Shallow Thinker

While the date in the system says “Aug 12,” this was just posted this afternoon.  But I’ll not complain….much more.

There were some good things and some bad things about growing up in a small town.  And then there were some hilarious things that you’d only find when everyone knows each other.  I’ve pasted the most recent crime page from the local paper of my home town.  My comments are in red:

• On the 30th of July, I submitted my final paper for my graduate degree.
• On the 2nd of August, the grade for my class was registered online.
• On the 6th of August, I checked online to see if my degree was noted on my unofficial transcript.
• And again on the 13th.
• The 20th
• The 27th
• On the first of September, I called the registrar’s office to make sure there were no holds on my account or anything like that.  I was assured that everything was fine and that everything should happen soon.
• On the 10th of September, I managed to have the department liaison track down some emails and let me know when they submitted everything to the registrar’s office.  I should hear something any day now.
• On the 18th of September, I was copied on an email from the department  liaison notifying the registrar’s office of some of the particulars of my degree indicating that they had been asking some questions about what specific degree and minor I should be getting.
• We’re on day 50 of Degree Watch, 2010.  Stay tuned to see if I am actually granted a degree or if I have just been undergoing an exercise in futility.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

Last night my phone rang.  I walked through the house trying to find one of our cordless phones, but I knew what message would be on the other end.  I answered and my mother gave me the news that I had been expecting.  My paternal grandfather had passed away. (The one mentioned here.) In the past year, his health had taken a pretty steep turn for the worse.  Strokes, cancer, various illnesses, and time finally wore him down.

When I visited him in the hospital a few months ago, it was difficult to see him in that state.  I had my daughters with me and I wanted him to be able to enjoy their company, but the sterility of the environment kept them nervous and hiding behind their mother.  Though they did venture out to give him a big hug before we left.  I don’t know if my daughters will remember that day, but the man they saw and laughed with was just a shadow of the giant that I interacted with throughout my formative years.

As I sat on the couch last night, I spent some time thinking about the man he was and I tried to solidify in my mind the kind of man that I thought he was.  The word that kept coming back to me was “history.”  As long as I could remember, Pop would tell us stories about everything imaginable.  He told about his mischievous childhood, his years of service to our country, his beautiful, young bride, his three boys, and anything else that was completely irrelevant to any other discussion at the time.  He even got so good at telling stories that he once fell asleep in the middle of telling me one.  But each story had a point.  And a lot of times, the underlying current was the pride that he had for his past and his present. He was proud of his father who had marched through Germany.  He was proud of his sons who had gone on to have families of their own.  But what struck me the most as I sat there on my couch thinking was the fact that he was proud of the life that he had lead and the wife who had walked by his side.

A part of me feels bad because I have accepted his death as an inevitable reality.  Pop lived a long, full life and he was able to see and hold several of his great-grandchildren.  I understand that his days were numbered and that he now rests with no pain.  But last night, the tears still fell as I recognized a void that cannot be filled.  My sense of loss comes from the stories and the history that passed on with my grandfather last night.  Only a handful of his tales will survive his passing and his part of history will slowly fade away.

Once again, I am reminded that our legacy is not the items we possess or the dollars that we spend.  Our legacy is defined by the relationships that we build and the lives that we touch. I am comforted to know that Pop’s legacy lives on in people that I have probably never met and through the stories that I will hand down to my girls. I can only hope to be so lucky.

I turned 30 last year with warnings from my predecessors that my body would soon start falling apart. Being the respectful person that I am, I listened to my elders, heeded their warnings, and fell apart.  I’ve documented my ongoing problems with my knees and shins, but there’s another issue that I’ve been battling.  And this one is almost equally as annoying.

My underarm sweats like you wouldn’t believe.  And if you’re wondering, yes, that last sentence is correct.  Just one of my underarms, not both.  I will be sitting at my desk in my nice, cool, 72 degree office and feel sweat trickling down my right side.  My left side? Dry and happy.

I usually workout during lunch, so I fortunately have an opportunity to let my shirts dry a little.  Shirts?  Yup, that’s right.  My t-shirt and my over shirt.  Both are soaked by lunch.  It’s lke I’ve been doing one-arm pushups all morning.  Except that I can’t do one-arm pushups.  I wouldn’t mind the niagra falls from my pits if I had a reason for ut.  But alas, the only reason I can find is old age.

Join me next time when I talk about my bad back, arthritis, fiber, and gray hair.

Thus far, I haven’t really done anything special to prepare for the upcoming mud run. I have maintained my normal upper body workouts and started mixing in some runs now that my legs are getting a little better.  Just for kicks, my last two runs have been 4.25 miles just to show that the distance isn’t a problem.  And I have pushed it a little harder on my arm workouts, but I haven’t done any specific, targeted training.

When I checked the mud run website this morning, I noticed that they have released the description of this year’s course (click here and scroll down).  Now I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve gotten into something that will kill me.  The good news is that I’m on a team that has no aspirations to win this event.  In fact, I don’t think that I’ll be the slowest or the weakest member of the team.  So the pace shouldn’t be a problem.  My biggest fear is that I might have to drag one of our team members along the way.  His preparations thus far have been to eat twinkies and to sit still for long periods.  Maybe he has the right idea.

So who wants to place a bet on how many bones I’ll break?  Vegas currently has the over/under at 3.5.