Daily Walk

Since the ice rink where I used to skate at lunch has closed for the season, I've slowly begun taking walks at lunch. Call it a nod to exercise, of which I get very little. It's been a good daily routine, and I've rarely missed it.

I take a left out of my office building, and walk across the Longfellow Bridge. In my routine, I walk to Boston on the west sidewalk, which is the narrower sidewalk. When I get to the other side, I walk back on the east sidewalk, which is the wider sidewalk. The views are gorgeous, even when the weather isn't ideal.

Mileage maps show the distance to be under a mile (.88 miles, to be exact). I get the whole thing done in about twenty to twenty-five minutes. Some days I'll walk briskly, but mostly I walk normally, affecting no rush. Sometimes I'll even stop along the way and take pictures.

The walk is good for the heart, supposedly, but I've been finding that it's good for the mind. The work that I do is quite immersing, so the walk clears my head. A little brain reset in the middle day. I recommend it, highly.

100 Things About My Wife

My wife put together a list titled 100 things about me. I found the list insightful and fascinating, and it made me feel nice and warm when I saw myself mentioned. I told her that I would have to put together my own list now. When she was putting her list together, she said she had pretty good momentum up through 70 items, but after that things became harder. Of course, now that her list is publicized, she now has thought of other things to add to it.

Let me point out two things of note on her list. Item 15: Her dedication to giving up smoking was one of the hardest things she's gone through, and one for which I'm immensely proud. Item 71: The match was Italy versus Spain.

Forty (YouTube)

Forty

Forty is the "new thirty." This means I should be feeling thirty, but I promise you, I don't feel thirty at all. I feel exactly forty. And it's not just physically feeling forty. It's emotionally feeling forty. There are people where I work who graduated from college in the past two years. Me? I am looking forward to my twentieth college reunion in the next two years.

While filling out a survey earlier in the week, I noticed that this would be the last week that I could check off the box next to 35-39. Starting tomorrow, I hit the 40-44 check boxes. Mental note: Stop filling out surveys.

Long ago, when I was in high school, or maybe even earlier, I had a vivid dream. I was driving a car, and it was a hatch back of sorts. I stopped in front of a house in the suburbs, and I got out, unlocked the hatch, and in the back were bags of groceries. I remember the hatch tugging my arm up, and I remember looking around. I woke up, not finding out where I was going with all those groceries.

Sometimes, when I find myself in that exact situation (which isn't often, since we don't have a hatchback, and I don't often get the groceries), I say "I'm living the dream." Tomorrow, on my fortieth, I'll have to remind myself of this. Often.

Seven

I took a peek at some of my daughter's homework the other day. The class is learning how to count coins. For some reason, this seems advanced to me. I don't remember knowing about coins and money until I was much older. Mia is somehow picking this stuff up.

Of late, Mia's been obsessed with her Nintendo (she's really become adept at Mario Kart DS) and WebKinz. I don't remember playing video games when I was her age, because they weren't invented yet. I certainly didn't know or remember passwords when I was her age, yet here is Mia, carefully instructing me not to reveal her WebKinz password.

I take her to school every morning that I am able. I've looked on at the parents of her classmates, and I sense the same feelings: warmth; pride; love. Raising a child is ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. One minute I'm blinking tears at her sweetness, and the next minute I find myself yelling at her to get dressed for school.

Mundane. Profound. And she's now seven.

AYT

A few months ago, I received my first text message spam. I thought somehow my wife learned how to text. But instead it was spam, so I deleted it. Over the next few days, the spam began to increase in frequency. I learned to mass delete the text messages on my cell phone, after quickly scanning their obvious subject lines. As the weeks went by, I was doing this more and more, until Jenn asked "what's up with your cell phone bill?" Sure enough, I was getting billed for each of these text messages. Every one of these messages took 15 cents out of my pocket, and after thirty or forty a week, it was beginning to add up. After trolling through Google, I found two sites ([1] [2]) that showed me how to turn off the ability to receive text messages. I did it, and now I'm spam-free. I'm sure when I get another phone, or my daughter discovers texting, I'll be inclined to turn this back on, but until then, just send me e-mail.

Pull Here. Hold Here.

I marvel at today's packaging technology. Tonight, for dinner, I had to open up a package of Sargento Cheese (shredded mild cheddar). The bag itself is sealed entirely, so normally I pull out some scissors to open the top. However, in the top-left corner of the bag was the direction: "Pull Here". Pulling there with one hand, I didn't see how that would help me at all. But then I saw another direction on the bag: "Hold Here." Holding there with my other hand, I saw immediately what had to be done. I pulled with my first hand while holding with my second hand, and the top-most part of the sealed package cut open cleanly. Dairy treasure! Of course the bag had its own resealable Ziploc. I stared at the bag like it was some magic trick, which I got right the first time. Marvelous.