Stone Life

My dad pointed me to a really interesting article in the StarTelegram from yesterday. It might have something to do with the fact that he is "prominently" featured in the story (I would pour it on, but, let us be honest, his one-line is one-line more than I have published in a newspaper). I generally get tired-head reading newspaper articles, because they are often written to engage those with a mental capacity of a fifth-grader, but this is a really well written article. I may be biased on account of it centering on my hometown, but I found it very enjoyable, and I thought you might as well.

I have students walking into class at this moment, so I do not have time to write, but I wanted to post this, because I missed it last night, but it is really interesting. Perhaps I will chime in later.

It has been a few months since I have seen two things:

1. Julie reading something other than CPA Exam Test-Prep books, although she is constantly doing that. I believe we in the scientific community would call that thing in her hand in the picture on the right a novel.

2. Julie smiling while reading anything. I found this pic in my phone and I was shocked...it just looks out of place.


For those of you who do not know, Julie is finally taking her CPA Exam Thursday and Friday of this week. I have never, never in my life witnessed anyone studying in the manner that she has for this test. Apparently most consider themselves fortunate to pass 1 out of the 4 sections of the two-day affair on the first try, but, and no b.s. here, I really think she will pass all four. No one else does, but no one else is capable of this type of study. It is laughable when I moan about studying....but that does not seem to stop me.

Drop her a line of encouragement, because in just over two-days she will have completed the entirety of her scholastic career. Bring on the novels!!

It is entirely possible that I am breaking some sort of new-parent-code by publishing photos without fatherly permission, but, after spending twenty or more minutes this morning trying to transport a photo from my phone to my computer, I do not care. I have invested too much time now.

Brian and Stephanie, mostly the latter, delivered their boy last night, and Julie and I were lucky enough to get there just before he was born. We hung out until the wee hours outside of the baby aquarium and were able to watch the battery of abuse that is inflicted upon unsuspecting babies in the hours after they are born (I was never so thankful that man's brilliance and the advancement of modern technology allows for a less archaic form of taking one's temperature...Question: do babies not also have mouths?) I felt at times like we were watching footage of abuse in concentration camps. Julie was informed of a new way that I never want to be woken up from a nap - could we not nudge them awake before stabbing them with needles?...that just seems mean spirited.

All in all, Brian was beaming, strangely happy and serene for a guy with a degree in Philosophy.

I find a not-so-secret satisfaction in flipping the proverbial 'bird' at the new rage of "Green" living, and so rather than using, storing and reusing a tree year in, year out, we searched for a tree farm this morning and bought our first ever real-tree. [I really don't know if this is anti-green, but I like to think so, so please don't burst my bubble if I have it completely backwards].












On an unrelated note, where did I get this sweater?



On the morning of Thanksgiving, being that it was really cold by our Texas-standard, I opened the not often used sweater chest at the foot of the bed, and at the bottom I found a forgotten friend. I have not idea how long I have had this sweater, but it seems like I have had it since I moved out of my house after high school. In my memory it has always been old, and I am certain I did not buy it. It may have been given to me; I may have "borrowed" it from a friend; it may have been found in a parking lot in the same manner that at least one other favorite shirt was obtained. I debated it all morning, and I am truly stumped. Jim, Will, Chad...etc - is this yours?

P.S. - I won't give it back...I am serious, I love it.

For those of you who are consistent readers of this parade of arrogance I call my blog, you know that I generally give off the sense that I know vast amounts about most things (isn't that the point of blogging?), though in reality, I probably know very little about anything. I proved just that last week.

I have been something of an avid runner for better than ten-years, but I have been moderate in my distances until recently. I have always used three or four-miles as my standard, sometimes deviating by upping it a few miles, hardly ever exceeding seven at a time, usually running five or so days a week. This has kept me fit and supplemented basketball and other sports that I enjoy engaging in on a regular basis. This summer I became inspired to challenge myself. Although I had no particular goal in mind, I decided to start "training", upping my mileage and frequency considerably, pushing my body to see of what it might be capable. It has been exhilarating and rewarding, but my body has begun to ache like I had never felt before. Particularly, my back has been throbbing constantly, and I have been unable to sit, stand, sleep...comfortably for awhile.

As I bemoaned my condition to one of the other coaches at my school, he casually made some comment about the shoes I was wearing. Like a ton of bricks, it hit me; I had been running in flats that basically amount to being barefooted! Because I had kept my distances short, there was no problem, but the added pounding and lack of support/cushion was wreaking havoc on my lower back and legs. I am a moron!

Thursday night, Julie and I went to Luke's Locker, a runners-only store in our neighborhood, so that I might be fitted for proper shoes for the workouts in which I am engaging. I was like a kid waiting for Santa; I had never had a professional fit me for shoes. He watched me walk, he had me jog on a mini-track, and then he brought me several different types/brands of shoes and we went through the process of finding the perfect pair. It was really fun, and I ended up with exactly what I was looking for. Before leaving the store, he told me to take it easy for the first few runs, "give your shoes some time to break-in." I nodded, having no intention of following his sissy-advice.

Because we went to dinner, and I ate and drank too much to be useful for the rest of the evening, I waited until the next morning to take them for a test-drive, so to speak. I awoke early and said, "Shoeman be damned!, I am going to give these a thorough testing", and I took off for a lengthy morning jog. At about the farthest point from the apartment, the newness of the shoes became painfully apparent, and I the blisters on the backs of both of my heals were forming nicely. I pushed through despite the pain increasing, sure that it would stop before long, and, lo-and-behold, with several miles left, it subsided to a dull pain that was entirely manageable.

Quite proud of myself for not listening to the pansy at the shoe-store, I arrived back at the house, and slid my shoe off to find that my left sock was soaked thoroughly in blood, and the pristine whiteness of my shoe was replaced with a disturbing dark-red (the picture is a little dark to get the full, gruesome effect). To add insult to injury, Julie and I were in a hurry to get out of town that morning, so I quickly jumped into a warm shower...suffice it to say, I let out a string of very naughty things when the water hit the open wounds on the backs of my feet. Each shower since has been a not-so-gentle reminder that I may, and I stress MAY, not be the smartest man on the planet.

Painful lessoned learned.