Destuffication Time

This is hard. Really hard.

As a family, we are trying to lighten the load. That spare tire around the middle notwithstanding, this "lightening the load" is our annual/semi-annual destuffication process whereby, if it has not been used in a year, it must be sold, donated or thrown away.

My job includes my closet, the garage at the rent house, and the shed where we live now. I have already disposed of much of the rent house stuff, so this weekend was organize and destuffify the shed.  As you might expect, the shed and the garage include things that every man should own, even if he doesn't even know their purpose or how to use them.

Of course, I speak of tools.

In my 20+ years (what the + equals really isn't relevant) as an adult, I have collected a bunch of tools. Some from my dad, a few when my grandpas passed away, some I've bought and a few the last renters left behind when they vacated the house  prematurely. As a man, I find it difficult to get rid of my tools. They are a part of me at some deep, subconscious level. Some of them have sentimental value, some of them remind me of that time when I built that thing, some of them are just cool, and then there are a few I really want to learn what they are for and how to use them.

Here's an example of just one category of tools - socket wrenches:



From what I can tell, there are sockets from at least 14 different socket sets. As you might expect, not a single set is a complete one.

I do have one complete set. It's a 1" socket set (not pictured). Not terribly useful for fixing things around the house.

(If interested, it is available for sale here: http://dallas.craigslist.org/dal/tls/3291068406.html)

I have also collected a couple dozen flat head screwdrivers, a few mallets, a couple of hatchets, and more nuts, bolts and screws than I care to catalog.

Tools aren't the only thing I've collected. It seems I've gathered a few bicycles over the years. For a family of four, we now own eight bicycles. I love riding bikes. I ride my bike to work a few times a week. But, alas, some of them must go. So I will sell or donate three of them, maybe four. I had such great plans for each of the bikes I acquired, one each for everyone in the family, but the boys have outgrown several of them, three for me: a commuter, a racer and a mountain bike. (See, I really do have a hard choice to make.)

I could go on and on about the sentimentality of each and every thing I own, about the majestic and righteous plans for each little trinket and tidbit, but I know it is time to start shedding the stuff that weighs me down and keeps us in servitude to our stuff.

There is a Sufi saying, "to be in the world but not of it." This saying has its roots in Judaism and Christianity. This teaching even predates the Israelites in the Bible. The idea of being but temporary occupants of this earth is at the core of most spiritual traditions.

There is tremendous wisdom in this idea. Even the Jews of the Bible, and the Native Americans did not have concept of ownership of real property, only the stuff they could carry on their backs, never overly burdened by the things of this world.

In my own small way, through the process of destuffication, I am shedding just a few things that are "of this world."

A Rat in a Maze

I recently took up the task of doing the grocery shopping for our family. There have been bumps along the road (apparently I forget to buy the stuff we actually need), but overall, I have jumped into this household task with great enthusiasm.

However, my approach to grocery shopping is different than my lovely bride's. It seems I enjoy shopping at the "expensive" stores more than I enjoy minding the grocery budget. I have to admit, this is true. Yesterday afternoon, my grocery shopping experience was at Central Market. I invited my better half to come along for the shopping adventure, including an enticement to help me mind the budget.

She declined my invitation, "Sunday afternoon at Central Market? Are you crazy? I'd rather just go ahead and shoot myself now."

After describing the anxiety the large crowds and maze-like format of the store would bring, she asked the simple question, "Why would you want to do that?"

My response, "For you, grocery shopping is a chore. For me, it's an adventure."

Admittedly, she has done the heavy lifting with respect to grocery shopping for almost all of our marriage (if you count me ordering groceries online for home delivery). So I understand why it has become a chore, but nonetheless, off I went to Central Market on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

As I pulled up to the store, the streets were lined with cars that could not fit in the parking lot. The sense that this was going to feel like a crowded street market in Benghazi during a cease fire was starting to encroach on my psyche. Like a jungle cat stalking its prey, I spotted my target. A youngish fellow, not very heavily laden, leaving the temple of foodies with the look of desperation and yet, a renewed sense of hope that escape from the maze was finally at hand.  He slowly wound his way through the parking lot, almost purposefully trying to throw me off his trail, but like a Jedi battling a robot droid, I was able to easily predict his general destination. I stopped the car, put my blinker on to alert the other parking space carnivores that this prey was mine. I waited, but only a few moments as I suspect the fellow with the prized parking spot sensed his demise if he had failed to depart quickly.

Car parked, I girded myself for the great grocery store maze. The first section was the produce department. The aisles are narrow and the congestion of grocery carts, doddering old women, trendy hipster types and the guys stocking the area was almost enough to send me right back out into the parking lot. I think Central Market understands the anxiety that can be caused by the chaos of the first part of the maze, so they set up a beer tasting station. It caused a bit of a traffic buildup, but now steeled fro the rest of my adventure, I came upon the meat department.

My conversation with the butcher yielded a pleasant surprise, a sample of a couple of links of breakfast sausage. Score!

After the meats, the wine section. Another tasting station set up continued to take the edge off of the insanely crowded store as I meandered over to the grocery section. Surprisingly, I did not fill my cart with very much from the grocery section, but I did sample some dessert toppings, salsa and tortilla chips.

As you might imagine, after filling up on beer, then wine, then a few snacks, I was grateful for the coffee sampling station. A couple of shots of a bold roast transported me through the dairy section and the bakery, where I came across a couple of tasting stations for fresh baked bread and breakfast pastries.

Like the rat in the maze, though, I was near the end of my adventure. I know this because I came upon three more tasting stations. One with a deli ham and two with cheese. I secured my purchases from the deli, tasted the cheeses, and was greeted by a checkout lane usher to settle up my bill.

By the time I left Central Market, my appetite was satiated, I had sufficient libations to leave me feeling relaxed, and now it was my turn to be stalked by the next wave of people stalking exiting shoppers in hopes of finding a parking spot.

Maybe there is something to that "Circle of Life" thing.



 

Zombie Apocalypse Training Program. Update 1

In preparing for a Zombie Apocalypse I have a few main goals:

1. Fitness, especially cardio. This is why I spent the summer riding my bike to work and suffering through regular Vitamin D therapy sessions.


2. Nutrition. After hours of research, I have concluded that genetically modified crops are a catalyst for the development of Zombie Behavior Spectrum Disorder (ZBSD), so I have recently taken over the grocery shopping and cooking responsibility for my family. (Not everyone in my household is on board with my theories, yet, but they like my cooking.)


3. Weapons training. I have not yet started on this component of my preparedness, but with hunting season about to begin, I will have ample time to explore this facet of preparation.


4. Language. I suspect that the ZBSD will be limited to North America and Western Europe, with possible incursions into parts of East Asia. So, I have as part of my plan to learn Spanish. I may need to evacuate my family south of the border, so I figure knowing the language will be helpful. I wonder if Rosetta Stone will help me learn the phrase, "Don't shoot! I am not a zombie!"

This week, I started my Spanish language training.

Usted debe aprender las reglas para el apocalipsis.

 

When you gotta go…

Yesterday while traveling out of DFW Airport, I had a nice little breakfast at Pappasito’s Cantina. Breakfast included my third cup of coffee for the day, so I paid my bill and made a beeline for the men’s room.

Perhaps you saw or read about it in news reports like this one:

Main break disrupts water service at D/FW Airport

I can report that the situation in the men’s room was not a fragrant one.

Rules of the Road

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I witnessed something a couple of weeks ago that has weighed on my conscience since the event occurred. So, since it is bugging me, I must rant a bit to relieve this weight that is on my mind.

I took my dogs on a walk on a Sunday afternoon. I was walking along the lake shore near my home. The lake has a bike/walking path along most of the lake, however, there are a few segments where walkers, runners, cyclists and skaters must share the road with automobiles. I was walking alongside one of these segments when I see a young lady jogging toward me. She was running against automobile and bicycle traffic. A small pack of riders passed me, and as they passed the jogger, a rider wearing a Texas Tech cycling jersey called out to the jogger, “Wrong way!”

The cyclist had grey hair, a little bit of a belly, and was riding a bike that had to cost several thousand dollars. And he obviously was in charge of everything that goes on in and around that park.

Asshole.

Now for some facts that the Texas Tech jackoff is ignorant of.

Rule #1: Walk Facing Traffic. As early as kindergarten, I was taught to walk on the sidewalk, but when that was not possible, to walk facing traffic, so you could see cars coming toward you. Bicycles are to follow the same laws of the road that automobiles must follow

Nearly every walking/cycling path I have been on has had a notice that those on foot should be on the left, those on wheels should be on right.

Single track paths (typical of mountain biking/hiking trails) have a nearly universal rule in the U.S. that riders should go clockwise and walkers/hikers/runners should travel counter-clockwise.

There was a young lady killed a couple of years ago on another very busy trail in Dallas. It turns out that trail does not encourage walkers to follow Rule #1.

At the Carwash

We got back from a short vacation at the beach on Monday, so I went to get the car washed. I was tired from driving all day, then doing the things necessary to get back into the groove of our daily lives, so I paid for the full service wash. While I was waiting, a young lady wearing a white sundress, with a tattoo of Chinese characters along the top of her foot, sat directly across from me. This was my view:


It’s good to be home.

Day by Day, Driving to Death

Our family moved closer to school, closer to work, and, in general, closer to our lives. I knew it was draining us on a spiritual level, and now there is evidence the hours spent in the car were slowly killing us.

A study published this month in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine found that the longer people drive to work, the more likely they are to have poor cardiovascular health.

“This is the first study to show that people who commute long distances to work were less fit, weighed more, were less physically active and had higher blood pressure,” said Christine M. Hoehner, a public health professor at Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis and the study’s lead author. “All those are strong predictors of heart disease, diabetes, and some cancers.”

I stopped counting within about two weeks of moving, but I had calculated that my wife and I saved somewhere around 5 hours of driving per week, and that was before the kids even went back to school after the winter break. That was 5 hours to relax, to go on walks, to enjoy time with our family.

I honestly do not know how we survived before shortening our commute, and reducing the hours we spend in a car.