Where The Hell Are We Going?

The heat and humidity are late arrivals this summer, but the merest intimations of them remind us that forms of suffocation pervade our lives these days. Air conditioning or a fan will help us deal with hot damp weather, but I don't have a clue what will help us deal with the national angst which drips from every news channel, newspaper, radio talk show, Potomac-Gas-Bag-Observers-And-Experts, and political compaign ad. All of it oozes around us and sucks our independent intelligence from us through sports, "reality tv," and the natural human tendency to ignore bad news.

Over the weekend I heard an expert point out that the taxes we pay from January through the end of April just about cover the interest on the national debt; military losses in Afghanistan exceed those in Irac; Iran pees on the leg of every western country as it pursues its nuclear strategies; the cost of food and fuel rises unabated; one presidential candidate doesn't seem to have a clue, and the other finds it challenging to provide specific proposals to move us forward.

It's not just curmudgeons like me who are cranky; it's everybody, and with good reason.

Most of us, and I include myself here, have not been paying attention to the fracturing of our constitution, the larcenous behavior of fat-cats (and a nearly invisible Vice-President), and a White House administration which has had as its most notable accomplishment ineptitude on an inter-galactic scale.

Even my conservative friends are counting the days, minutes, hours, and seconds until "this lot" departs in January, 2009. There is no guarantee that what follows will be better.

But it could hardly be worse....could it?

Playing Games for Better Health

About a year ago, I acquired a Nintendo Wii game system. My stated rationale was that I needed to have some sort of target practice game to help improve my vision after a bout of retinal surgery, but as any man knows, you invent all sorts of stuff to justify getting a new toy.

I had been to an educational technology conference a while back and spent part of one evening watching some adolescent boys and girls playing on several of the available "platforms." I realized then that I had completely misunderstood what today's games were about in terms of subtlety, strategy, and just plain fun. And I was marginally involved in a project which involved some applications of these technologies, and I thought finding out more about these things would be, well, fun - there's that word again.

After nine months of shooting balloons, targets, clay pigeons, pop cans (soda cans for those of you outside the American midwest) and aliens trying to capture miniature versions of a character whom I created and looks very like me, except much thinner [of course]), my scores increased, and I think my reaction time sped up some. Or I prefer to think so.

A couple of months ago, Wii came out with a game called Wii "Fit." It comes with a balance board which collects all sorts of data about the person using it, and it has games involving yoga, strength, aerobics, and balance. I managed to find one at a local store, took it home, and set it up immediately.

Two years ago I had a hip replaced, so there had been several years of gimping around before surgery but a good recovery thereafter. That said, I also felt that I wasn't walking as efficiently as I would like. So in the ten days of working with "Fit," I have focussed on games related to balance, along with some yoga. (I figure that in time, I'll begin messing around with the other two areas, but balance has been a big concern, especially after an icy winter year before last when I found myself on the pavement seven - count 'em - seven times.

In a short period of time, I have improved my balance both statistically and in the way I feel about my moving through my every day life. Even K has jumped on the balance board and we are now in direct competition, especially in the slalom race where she has led from the git-go. I am determined to catch up, no matter how long it takes.

No, I don't think that using this game alone will make me fit. But it will make me a healthier person in some important ways, and when I read that rehab centers are using the Wii for patients recovering from strokes, I understand. Just walking more efficiently has helped heaps.

The Wii may be a game system, but if you approach it in the right way, it will add new dimensions to your life which you may never have imagined.

I never expected to compete with K in the slalom, nor she with me, but this is seriously fun stuff, and good for both of us. You might want to park your talent for prejudging things and have a look. I'm very glad I did.

The Old Cottonwood Tree

A storm came through last night, and we had quite a lot of rain...a good old-fashioned midwestern rain; it went on for nearly an hour and then moved east to pester our neighbors in Wisconsin.

Islay the scottish terrier and I met the dawn well before six and started around the north end of the lake on our morning constitutional, she trotting companionably besides me in my semi-recumbent "geezer" trike, and I pedalling at the speed she requires.

Generally, we go half a mile on the bikeway/walkway next to the road to the first intersection before turning around to head back home. On the way back today, I was startled to discover that the giant cottonwood located a hundred yards from my house had snapped close to the base, and most of it was now resting in the water, about where the youngish and oldish fisherpersons often convene to take it the mighty walleye and bass which lurk in our small lake.

"Damn," I said to Islay, while I wondered why I had taken no note of this significant event on the first leg of our jaunt. I explained to myself that it was early, I was concentrating on Islay, and that my neural processing had not moved from the idling gear it had been in through the night.

That tree was the tallest one near the shore on the north end of the lake. It was mighty when I moved into my house thirty years ago, and it marked a good fishing spot where in midday, there was some shade; it also had become a home for the occasional bald eagle which stopped by to fish in his or her own way; it was, in every respect, a tree one just enjoyed looking at (or at which one enjoyed looking, if you prefer your usage of the classic sort).

I am not going to dig deeply into metaphorical jabs about the passing of mighty trees and how that might apply to those of us whose bark is beginning to peel back and whose center of gravity has shifted a bit. But I shall observe that when something has become part of your visual history every day for three decades, its sudden departure vibrates well past the eyes.

That landscape will never be the same now, and each of us who has driven, walked, jogged, cycled, or boated past that tree will miss it - our deciduous friend has departed, and a small part of us will mourn this change, as we mourn other changes in the daily rhythms of our lives.

We know about such changes, but that doesn't mean we have to like them.

And we don't.

It's About Poo, and I Don't Mean Winnie....

Islay the Scotty and I go out nearly every morning - I ride my semi-recumbent "geezer trike," and she trots along beside me, marking territory, trying to chase wildlife, and greeting two- and four-footed fellow travellers on the path next to the road.

Along our way, we pass by several refuse containers with dispensers of smallish plastic bags for use in cleaning up after one's dog. These are provided by the city of White Bear Lake, and those of us who occasionally forget to bring our own are grateful for this modest urban indulgence by our town.

Judging by our trip this morning, Islay and I conclude that there are others who live here who seem to believe that the droppings of their pet are valuable as fertilizer or as works of art or as a quadrupedal "gang sign" to others of that ilk. Or they believe that the "poop fairy" comes along in the dew of early evening and scoops up the remains and carries them off to some sweet smelling abode where they can reside for eternity. (The English seem to like the word "poo," better than the word I used a few lines ago, and I agree it has a touch more innocence and might be used in the mixed company of very good friends.)

Oddly enough, it appears that it is only owners of larger dogs who succumb to these fantasies about the impact of their forgetfulness. Once or twice, I could have sworn that a horse with diarrhea had come down our road several hours after a particularly large meal.

Yes, it's not a pleasant topic, but after a certain age, matters biological take on the same sort of fascination they did when you were three or four, and it simply can't be helped. Better to focus on the misbehavior of neighborhood dogs than anything which might be, shall we say, closer to home.