Geezer-Chick

BeWithing

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 15:23:00 +0000

My daughters tell me I’m high maintenance.

I don’t want gifts that can be bought at a store. I want time. I don’t care if the time is spent chatting in the living room, walking by the river, cooking in the kitchen, or reading aloud. I want what I call BeWithing.

I want it often. I resent it if I get the “it’s your birthday” or “it’s grandparents day” or “it’s valentines day.” I don’t want my bewithing to be scheduled, or feel like an obligation. I want a sense of randomness and spontaneity to my bewithing.

I bring this up because of all the talk I’m hearing and ads I’m seeing about Valentine’s Day, or VD for short. Once you call it VD, then you can claim it stands for Very Delicious, like the Japanese soda of the same name.

All the worry ahead of time and the discussion afterwards: was the day / date a success? Was the gift appropriate? Were the words spoken “romantic enough?” You’d think there was an absolute scale on which such things could be judged, but then why ask other people? Why compare notes as if it was a group quiz?

People who have set aside VD as a holy day, insist there are only a few admissible ways to celebrate: gifts of cards, candy, poetry, flowers and / or jewelry, and candlelight dinner. Men and women worry that they’ll do it wrong and their beloved may be disappointed.

VD leads to threats and fights. VD becomes more like a dentist appointment than an occasion for happiness.

Love isn’t about setting up expectations and then judging the success of the event.

Love is about enjoying the other person. If a lover feels like making or buying a gift for his or her beloved, that’s fine. But a specific date and a specific limited list of gifts is offensive to the very nature of love itself. Love is about appreciating the unique individual – not about trying to fit one’s self or one’s beloved into a mold.

A specific date is not an obligation, just an opportunity.

So, I say: Foo on Valentine’s Day.

Don’t wait. Enjoy your loved ones today. And if they show affection to you, enjoy that, too.

Spend time BeWithing.

At the Sales Pitch

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 16:57:00 +0000

I went to a Toastmasters meeting that was supposed to showcase a skilled speaker from out-of-town. It turned out to be a sales pitch, but the speaker did use some interesting techniques, that felt lifted from religious services. Lots of stand-up and sit down, hand clapping, shouting, call-and-response.

It even included the I-was-a-sinner-but-now-I’m-found motif. The speaker had been cast in a big budget Hollywood movie (which shall remain nameless) but because he was into drugs and gambling, he didn’t show up for work. When he finally “found salvation” he was living in his car, with barely enough money for food. I’ve heard it all before – but he wasn’ selling religion – he was selling self-improvement.

The high point of the talk for me was when he went around the room asking people why they weren’t making as much money as they’d like. He wrote everything down on a white board at the front of the room. Then he asked, “You know what all this is?”

Someone in the room called out “Excuses.”

The speaker countered. “It’s all B. S.”

I thought that was crude.

Then he asked, “Do you know what B. S. is?”

I thought that was even cruder. This was a room full of polite, serious people who had given up their evenings to learn speaking skills. Was he really going to insist that somebody say something embarrassing?

Finally someone timidly said, “Bull...”

Before he could finish, the speaker said, “B. S. stands for Belief System.”

We all laughed.

Then he made the key point of the evening – our beliefs can empower us or hold us back. We can change our beliefs.

This isn’t as trivial as it sounds. It reminded me of the insight I had when I read the Myers-Briggs test. http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/jtypes2.asp

The first time I read it, I just went through and marked the answers that made sense to me. But when I read it again, later, I had the exciting thought – all these answers are equally good – it’s just that I prefer some to others. And the next question was Why?

That got me thinking about the NLP (Neuro Linguistic Programming) research. If you see someone doing something you want to do, you can copy them at a muscular and linguistic level. That has been demonstrated to speed the learning process.

Self-improvement courses are led by motivational speakers. Nobody needs to take a 4-day seminar to find out what motivational speakers believe. The real question is – is there value in believing something different from what they believe? In the details – yes. I don’t think there’s any sense in everybody going around giving motivational seminars. But at core – trust that everybody really wants the same things – health, happiness, love, security (however they define these things) – yes, I see value in that attitude.

I wish our politicians did, too. Why vilify the other political party, when all we’re doing is disagreeing about how to get a country we can all be proud of?

Tits Forward

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 19:09:00 +0000

My gym is having a charity drive, but instead of donating money, we donate meters rowed on the rowing machine. The rowing machine company pays 2 cents for every 1000 meters our club rows. At first, rowing looked easy. Push with your legs, pull with your arms, take off your sweater because it gets caught in the machinery under the sliding seat.

I was building up a sweat and my arms were tired in less than 5 minutes. The woman next to me said, “Tits forward.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t lean back, and don’t hunch forward. Keep your tits pointing forward.”

I’d been doing about 30 strokes per minute and not getting very many meters for it. In 10 minutes, I was lucky to have rowed 1000 meters. 2 cents for 10 minutes is not good wages, even if it’s going into somebody else’s pocket.

The woman next to me demonstrated. Push with your legs until they are straight. Pull with your arms until the bar is at your belly. Release slowly with your arms until they are straight. Relax your legs until they are comfortably bent. Repeat. It’s a four-part motion. And there’s no need to go 30 strokes per minutes.

The meters keep accumulating while you slowly return to the starting position. They keep accumulating if you take a short break. It’s like coasting in the water. 20 strokes per minute is plenty to easily row 1000 meters in about 6 minutes. Still lousy wages, but at least I’m not tired and it feels like a pleasant workout.

The rowing machine company will be donating about $40,000 as a result of folks rowing at gyms all over the country. Today I rowed 2000 meters. 4 cents for charity. And my body is getting more coordinated.

At the Liberal Potluck

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 16:37:00 +0000

One of the first shows I remember watching on television as a teenager (my family was late to get technology) was one about a woman who infiltrated the Communist Party. This woman discovered that some of her neighbors were Communists. She reported them to the FBI and the FBI asked her to join so she could spy on them.

I’ve since read that at least half of the registered members of the Communist Party in the USA were FBI spies.

In the movie, this woman joined the Communists, went to their meetings and participated in their activities.

Boring.

They sat around drinking tea and addressing envelopes. They didn’t even get to hear speeches about what was so exciting about Communism that they should put up with these boring meetings.

At the end of the movie, there was a court trial and this bored woman named her neighbors who had drunk tea and addressed envelopes is if those activities were crimes.

When I joined the Democratic Party a few years later (you couldn’t vote until age 21 in those days) I told the folks at campaign headquarters that I wanted to participate in any activities that would help elect Democrats. So, I was invited to meetings where I drank tea and addressed envelopes. I got so bored, I addressed some envelopes in Cyrillic alphabet.

And when the election came around – here is real proof of my ancient origins – I went door to door in the ghetto offering to babysit children while their mothers went to vote.

They took me up on it. Free babysitting. I have no idea if they really voted. Some of the moms were gone a very long time and came back with groceries.

Last night I was invited to the neighborhood liberal potluck. I baked an extra loaf of whole wheat bread, special for the occasion, thinking that the group would be of mixed ages and young people these days don’t know how to make bread.

There were no young people at the meeting. And we didn’t address envelopes. We didn’t even get tea. Instead we were told about where to obtain forms to register voters and instructed on how to obtain signatures to get President Barack Hussein Obama on the ballot in Pennsylvania. This is kind of tricky. We’ll need to obtain voter registration sheets so people can make sure they sign the petition the same way they signed their voter registration forms. Most people forget if they used a middle initial or spelled out their middle names, but if you don’t sign the petition exactly the way you signed your voter registration, your signature will be disqualified. You also have to sign neatly or the whole page of 50 signatures can be disqualified. I don’t know what they do for folks who have had strokes and whose handwriting has changed.

The most interesting thing I learned at the meeting was that the woman from Obama for America had been to the White House and had her picture taken with the President. This was the highlight of her life. Her great grandmother had been born into slavery and now, she was in the White House with the President and his wife.

There were no talks about how exciting is to be a Democrat, or a liberal.

Soon I’ll be going door to door collecting signatures. Most of my neighbors will be happy to sign. Most voters in Philadelphia are Democrats. I won’t be offering to babysit.

Bicycle Conversations at the Grocery Store

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 23:06:00 +0000

The cart corral at my local grocery is convenient to the parking lot, but out-of-the-way if you park a bicycle beside the store. Wearing my helmet, sunglasses with rear-view mirrors, and carrying my pannier (bike bags) I spied a cart near the door, and walked briskly towards it.

An employee came out the door and started pushing it toward the corral.

“May I have that cart?”

“Sure. If you’ll tell me where you got those glasses with mirrors.”

I took off my glasses, and showed him how the mirrors were friction fit to the earpieces. You can put them on any glasses. The company only makes the left side mirror, but you can put one on the right if you put it on upside down and sideways.

Bike Peddler Take A Look Cycling Eyeglass Mirror (Original)

I got through the store without many more questions. But when I tried to buy lake perch in the fish department, I learned that the store only gets them for about 6 weeks a year – in the spring. So why did I want them? Lake perch is a comfort food for me. My grandfather used to take me out in his boat on what we called Lake Grampie in Chetek Wisconsin. He’d catch a fish, come right home, clean and cook it. Sometimes my grandmother cooked it. Either way, fresh lake perch means time with my grandparents, morning glories on the laundry line, when the sun comes up, watching the neighborhood porcupine, boating on a freshwater lake, all is right with the world. I couldn’t even get a frozen perch. So, I bought some tuna, that the man behind the counter assured me was fresh caught.

At checkout, the saleswoman asked if my pannier were waterproof.

“That’s why I bought them. That and the fact that they have no zippers to break.” She’d been doing research on the web and come to the same conclusion I had that waterproof pannier are worth the extra cost. We discussed the merits of different sized bags. She wanted one that her laptop could fit inside. She concluded that the one I bought would do the job she needed. I told her if she needs something bigger, to check the Jandd brand. They’re available with waterproof covers, or completely waterproof models. They hold a grocery bag full of stuff, but they cost about twice the price of the one I bought.

I got the Axiom Monsoon model.

Axiom Monsoon LX Pannier Set (Yellow/Black)

Then she asked if I wanted to donate my bag refund.

“No,” I said. “I just bought these pannier. I want them to pay for themselves. They’ll last me about 20 years, and a nickel each time I use them will just about break even.”

Biorhythms and Interval Training

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 15:15:00 +0000

I was feeling good about my interval training on the elliptical machine. I’d been doing 4 intervals of speed-up in 12 minutes and feeling energized when I got off the machine.

Then, a week ago, I did 3 intervals and I felt tired. My thoughts went into loops. Am I catching a cold? Am I getting weak? Is something seriously bad going on with my health? After all, a few days before, I’d gotten a slipped disc in yoga. Maybe my body was in a slump. Waaaah!

I’ve worked too hard, too long, in far too many ways, to let that happen. But it was happening anyway. I felt tired. Me. After only three 30-second speed-ups.

Then I remembered something from the 70s. Biorhythms. Everybody has a cycle of bad days and good days. Here’s a website with a free calculator: http://www.facade.com/biorhythm/

Sure enough – I was at the bottom of my physical cycle.

Okay. I could expect my body to be stronger in a few days.

And PostureDoc, a channel I subscribe to on YouTube, uploaded a video about interval training: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKiVaJk4eYw

He made the point that I shouldn’t do a 2nd interval until my heart rate has returned to my normal range. That isn’t necessarily 2 minutes, like I’d been doing. The elliptical machines at my gym has a 50 second delay before displaying the heart rate. So, during the speed up, my heart rate may look like it’s staying at about 116 bpm. Then a minute later, it will jump up to 148 or higher. So, it may take 3 minutes to get back to my normal range. And even then, I may still have an oxygen debt.

I noticed that after each subsequent interval, it takes a bit longer to return to my normal heart rate. But if I wait for it, I can do 4 intervals even at the bottom of my biorhythm cycle. It may take longer that 12 minutes, but what’s a few minutes when the goal is a lifetime of an active body?

Good Deeds?

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 16:44:00 +0000

When possible, I like to connect people I think could help each other. Often it works out. I recommended Young PT to a computer client who damaged her rotator cuff. I share recipes and baking samples with neighbors.

And I thought it would be helpful when one of my computer clients had outgrown her computer, to suggest she donate it to another client who runs a non-profit and could use another computer.
Used computers aren’t worth much on the resale market, so freedom from the hassle of selling the old machine plus a tax write-off can be a good deal.

First the non-profit client had health problems and had to put off picking up the old computer. Then she decided she wanted some program that can be downloaded from the web installed before picked it up. I donated that. Eventually, the transfer took place.

My client contacted me. The non-profit hadn’t sent her a donor letter to use for her tax write-off.

I contacted the non-profit. The non-profit woman was having problems with the used computer and thought it wasn’t worth much. She said she would write the donor letter for a $50 value machine. I sent her links to the tax revenue websites showing that it is not up to her to place a value on the donated item. She only needs to write a letter thanking the donor for a computer.

This turned into a heated argument in which I wound up telling her that if she did not write the donor letter without an estimated value for the computer, I would never suggest anybody donate anything to her again.

She agreed to write the letter.

Months went by. No letter.

She said she writes all the letters for the year in January. Weird, but okay – the letter will arrive before tax time.

The first week of January, my client contacted me. Where was her donor letter?

This time I sent an email to both of them, reminding the non-profit woman that she had promised to send the letter and because of the promise I expect her to do it.

A few days later, the non-profit woman emailed me back that she had written the letter.

Whew!

No Leverage in Yoga

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 23:09:00 +0000

I’ve done spine twists, sitting sideways on a chair, using the back of the chair for leverage to increase the twist for over 30 years. For over 30 years, I’ve enjoyed the warmth along my spine after a good twist. Until my last yoga class.

We sat in our chairs. We twisted. Then it was time to put the chairs away and do floor work. I couldn’t lift the chair. I couldn’t even stand straight. I spent the rest of the class time, doing every relaxation (there really is no such thing as stretching – muscles don’t stretch, but they do elongate when relaxed) I could remember, trying to straighten my spine.

The teacher offered to call the fire department to carry me downstairs. I was afraid that being lifted would hurt worse than anything I could do to myself. So, I continued to try relaxing my muscles in different positions.

Eventually, I was able to stand, and walk slowly, leaning to one side. Two hands on the banister, and I got down the stairs, thinking NOT AGAIN. This has be the worst year yet for accidents.

When I got home, I looked up yoga twists, hoping to find healing instructions. Instead, I found this on Yoga Journal.

A couple of tips for any twisting pose:

Elongate your spine by lengthening your torso as much as possible before coming into a twist. Think of reaching the crown of your head to the sky. Depending upon the twist, you may be able to press your hand into the ground to help with this action. A slumped over position limits your rotation.

Initiate the twist from the abdominal muscles rather than forcing a twist by using leverage. This will ensure you reach your edge safely.

Leverage is supposed to be useful in all areas of life. But NOT in Yoga. NOW they tell me! Okay, maybe yoga teachers have mentioned this throughout the years and maybe I didn’t hear it because I was having too much fun. But, now I know, and I will protect myself in the future.

And on YouTube, I found http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wYM64_1heo which teaches two good exercises to do for injured discs. And I found instructions for how to use ice. I didn’t know that ice works best if you leave it on for 15 minutes or until the area is numb.

Small Exercise is Wonderful

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 16:19:00 +0000

I’ve been taking Feldenkrais classes at my gym for about a year now. The teacher is always telling us, you don’t have to make the biggest motion you can. You can make it small. You can even imagine yourself doing it.

I thought this was for the less fit students, so they would at least try. It never occurred to me, that these minimizations could help me. I’m strong. I’m able to relax my muscles. I’m working on becoming more fit. Why go small?

This morning, I woke up with an ouchy low back ache. I decided to try meditating with body relaxation. Translation – meditate lying on my back. Breathe into parts of my body, starting with my toes, then the bottoms of my feet, then the tops of my feet, then my ankles, working all the way up to the top of my head. I did this for about an hour. I still hurt.

My husband woke, and he wanted to meditate lying in our bed. I did not want to get out of bed. My low back still hurt, and it was only 5 AM. I wanted to exercises my low back, but not disturb my husband’s meditation.

I decided to try very small motions with my low back, side to side, tilt and reverse. I decided to try making them smaller and smaller. The pain increased each time I tilted to the left. I decided to play with that. Smaller and smaller.

Suddenly, something went *pop* – just a very small adjustment. The pain level went way down. I continued doing small repeated movements, the kind that bore me in Feldenkrais class. But this time I was curious – what was moving more easily? Where was I still stuck?

I didn’t find anything, but when my husband finished meditating, I was able to get up with very little pain and by the time I’d gone for a walk, I was almost comfortable. Small is powerful!

Men Think They Know Everything

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 15:42:00 +0000

Men think they know everything.

Boys, too.

I read once that a man will think he’s qualified for a job if he has 40% of the required skills. A woman will think she’s not qualified if she has 90% of the required skills.

I wondered how young this discrepancy started. Certainly the few boys who still talked to me in junior high and high school didn’t have that attitude.

But that’s the key – most men were boys who wouldn’t talk to me.

A next door neighbor boy had a major case of braggadocio when I was in elementary school. He had blue eyes and he insisted loudly that I was an inferior being because I have brown eyes. Only people like him were worthwhile. He was better at aiming a snowball than I was, and that was proof.

Somebody gave him litmus paper. That’s the pale pink paper that turns pale purple when you touch it to a bar of wet soap or wet baking soda. And it turns pink again if you pour vinegar on it. He insisted it was dangerous. He, the brave superior being, went into a room all by himself and made the paper change color. I was so disgusted with him that I figured he had some purple paper in that little room and he had just walked in with the pink paper and walked out with the purple one.

I didn’t think of this neighbor boy as a typical boy. I thought of him as an irritating brat.

Then I had a conversation with my 6-year-old grandson. I’d brought my jump rope to give to him and his sister. My grandson greeted me, “I know all about jump rope.”

This sounded odd. I’ve been jumping rope for years, I’ve witnessed jump rope competitions. I can do a few tricks (okay – not with my new hip) – correction, I could do a few tricks when I had my original equipment. Anyway, I would not say that I know all about jump rope. And here was a 6-year-old boy claiming that he knows all about jump rope.

I handed him the rope and asked him to show me what he could do.

He didn’t know how to spin it. He moved his arms from the shoulders, instead of using his wrists and forearms. He couldn’t jump the rope even once.

He gave his sister a turn. She quietly took the rope, spun it and jumped successfully. No bragging. No talking. Just jumping.

I asked my husband, the alien, what would have happened to him as a child if he’d bragged about something he couldn’t do. He said the other kids would have teased him mercilessly, the coach would have lectured him. His father would have insisted that he speak modestly, rather than brag. But then, my husband is the sort of male who is willing to talk to me.

Something else is going on in our culture. Somehow – very young – boys are getting the idea that they know more than they do, and are more competent than they really are. While girls are learning to do things, boys are learning to brag.

Now if girls can learn that boys are just bragging, maybe true communication can start.

Learning About Time

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 22:01:00 +0000

One of my grand twins lost her shoe in a pile of leaves. The shoe hunt, accompanied by much arguing and complaining lasted about two minutes.

“That took at least an hour,” said one of the twins.

“Do you have a watch?” I asked.

“I don’t want people to ask me what time it is,” she replied.

At this point I almost changed the subject from the value of estimating time to the value of helping others. But my grand twins are experts at changing the subject, so I didn’t play along.

Her mother cut in, “She has one. She just doesn’t wear it.”

“If you wear it, and look at it frequently, you’ll get a feel for time,” I said. “Time does have a feel.”

“Time goes slower when you’re bored,” said my grand daughter.

“It may feel like it,” I said. “But it’s useful to have a feel for how much time is really passing.”

“It felt like more than an hour.”

“Do you think it was really more than an hour?”

“You just don’t get it!” insisted my 10-year-old grand daughter.

Where have I heard that before? From my children. From my own mouth. But never about time.

I used that line when I felt I was being treated like a younger child than I really was. In this situation, I was treating my grand daughter as if she was more mature than she wants to be. I wanted the responsibilities and freedoms of maturity from an early age. I don’t know what she wants.

Having a sense of how much time is really required for a job, how much time is really passing when we’re bored and when we’re enjoying is one of the key tricks to getting work accomplished. This is the gift I’d like to give my grand children – the ability to accomplish their projects.

I surfed the web and found this website:

http://www.education.com/magazine/article/Teaching_Kids_Time/

The authors have several well-thought-out activities for helping children learn to estimate time passing and time anticipated.

• Make a list of favorite activities and then place them in the appropriate category: one second, one minute, or one hour.

• Compare lengths of time to driving distances: "We will stay at the party for one hour. That’s about as long as it takes us to drive to the zoo."

• Make a chart with daily schedules: "At 12:00 we will have lunch. At 3:00 we’ll leave for baseball practice."

• Challenge your child to pick up his room within a certain amount of time. Get him thinking about time by asking him how many minutes he needs to get the blocks on the shelf. "Could you fold all the shirts and put them in the drawer in ten seconds?"

• Make paper chains to count down the days until an upcoming vacation or holiday. Try to remove the link at the same time each day to illustrate the notion of a 24 hour day.

This is one of the problems with long-distance grandparenting. Somebody told my daughter about this blog. It is anonymous for several reasons. One of them was to be able to rant about my family without getting my family angry. My daughter may read this. I don’t know if she’ll try these suggestions because they look useful or if she’ll ignore them because I suggested them.

I know my daughter is good at organizing her time. I’d like to think she learned it from her dad and me. We both accomplish a great deal with our time. People frequently ask us how we get so much done, manage to show up at agreed times, and finish our projects ahead of schedule.

I think having a feel for how much time various activities take is key to effective use of time. Neither of us can multi-task (unless you count running the washing machine, while writing my blog.)

I hate feeling like the stereotypical senior – worrying that today’s young people aren’t living up to my standards. I live on the opposite coast from my grand twins. I have no say in how they are raised. I may as well worry about life on Mars. It is not a good use of my time to worry about them. But that’s what my blog is for – a place to rant and get it out of my system.

Exercises in telling time for grandparents:

Make a list of favorite activities and schedule them into the week. Mean it – really make time for them, and really do them.
Compare lengths of time for various activities – shopping on the web, vs going to the mall. Do I want to get out of the house, or do I want a specific item?

Make a chart of the day’s activities, and how long they will take. Make sure to include time to exercise and to read, or do something I enjoy.

Challenge myself to get a chore I dislike done quickly.

Include doing something new in my schedule – trying a new recipe, a new exercise, visiting a new local exhibit. Doing something different is a proven way to help keep track of time.

And cut time-wasters out of my life – time wasters like worrying. If I can do something, great. If I can’t then worrying accomplishes nothing.

Teaching Science to the Unbelievers

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 16:04:00 +0000

I was sitting here thinking about how to write about my cousin who thinks infrared light is as unlikely as levitation, when my friend Miriam sent me this link:

http://motherjones.com/politics/2011/03/denial-science-chris-mooney

I teach science and as part of my ongoing propaganda to lure my grandchildren to the science side of the political debates in this country, I prepare simple scientific demonstrations for each of my visits. For Thanksgiving, we had two nights of celebration, so I prepared two demonstrations.

The first night, we made icosahedrons (20-sided rounded shapes) using 20 construction paper circles and glue sticks. My cousin wasn’t there that night or perhaps he’d have thrown the paper circles in the air and insisted that there is no point in making spheres because the world is flat.

But he was there the second night, when I demonstrated that he human body makes infrared heat.

The Mother Jones article says, “we have other important goals besides accuracy—including identity affirmation and protecting one's sense of self—and often those make us highly resistant to changing our beliefs when the facts say we should.”

I’m not sure what sense of self my cousin has about infrared heat. I once tried to teach a young woman that when she got into the bathtub, her body took up space and makes the water rise, just like when she puts dishes in the sink to wash them. She insisted that the water does not rise when she gets in the tub. She was a slender young woman, but nobody is that skinny. My cousin’s handshake is cool, but it’s not room temperature.

This youtube video shows how useful infrared light can be and detected as heat:

http://youtu.be/2--0q0XlQJ0

My demonstration asked my grandchildren (and anyone else who wanted to participate) to shake their hands until they feel puffy. When they put their warmed hands about ½ an inch apart, each hand can feel the heat of the other hand, without touching.

My cousin refused to participate and insisted we were all imagining things. I asked him to put out one of his hands and put my hands about ½ an inch away from his on both sides. He insisted he couldn’t feel anything and then pretended I was levitating him and stood up.

Then he told my grandchildren that they go to a science emphasis school and they shouldn’t believe anything I tell them.

The Mother Jones article quotes Leon Festinger, "A MAN WITH A CONVICTION is a hard man to change. Tell him you disagree and he turns away. Show him facts or figures and he questions your sources. Appeal to logic and he fails to see your point."

No wonder we have debates about vaccines and global warming whether the Earth is a sphere.

Most of the issues of scientific debate don’t affect our daily lives. No decisions I make would vary if the Earth were flat, or if life as we know it is a result evolution or creationism. But the mindset of experiment and discovery has inherent value. I’d like to pass that on to my grandchildren. The question is – how do I interest my cousin, and in parallel, the adult population?

Random Acts of Literacy

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 16:07:00 +0000

Another short blog this week. I follow Jane Yolen on Facebook. She introduced me to http://randomactsofliteracy.weebly.com/

this site suggests that people give books to strangers that they meet in public places.

Usually I resell mine or trade them for credit at my local used book store. This idea makes sense. People usually talk to me as we wait for buses, ride on buses, wait in line at the grocery store. I usually have my backpack or bike saddle bag with me. It's only a few ounces extra to carry. If the person seems like they might like what I've just finished, giving it to them is a great idea that I can afford.

Vitamin C Raises HDL Cholesterol

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 16:42:00 +0000

My husband, the alien, has always had low HDL in his blood. His doctors have told him to exercise more. He rides his bicycle to work, he goes to the gym with me every morning, he helps in the garden. In the summer, he swims after work. It would be hard to find a man who does more exercise.

His doctor tells him to eat more fresh fruits and veggies and whole grains. I haven’t served white flour or white rice for over 40 years. We have fresh fruits and veggies (both cooked and raw) at every meal.

I thought – maybe aliens just have low HDL. But both his parents died in their 60's, and I have plans for him in his 90's and possibly beyond.

He thinks I’m nuts that I subscribe to health-nut newsletters. They have me doing stretching exercises on airplanes and in movie theaters. They have me eating nasturtiums and marigolds. They convinced me to switch from ubiquinone (co-q10) to ubiquinol. They introduced me to interval training during exercise. And they convinced me to pay attention to Linus Pauling’s work with Vitamin C.

We started taking time release Vitamin C about a month ago. My husband’s latest HDL test shows him in the normal range for the first time in his life. He wondered aloud what he’d been doing differently. The only thing I could think of was the Vitamin C.

He’d heard of Vitamin C to prevent colds, heal bruises, and reduce the chance of heart disease. But he’d never heard of it raising HDL. You’d think if it was that easy, his doctors would have suggested it to him.

So, I surfed the web, and found The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition
It published an article:
High plasma vitamin C associated with high plasma HDL- and HDL2 cholesterol
http://www.ajcn.org/content/60/1/100.abstract

Further research uncovered more links to USDA and PubMed. This is not an unusual alien response. It’s well documented. Since high HDL is associated with a decreased risk of coronary heart disease, such an inexpensive, low-time-consuming answer deserves more publicity.

Voting for a Republican

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 22:02:00 +0000

I just voted for a Republican. I don’t usually do that without a lot of research, without being disappointed in the Democratic candidate. But this time, I did it on impulse.

The day before the election, I received many robo-calls. Technically, according to the law, these recordings are not supposed to start unless I answer with at least two words. I answer with one word. Most of them start up anyway. A few tie up my line with silence.

One of these was a recording telling me Not to cast my vote for this Republican. That I’d be wasting my vote and besides this man was dangerous. He had endangered the lives of some undercover police officers by shooting his gun into the air.

My instinct was a – vote for this guy – he’s got somebody rich frightened.

How is anybody supposed to recognize an undercover police officer? They’re in disguise – probably dressed like drug pushers or prostitutes. And, while I don’t think it’s cool to shoot a gun into the air to frighten drug pushers and / or prostitutes (especially not prostitutes), I don’t think it endangers anybody.

I did some web surfing about this candidate. If he wins, he’ll be the first Asian-American ever elected to the city council. He’s a war hero (maybe that’s where the gun stuff comes from.) He seems like a decent guy.

I’ve seen signs supporting him in Chinatown. I’ve also seen signs asking City Council to remove bike lanes from Chinatown. I ride a bike. I WANT bike lanes everywhere. I hope this candidate won’t vote to get rid of my bike lanes.

Online I found another interesting tidbit. A City Council member whose office has regularly failed to return my calls is a likely candidate for President of the City Council. He’s a Democrat. If this Republican candidate wins, he’ll probably vote for somebody else – anybody else. That could be good for the city.

I wasn’t going to vote for a Republican for City Council this year. But thanks to that nasty recording, I voted for him, and so did my husband, the alien.

Life Before Death

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 14:47:00 +0000

Just a short blog today. I came across this website: http://lifebeforedeath.com

We're all going to die. We do not need to die in pain. But many of us will. Advocate now so we'll have options when our time comes.

Life Before Death

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 14:47:00 +0000

Lock the Doors, Turn Out the Lights

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 14:00:00 +0000

Tonight is Halloween. When I was the age to trick or treat, I knew the neighbors whose homes I would visit. We talked for weeks about what costume I would wear, what tricks I would do, and what sorts of treats I would like. One year, an elderly man on my block promised me he would stand in his hands. I had mastered standing on my head, but standing on my hands seemed much harder. When I got to his door, I reminded him of his promise. He bent over, put his hands on the floor and then put his feet on top of his hands. “That’s cheating!” I said, indignantly. He laughed.

When I was finally old enough to be visited by trick-or-treaters, I spent the day making popcorn balls, which had been one of my favorite treats when I went door-to-door. My neighborhood children refused the treats. They said they weren’t allowed to have home-made food. Only store-bought wrapped candies. I asked if I could talk to their parents. It seemed to me that if they trusted me to feed their children at all, they should trust me to make popcorn balls without razor blades or rat poison. But their parents weren’t with them. They left, eager to get to a house with candy in wrappers.

The next year, I bought wrapped candy. That year, children I didn’t know came to my door. They complained that I’d bought little candy bars. They wanted regular sized candy.

I like my neighborhood children. I like seeing them in costume having a good time. I like making popcorn balls. I do not like a bunch of begging children I don’t know demanding commercial products.

I now celebrate Halloween by locking my doors, turning off my lights and going to bed early. I’ll see my neighbhood children at a block party where they aren’t afraid to eat my home made goodies.

Am I "The Man?"

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 20:50:00 +0000

In the middle of a discussion of Occupy Wallstreet on Facebook, I found myself defending my generation. One opponent insisted that those of us in our 60's or “from the 60's” - odd how that’s mostly the same group – have become “the man.” This woman stated that we’re not green enough to claim any credibility.

I found myself listing my “green creds” and when I looked them over – they’re not just “green creds” they’re also the marks of being an eccentric geezer. I have a dryer. But I prefer to hang my clothes on the line. The neighborhood store sells whole wheat bread, but I prefer to make my own from scratch. I’d rather mend my clothes than go shopping for new ones. I like hardcover books which I often buy used. I compost my kitchen leftovers. I ride my bike or take the bus, when I could easily check out a car from the local car co-op. I grow my own herbs and veggies. I use herb medicine in preference to prescription drugs. I’m definitely someone from the previous century.

But here I am on Facebook, using complex computer skills. I’m not retired. I belong to a gym, which I visit almost daily. But the young folks have written me off as “the man.”

It’s an extreme case of “Don’t trust anybody over 30.” I admit – my generation started it. But at the same time, we did respect our elders if they took the time to explain things to us from their point of view instead of just bossing us around as if we were automatically going to copy them.

I remember seriously considering trying LSD. The older woman I talked to said she understood why I might want to have a spiritual experience “the easy way” or see something trippy, or enter an altered state of mind. But, she said, she knew smart students who had bad trips. She asked me if my curiosity was worth risking a bad trip. No lecture. No orders. I decided not to take LSD. Not even to try marijuana or cigarettes. I didn’t need “the easy way.”

I have had spiritual experiences because I meditate. I have had artistic experiences – again because I meditate. And I have learned to respect opinions from anybody who will discuss them without claiming to have the absolute truth on his or her side.

When I was in my teens and 20's “the man” thought he had all the answers and I thought his answers made no sense. Now, I’m being called “the man.” Something in me says “don’t deny it.” If I have become “the man” my denying it won’t change anything. And if I have not, my denying it won’t convince anybody.

I’d like to think I’m something new – “the woman.” I have yet to define what that is.

Jumping Rope and My New Hip

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 19:37:00 +0000

Jumping Rope was one of my favorite activities in elementary school. I did the research. It’s low-impact. Not much different from jumping on a trampoline which I do all the time. So, I bought one of those new-fangled plastic jump ropes that is much easier to spin than the old rope and wooden handle model I grew up with.

The first thing I noticed is that I’d forgotten how to jump rope. I didn’t know the body could forget such things. It never forgets how to swim, or spin a hula hoop or ride a bike. So, I watched YouTube videos on how to jump rope. Ah – yes – let it slap the ground, then jump. Slap, jump, slap, jump, slap, jump...

The barometer was down. Pain shot down my thigh and up my butt. And throbbed deep inside where my leg meets my pelvis.

I hurt when I rolled over in bed. I hurt going up and down stairs. I hurt just going for a nice walk.

A few days later the barometer was up, and I felt better. I jumped some more. It rained some more. And I hurt some more. I blamed myself for overdoing it in gym class. We’d been doing step work.

But the pain kept getting worse. I emailed my surgeon. He wrote back that it looked like back problems to him. I looked up the symptoms on the web. Not a good idea. From that, I’d have concluded I had sciatica. But sciatica is supposed to have a slow onset and not be affected by the barometer.

I went to my chiropractor. He asked what I’d been doing. I told him about my new jump rope. How much fun it was. He suggested I stop – I have plenty of other exercises I also enjoy.

My leg is feeling better. My jump rope is going to a new home.

Balls are for Sale

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 18:59:00 +0000

I saw a quote recently that read, “People keep saying I should grow some balls. Why? Testicles are delicate and easily hurt. What they really need is to grow a vagina. Vaginas are built to take a pounding.”

Since menopause, I’ve developed a sneeze and leak problem. Yes, I’ve bought panty liners. But there has to be an exercise to fix this problem. I tried kegels. I got really good at squeezing that plastic vaginal insert. But along comes a sneeze and I still leak.

Off to the web. Where I learned that ben wa balls, which I’d heard of as a sex toy that didn’t look like much fun, are supposed to strengthen the necessary muscles to prevent sneeze-and-leak. The idea is to put these things in my vagina, and get strong enough to keep them in while hurrying up and down stairs 4 times. Beginners just have to stand still with their feet hip-width apart. And even experienced users are advised to keep underpants on at all times.

So, I ordered a pair. They come in a fancy velvet-covered jewelry box with a piece of foam rubber inside which has little holes cut out of it to hold the little metal balls. This item costs $15 plus shipping. And it’s just a pair of 3/4" spherical stainless steel ball bearings.

For about $18, Amazon sells 10 of them. Stainless Steel 440C Ball, Grade 100, 3/4" Diameter (Pack of 10)

Okay, I can’t use 10 of them, but I could give them to friends and female family members.

So far, I’ve managed to stand still and keep them in. I even made it walking at a somewhat-slow speed down and up my stairs once. I tried for twice, but one of the balls fell out. Supposedly anybody can master this in 6 weeks. 5 weeks and 6 days to go. This is an experiment. Balls for women are tough.

Peer Gynt and Cats and Mice

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 20:20:00 +0000

Here's Anitra's Dance
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55lZ3LE7tHg

My co-author gleefully told me, “That’s cartoon music. It’s what they play when the mice sneak up on the cat.”

Cartoons as the vehicle for great music. Who’d a thunk it?

Peer Gynt and Cats and Mice

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 20:18:00 +0000

My co-author and I have some overlapping cultural experiences and some that seem completely detached from each other’s worlds. I love Peer Gynt. The play, the music, the imagination and even the debate about whether the story “really happened” or was all in Peer’s head after he got knocked unconscious by that rock.

My co-author has no idea what the play is about and claimed to me that she had never heard the music.

So, I sent her the links to two of my favorite pieces:

Hall of the Mountain King? I think you'll recognize this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRpzxKsSEZg

">Hall of the Mountain King

Here's Anitra's Dance
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55lZ3LE7tHg

">Anitra's Dance

My co-author gleefully told me, “That’s cartoon music. It’s what they play when the mice sneak up on the cat.”

Cartoons as the vehicle for great music. Who’d a thunk it?

Stress Test

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 16:50:00 +0000

First – the good news. I got to wear my own shirt for the stress test. The woman who attached the stickers tried to talk me out of it. “You’ll get sweaty. You’ll get gel on it.” I rode my bike to the stress test center, so I was already sweaty. Sticker Lady scrubbed me down with what felt like sand paper to get it all off before pasting on the stickers with the little metal buttons. Then she had me lean onto her to smash them on firmly. I told her I was glad to have a female doing this. She told me they make sure of that.

Note: this is a place where they have men help arrange your breasts in the mammogram machine. And as soon as I was stickered up, a man came in to do the sonogram, and another man came in as the doctor to warn me that exercise has its dangers.

Sonogram Man slimed me up and got pre-exercise echos. He kept asking me to hold my breath in or out while he took them. I do yoga. It’s not hard to hold my breath. He told me that as soon as I got off the treadmill I was to get back on the table in the same lying-on-my-left-side position so he could get a post exercise echos.

Then they had me get on a treadmill. I did not know how to use the thing. I tried walking on it, and the thing moved so quickly that my steps were short. After about 6 minutes of this, Sticker Lady, who was now watching the heart chart as it printed, told me to let my leg move with the walking belt. This would give me a longer stride and feel more comfortable.

Every three minutes the machine got faster. After about 1 minute on level 3, my leg with the new hip started to feel sore, and I felt tired, so I asked them to stop the test. Sticker Lady seemed surprised, but I insisted. She’d said I could stop it any time after my heart rate got to 133, and it was over that. They made a note that I wasn’t short of breath. Apparently most people let the test go to that point. They wrote down that my reason for quitting was fatigue. I guess they can’t just write tired.

I got on the table. Sonogram Man rushed over, like it was an emergency. This time it was hard to hold my breath. After exercise I breathe more deeply than before.

It turns out I’m a freak of nature. My heart pumps the same amount before and after exercise. The doc had never seen this before. Apparently everybody else on the planet pumps more after exercise.

No wonder I always was the kid nobody wanted on their teams. No wonder I always felt like any physical activity was harder for me that all the other kids. No wonder I had to practice for hours every day just to get a C in Physical Education. And no wonder I continue to exercise daily – it’s a lifelong habit. And no wonder, I’m suddenly one of the most fit people my age. Gym was never work for everybody else, so they didn’t have to exercise in order to do it. They didn’t develop the habit. Finally an explanation! It really was easier for everybody else.

Of course the doctor didn’t see it my way. He wants to run more tests. Hey – I got METs 8 quitting when I did. That’s Metabolic Equivalent Tasks. It means I was doing 8 times as much work as the average person does sitting still. According to the table I found at
http://doctoriliff.com/pdf/METs_and_Me.pdf 8.1 is the beginning of the highest fitness level for women over 60. METs 6 is average.

I’m fit. And I don’t care if I’m a freak. No more tests.

Interval Training and Ranting

noreply@blogger.com (Geezer Chick) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 14:11:00 +0000

Time for another rant.

Some of the elliptical trainers at the gym face a television. The sound is off, so I usually ignore it. But, I’ve been doing Interval Training.

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/interval-training/SM00110

This means I work out in a cycle of normal speed for 2 minutes, speed up for 30 seconds, and resume normal for 2 minutes. During the cool-down phase, I found myself watching the television. The words are presented as text on the screen.

The advertizer began by asking viewers if they had too many clothes for their closets. I was hoping this was going to be an ad for a place to donate the clothing for charity, or to be recycled into paper. I used to be able to buy paper made from old blue jeans, but that seems to have disappeared.

NO it wasn’t something sensible like that – this was an ad for plastic bags to squish your extra clothes into. Then you were supposed to put the bags into your suitcase. So, how are you supposed to travel? Or is the suitcase already packed? Does this mean you are squishing underwear into the bags? Who has too much underwear? Bottom line, if a person has too much of anything, the problem is NOT where to store it. The problem is where to donate it.

Interval exercise is supposed to get your heart rate up. Not the thoughts during cool down.

Next time, I’m going to try to get an elliptical that isn’t facing a television.