides. Clouds blocked the sunshine, lending the scenes an intensely dark backdrop.

Writing neurons immediately pictured the fog snakes as sentient creatures crawling through our presence, perhaps stealing pieces of us. Not all fog snakes are the same; some feed on memories. Others fog snakes still physical presence from us. More nibble away emotions or thinking. Where does it go from there? Give me some coffee and let me think.

While it’s 45 F now, the weather forecasters are warning us that temperatures will be dropping.

News headlines bring us tidings of destruction or recovery of destruction in other parts of the world and nation. I was with friends last night, toasting our friendship, talking about the season’s plans and plans for next year, and addressing political issues. All present believed Donald Trump’s strength is ebbing. That aligns with several articles I’ve recently read about Trump’s weakening influence.

Only one recent president has scored an approval rating as bad as Trump’s – himself

President Donald Trump’s job approval rating stands at just 36 percent in the latest Gallup poll, the joint-worst rating of any U.S. president at the end of their first year in power of the last 50 years.

The other man? Himself – at the end of the first year of his first term in December 2017 – when he picked up precisely the same score.

For comparison, his predecessor Joe Biden was at 43 percent at the end of his first year in the Oval Office in December 2021.

Happy Holidays, Donald Trump.

Today’s song, “Here Comes Your Man” by the Pixies, comes by way of dog watching. I was examining the morning through the office window. Sunshine! Blue sky! No fog! A dog walker was coming up the street, big black dog trotting alongside on a leash. Sudden deep wagging broke out on the dog. The woman walking the black pup called out something. A man strode down the street. The dog began joyous leaps. Letting the leash out, I heard the woman say, “Here comes your man.” Man and dog rushed one another and showered the other with affection.

As I smiled and went to turn away, The Neurons plugged “Here Comes Your Man” into the morning mental music stream. It’s a very pop tune sound, very un-Pixie, almost anti-Pixie. The band themselves resisted releasing it because it was so pop to them. But here we are, playing it 37 years later. Life. Technology. Perspective.

Coffee is served. Sun is still shining. Sky remains blue. A decent day may be brewing, at least for an hour or two. Hope peace and grace is on its way. Have the best day possible, today and every day. Cheers

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Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts

I live on Clay Street. Diane Street is three blocks away. It’s to the north, so it’s ‘up north’. But it’s at a lower elevation, so it’s ‘down the road.’ I pretty comfortably hold these two ideas in mind, even though they might appear to be at odds with one another. I suspect that this is why so many of The Neurons are packing up and abandoning me.

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Seasons

Breaking away from writing, I step out for a walk. The sun has warmed us to a comfortable level. I stride along, nodding and saying hello to others encountered.

A shineless brown hot rod comes along. Roadster. Something out of the forties. Driven by a man who looks like he also originated in the forties, and a woman who might be a little younger, maybe even his daughter, as a passenger, bundled up in heavy clothes.

Putting along at 20 MPH, he guides the car to the side and waves a following vehicle past. Silver SUV, its twenty something driver gooses it faster. An electric vehicle, it glides by with a rising brash hum.

The scene on a small-town street seems so perfectly emblematic of change. Trees and their colors tell of the season changing around us, and there goes an old internal combustion car of a kind rarely seen, passed by an electric car, of the kind now commonly encountered.

Reality couldn’t have been better staged.

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Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

I’ve often stated that I write to help me understand what I think. Writing is a process that forces me to slot things into a more coherent order. That process helps me dig up what’s really bugging me below the surface of my reactions.

I spent time yesterday walking and then writing myself a letter. It was almost like meditating for me, with surprising results. Turned out that I was angrier, more frustrated, and more depressed than I realized. Baring it all to myself helped me shed those things and reinvigorate myself. Some of the anger was irrational, railing at life for the afflictions happening to friends and family. Some, on a deeper level, were revelations to myself about how I perceived others and my relationships with them.

But once again, writing came through for me. I’m happy with the outcome. Purging my psyche of that anger and depression lifted my spirits and restored my energy levels.

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Sundaz Wandering Thoughts

I have routines. Mostly moored in sanity and routine, they help me navigate days and night and months, seasons, and years.

The regular recurring four dominate: dressing, eating, exercising writing. Dressing is actually showering, shaving, brushing my teeth, all that. We just call it dressing in our household. Why get bogged down in details? Same with eating. I’m talking about three meals, snacks, etc. All aimed in a healthy direction, based on medical limitations and bodily needs. Cooking or procuring food is part of ‘eating’.

Writing, ditto, is just something burned into every day’s DNA. I passed on it while vacationing recently, a grueling time for me. I kept writing in my head. That’s an activity that takes me out of the moment. So I made fast notes, lopped off the process, and pressed myself back into local, ‘real-world’ events, like going for a walk at sunset and admiring the waves.

But I also have a habit of deciding what three things I will do besides those things. It’s a mental list I assign myself as I talk to my wife and walk around the house each morning. Weather and other plans are taken into account. Like yesterday’s three things was hanging this new hook we purchased to drape a towel on in the bathroom, then dusting and polishing all the wood cabinets and furniture in the kitchen, dining room, foyer, and living room, and tidying paperwork. Today is a lazier day. Wash and shine the car, gas up my wife’s car, yardwork. A bonus offering is clean off some pint containers and drop them off at a friend’s place.

I’ll also read. Surf the net for news and read some fiction. That, too, is just part of my current DNA. Do both of those every day. Pet the cat, of course. Clean up after him. Also DNA-driven. He enforces it, though. Oh, and take a walk. Do that daily as well. Just who I am.

What are your plans and routines for today?

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The Exercise Routine

A friend went hiking and then needed a few days to recover. Hips and a bum foot gave her issues. She wins for the best insightful comment about exercising: “I guess my approach of one hard day of exercising a month to overcome the lack of activity every other day needs to be reconsidered.” I’m paraphrasing. She put it better.

I found myself in a similar way. After my arm was broken in two bones a few years ago, I was left without exercising it much. That resulted in atrophied arm and shoulder muscles, which really pissed me off. Just as I was working on recovering from that, I had a ruptured tendon. Repaired with surgery, I was off of intense exercise for over six months last year, beginning in September. Guess what happened to my right leg, home of the ruptured tendon? That’s right, atrophied leg muscles. Like, mother of pearl.

Recognizing these things need to be fixed, I began working to improve. Just free weights, running, pushups, the old-fashioned stuff I’m used to doing. I saw improvements. Better muscle tone and definition, higher energy levels, clearer thinking, weight loss. Then I went on vacay. Other than walking and stretching, I didn’t exercise during the ten-day vacay experience.

Well, when I dropped to give twenty a few days ago, my left arm, the one with the atrophied muscles, was not happy. I barely eked out eleven pushups. The offended limb throbbed in irritation afterwards. Same yesterday and today, proving that it wasn’t a one-day fluke. The throb doesn’t last past five minutes, but it’s another annoyance. It doesn’t affect me when I plank, but it does affect my light weightlifting.

I’ll keep working it. I mean, what else is there to do? Well, yes, I will research and adjust my exercises, and find ways to address the throbbing, but I’ll press on.

That’s the bottom line. Giving up just isn’t an option.

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Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

Out walking on break today, a Honda Civic passed.

1983, and silver, I saw. As sis had.

Sis’s Honda suffered from cancer rust. This one was in good shape. A Sarah Lawrence College decal was on the back window.

I was taken back. I’ve never been to Sarah Lawrence College, but it’s been in pop culture in sufficient settings that I knew it’s located in New York city. How did that car with that decal end up almost all the way across the nation, in Ashland, Oregon?

I wondered about the car’s history. Was it a gift to a student freshman attending Sarah Lawrence College? Conversely, maybe they bought it for themselves after graduating and beginning a new job. Maybe, though, the car was located here, and a Sarah Lawrence grad bought the car and put their alma mater on the window.

So many questions. When I returned to the coffee shop, I did a distance check between here and Sara Lawrence College: 2901 miles via I80. Take note, though: there’s a lot of construction enroute between here and there, and toll roads. But traffic is light. It’ll take just under 42 hours if you drive straight there.

I wonder if the car would make it. I imagined it returning to its home, like salmon returning to their spawning waters. Then it all veered along science fiction lines and became a tale about cars gaining intelligence and becoming homesick for their first owners, and then seeking them out.

Guess I’ll call it “Tires & Wheels”. That’s the name of the two main characters: a red and white 1985 Chevy K10 pickup called Tires and a 1983 silver Honda Civic named Wheels.

You know what? I think it’s a love story as much as an adventure.

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Goldilocks

Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite type of weather?
View all responses

I’ve become a sunshine person. It wasn’t always like this. When I was young, I’d go out in weather that had others questioning my sanity. As I grabbed coats, shoes, whatever was needed, people would eye me with aghast expressions. “You’re going out in that?”

“Sure,” I’d answer, “it’s just a little rain.” Even if was a monsoon. Rain, snow, sleet, wind, nothing kept me in. Not even thunder and lightning. “Just going for a walk.”

I loved pitting myself against the elements. Felt like a hero out of a 19th century novel, just a rugged individual surviving against the elements. I thought myself quite heroic. Especially when I knew there was somewhere safe, warm, and secure to retreat to when I had my fill of being heroic.

Different these days. “Where’s the sun?” I ask. I search all of the sky, even though I know where it’s supposed to be. I know where east is. I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. I know those directions. Still, I sweep the sky in search of the sun, in case it got off its leash.

I don’t usually get an answer to my question about the sun’s location. Others always think it rhetorical. Probably because everyone knows where the sun is going. Not like it’s a wandering cat.

I used to be more indifferent to the sun. Now, I’m very picky. I don’t want it too bright, too hot, or too much. I have become Goldilocks sampling the three bears’ stuff.

I like a good warm sunshine. Not enough for sweat these days. Used to be — but you know. I don’t want to sweat. I want to be warm, with enough sunshine that wearing sunglasses make sense. Not that it really matters to me: I’m almost always wearing sunglasses outside. Sometimes I wear them inside.

“Why don’t you take off your sunglasses?” my wife will say. “You’re inside now.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look ridiculous.”

I shrug. I’m used to that.

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Saturda’s Wandering Thoughts

Just a pause to say that I’m grateful.

I’m grateful that the medical profession has developed the knowledge, insights, and treatment for what ailed me.

I’m grateful for a medical team who guided me safely through weeks of pain through surgery and recovery.

I’m grateful that I have a house where I can take a shower, and I’m grateful for the society, civilization, and people that built the systems which enabled me to take a hot, long shower this morning.

I’m grateful that I can walk normally again, free of pain.

There’s a lot to be grateful for in my life. I’ve always been pretty fortunate. I’ve taken a lot of it for granted. So, I thought this needed to be noted. I am grateful. I may not always sound like I am, but that’s just my nature.

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Medical Update

Happily, I can share a major change for me. My right compression sock has arrived.

TL/DR: my custom sock arrived for my right leg, ankle, and foot, freeing me from the bandages I’ve been wearing. I can bath normally again.

Longer story. As background, I had a few medical setbacks starting about six years ago. It began with an enlarged prostate gland which led to a obstructed bladder and an emergency room visit. A catheter was inserted up my johnson and I wore a bag on my ankle to collect urine for a few days. Of course, I was also put on Flomax.

Around the same time, I noticed some swelling and redness around my ankles. I didn’t know it then, but edema was developing.

I then suffered two broken bones in my left arm during a DIY effort about two years later. That slowed me down. My edema worsened. I’ve always been active. I had been averaging walking eleven to thirteen miles a day. Now that dropped way down. Six became a challenge.

The edema worsened. It was affecting the skin on my lower legs, ankles, and feet.

I then somehow ruptured my right peronous longus tendon. It snapped as I was crossing a street in Oakmont, PA, in May of last years. MRIs revealed it completely severed at my ankle. It’s supposed to wrap around under my foot, but nothing remained of it on my foot’s underside. Besides pain, it created major instability for me. And it slowed me more. My edema worsened.

Surgery was done for the ruptured tendon. The surgeon removed what was left of it and sewed up the end. My surgery wouldn’t heal. Now restricted to this boot to stabilize and strengthen my ankle, I was limited to bed rest for several weeks and reduced activity. The surgery wasn’t healing becaus the edema was worsening, causing my right ankle and foot to balloon.

It was a frustrating spiral.

Along the way, the medical ‘they’ decided that I seemed to be affected with lymphedema. In abbreviated explanation, my lymph fluid was not going up the lymph vessels and was accumulating in my calves, ankles, and feet, causing the swelling. Lymphedema massage therapy to stimulate the lymph fluid flow was set up. Three times a week, I went in and had my limbs from my calves down massaged and then wrapped in cotton, foam, and elastic bandages.

I’d also done some research about my lymphedema. Following advice and guidance from the net, I sharply reduced my sodium intake and heavily increased how much water I drank each day. I also reduced coffee and alcohol consumption, and added specific exercises to combat lymphedema to my daily routines. Part of that are self-massages to stimulate lymph fluid flow. See, from what I can tell, my body doesn’t process sodium well. Sodium is often used as a binding agent in processed food. The same thing was happening to me. Sodium is probably thickening my blood and thickening my lymph (or lymphatic — they express it both ways) fluid, driving the swelling. I drink more water to thin my blood and lymph fluid. I’m still walking six miles a day.

It all seems to have worked. I began my lymphedema therapy in Feb. Within a week, the left side graduated to the custom made compression sock. It was doing very well. I still wear that sock every day, washing it each night by hand. I’ve not had any swelling on that side. They will be providing me several more custom socks for it, and the right side.

My right side, which was the side of the surgery, also quickly improved. I no longer have swelling there, either. In fact, on Feb 19, my massage therapist put in the order for the right side’s custom sock. We expected it to arrive by the end of Feb.

But it didn’t. Concerned that it was lost somewhere, I called the company who provides the sock. They confirmed that they didn’t order it for me until the end of February, nine days after the order was put in. It seems that government bureaucracy slowed its progress, as it had to be approved by the powers before the order was created.

Anyway, the right side sock arrived yesterday. I get to go to physical therapy and have it put on today. And that means, a shower. See, the bandages could not get wet. So I was not allowed showers. I could wrap the bandaged limbs in plastic garbage bags and bath in a tub with my lower legs and feet outside the tub, but man, that wasn’t very satisfying.

So tonight, I shall shower. I suspect it will be long and hot shower, and very, very sweet.

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