Intentional Parenting

I couldn't have said it better myself

2011-08-17T11:06:00.000-04:00

I'm cheating. For this post, I'm going to refer you to a wonderful post on ICR's website.

Please read.

Honor Thy Father and Mother...

2011-08-11T07:52:00.000-04:00

When I was a kid, I found it curious that when God gave the Ten Commandments, he decided to call one out specifically to children.

"Honor your father and your mother..."

Of course, more often than not, it was rendered a bit differently, to something more kid-friendly.

"Obey your father and mother..."

Apparently, in the Old Testament days, children were just running rampant!

Since then, it's become clear that the commandment wasn't really directed at children at all, any more than any of the commandments were. It applies just as much to adults as it does to children. And, in fact, I believe it is a call-to-arms for parents, specifically. That's because the commandment works under the assumption that "your father and mother" are living according to God's word. In fact, it is just one chapter away from the passage I have quoted up above, known as the Shema.

It is with this commandment that we see God's plan for what I'll call "family heritage". Raise your children according to God's word. Set an example for them of what God expects, and do your utmost to live a life worthy of the sacrifice and grace God gave us. If you do that, then our children will do the same. Or should do the same. They should honor us. But not us, specifically. It isn't meant to be a mandate to glorify your parents, but a mandate to follow in their footsteps...presuming they followed in their parents' footsteps, and theirs before them.

The whole commandment is this:

Honor your father and your mother, as the Lord your God has commanded you, so that you may live long and that it may go well with you in the land the Lord your God is giving you.

When we look at the history of Israel, to whom this was specifically given, we can see how well they succeeded. Each generation, it seemed, turned further away from the teachings of their parents, and by extension, the Lord. The end result? The nation fell away from God and time and time again brought into captivity.

We risk doing the same with our children. If our children, and their children, and their children's children are to "honor their father and mother", then we, as the parents, need to be worthy of their honor! If not, then our children, or their children, may end up captive to sin, estranged from God the Father and the grace offered through Jesus Christ.

The Hebrew word for "honor" implies a heavy, burdensome task. It isn't something that necessarily comes easy, but something we must work at. As children (even as adults), we are to work hard toward living out the heritage our own fathers and mothers have shown us. And if our father or mother wasn't living for God, then we are to look at our heavenly father as the one to honor.

And the term for "father" actually doesn't just mean our direct parent, but our ancestors or forefathers. It is a commandment to work hard to follow the beliefs and teachings left to us, as adopted children of the Lord, as those inheriting from "father" Abraham.

If we succeed at that, then perhaps our own children will also "honor" their father and mother.

Desiring Second Best

2011-08-10T07:42:00.000-04:00

Have you ever gone into a pizza place and, seeing that the pizza they made is practically perfect, said to the server, "Um, excuse me, but, could you please take this back and make me something a little less appetizing?"

Or how about going to some retailer and asking to see a salesperson who is a little bit rude and less-than-helpful?

Likely not. I think we all tend to want the best. Often, we feel we are entitled to the best. The best service, the best food, the best health care, the best education, the best quality products, etc.

For our children, we often pursue what we see as best for them, or in their best interest. Often parents will make life-changing decisions based on their desire for their kids to get the best possible education so that they can get into the best colleges and end up with the best jobs. For example, parents might buy a house they can't really afford in a great community that has great schools, rather than in a neighborhood with less-than-best schools, but is more affordable.

While there is nothing wrong with any of this (except, I would argue, the "house they can't afford" part!), it seems that when it comes to our own spiritual walk, and by extension, the spiritual walks of our children, we end up desiring second best. Or third best. Or perhaps something not really best at all.

And usually we're happy about this.

I've mentioned it before in another post, but too often we get caught up in "what is sinful", and how we might have "freedom in Christ", that we accept not pursuing what is BEST for our children. If it isn't technically a sin, then it is okay. We allow "almost sins" to creep into our lives, or allow actions and activities that fail to draw us closer to God, and perhaps even tear us away from God.

I'm a strong believer in homeschooling. We homeschool our 5 kids. (Well, technically we homeschool four of them...the fifth is just still learning to talk!) We made the decision to homeschool for many reasons. But when you sum up those reasons, it comes down to this: we felt it was what was best for our children spiritually, academically, and socially. It has strengthened our family in a way sending our kids away to public of private school could not. But this decision was not the easy decision. It has been expensive (having to buy all curriculum ourselves) and tiresome (particularly for my wife, since she does a vast majority of the teaching...as in, practically all of it!), and there have been times I've come home and my wife has wished she could send the children away!

But ultimately, we know that our kids are better for it. Not that it is wrong to send your kids to public school or private school. But we didn't want "second best". We wanted what was best.

The same is true of every other aspect of our lives and how we raise our children. Unfortunately, there are plenty of times we, in our sinfulness, settle for second best. For example, while we greatly limit the amount of media (television and gaming) we allow, sometimes we allow it to "control" our family life. Sometimes it is just easier to allow these things to influence our lives when we could (should?) be spending our time together as a family doing far more productive activities.

Sometimes we aren't even aware that we're settling for second best. Sometimes cultural norms are so ingrained in our minds that we fail to realize that what is best isn't what is normal or usual. There have been times that my wife has presented to me areas of concern with our kids that I just don't see as an issue. But, usually, she's right.

For example, one things we've learned about our daughter is that she's a follower. She wants to be "like the other girls" she plays with. She latches on to what they do or have that we don't. So, several years ago, when my wife suggested that we limit her time with certain friends with a particularly poor influence on her, at first I thought it was a bad idea. I mean, how would she learn to deal with peer pressure and her own identity if she didn't deal with such friendships?

But I was wrong. Because the more we allowed it, the more her sweet nature was being tainted and skewed in a direction not consistent with our values. We had to pull her away and limit her exposure to these friends...not because we are trying to be exclusive, but because we are entrusted with protecting the heart of our child. Before she can learn to protect her own identity, we needed to be sure that her identity was grounded fully on a Christ-like attitude, not a worldly attitude. Once that happened, and once she claimed it as her own, then the outside influences of others would not be an issue.

Today, she's still only seven, and we still have work to do. But we've found a balance that works best for our child's spiritual growth. Still, we are constantly re-evaluating our decisions as parents as to what is ultimately best for our children (and ourselves!) spiritually. It is called growing.

Take time to question everything you do. Are you settling? Are you desiring second best because it is what is easier or "normal"? Then ask God to guide you in what He thinks is best. Consult the bible, or other parents who have raised spiritually strong children. "When you walk with the wise, you will grow wise."

Anger Issues

2011-07-22T08:19:00.000-04:00

I have issues. Oddly enough, these issues didn't really surface until I had children.

See, I used to be the most patient person in the world. Honestly. For example, I could end up behind the slowest person in the grocery store checkout, and it wouldn't bother me a bit. Stuck behind a car driving 45 MPH on the freeway? No problem.

But all that changed when I had children. Perhaps it was a lack of sleep. Of course, once they started sleeping through the night, that should have taken care of it. Hmm. Maybe it's because having children creates a hormonal imbalance. Might be true, if I were the mother. But I'm the father, and last I checked, my hormonal contribution to the role of parenting ended around the time of conception.

The truth is, the reason for my anger is sin. No getting around it. I have a sinful, selfish streak that children, frankly, interfered with. Prior to children, I could pretty much do whatever I wanted how I wanted when I wanted (with my wife's blessing, of course). Children, however, don't really care what you want. They just want to be loved.

So, I started getting angry. And the problem is, my anger leads to unnecessary yelling. And yelling, I've learned through the years, does nothing to build up family relationships. It only barely results in obedience. Mostly, in results in something Paul warns about, when he says, "Fathers, do not exasperate your children."

It's true that yelling at my kids will get results. (Usually.) If I'm angry that they didn't get the dishes loaded in the dishwasher, so I have no pans to cook with...well, that certainly gets the dishes loaded in the moment. But the end result isn't that I have children who look at me and go, "Oh, Daddy, thank you so much for setting me straight and teaching me how important it is to get a job done right and on time! I'm so much better now for it."

As much as I wish that were the case, instead, I might get the dishes done, but I've also created a bit of fear of me in them. They are obeying not out of love, but out of fear. And worse, this can lead to them sinning. For example, I've found times when my daughter would rather lie to me about something out of fear of me getting angry at her for the truth.

Exasperating my children, indeed.

But what alternative is there?

Well, I had convinced myself for a long time there wasn't any. If only the children would do what they were supposed to, I wouldn't have to yell. But this line of thinking was shifting blame of my own sin (anger/yelling) to my children. I wasn't taking responsibility for the fact that I was the one who had lost control, not my children.

So, one day, I made a decision. The yelling would stop. I would fine alternative ways of disciplining and teaching. And while the decisions hasn't led to an overnight change in my own behavior, I have gradually been discovering that there are other ways to handle my children. Respectful ways. Ways that don't involve exasperating them. Ways that don't involve invoking my own sinful nature. It is an exercise of patience. But it is also an exercise that has strengthened my relationship with my kids, rather than undermined it.

So, what's the point of this post? It is an example of how, when we look at our parenting methods, we need to make sure we aren't using sinful, disrespectful ways to getting the job done. It might be the easy way in the moment, but it isn't the best or right way. Look for where you struggle...what times do you "lose it" with your kids? Once you recognize the triggers, you can talk about it with your spouse and come up with alternatives. Just don't start shifting blame. Your children are not the adults...you are. As I've learned, I can't expect them to act like adults when I can't!

Christian Parenting Fundamentals

2011-06-14T08:06:00.000-04:00

When you think of good parenting, what comes to mind? I think for many of us, good parenting usually revolves around what we DO: everything from, "Should spanking be used as a form of discipline?" to, "Should I allow my children to drink beverages with high fructose corn syrup?" There are countless dos and don'ts in parenting. Quite often, two different sources of parenting information will give two contradictory pieces of advice on what you DO to handle a given situation.

But what I've learned is that parenting isn't about what we DO or DON'T DO. It is about who we ARE as parents, what behaviors we model, what personal patience we can muster, how much love we can demonstrate toward others. We need to shift our focus from parenting dos and don'ts to who we are, spiritually, as parents. When we make that shift, the dos and don'ts start to fall into place. And even if they don't, they don't seem to matter as much.

In Christian life, in general, I notice a great many people ask the question, "Is this certain behavior a sin?" I think we're afraid of this legalistic idea that the rules we follow might not actually be sinful because of the freedom we have in Christ. But this line of thinking opens the door to figuring out what we can get away with, rather than seeking the heart of God.

Because of this, I'm always drawn to 1 Corinthians 10:23:

"Everything is permissible"--but not everything is beneficial. "Everything is permissible"--but not everything is constructive.

God wants what is best for us...and while certain behaviors might not technically be labeled a sin, it also doesn't mean it is what is best for us...and by extension, what is best for our children.

Rather than ask ourselves, "Is this wrong?" the question really should be, "How does this help me love God and/or others better?"

This is a driving force behind my desires not only for my own life, but for the parenting decisions I make. This is also the fundamental force behind the Christian parenting advice and teaching I will present here. It isn't to suggest it is the only way, or that other ways of parenting or wrong...but only that I want to ultimately do what is BEST for my kids, not simply ENOUGH. And that starts with me. Sometimes that takes slow and painful change within myself. Truth is, I'm a sinful human being still being perfected. (Shocking revelation, I know!)

A (kind of) new blog

2011-06-07T10:39:00.000-04:00

My blog is going through some changes. It has a new look and a new focus. Well, kind of. I've always had various posts on parenting here. The difference is that I intend to make this blog more exclusively about parenting...and Christian parenting at that.

I'm gradually cleaning out old posts that are "off topic". But I plan to make new posts about the subject that is most near and dear to my heart: raising children to love the Lord. I will likely delve into related topics, including personal spirituality and the marriage relationship as well. They are all intertwined in a way that can't fully be separated.

This post is the "FYI". My next post should actually contain some meat.

A Slave Nation

2010-06-03T12:41:00.003-04:00

Slavery was outlawed in this country a very long time ago. You all know the story. But a different kind of slavery exists today. A self-imposed slavery that few of us seem willing to free ourselves from.

The Bible speaks a lot about money. Most of it isn't terribly flattering. The one I'm most drawn to is where Jesus says, "No one can serve two masters...You cannot serve both God and money." That, and when Paul says, "Let no debt remain outstanding except the continue debt to love one another."

There was a time period in my life after a Promise Keepers conference where I vowed to get rid of all my debt. And, after about two-plus years, my wife and I managed to pull it off. At least, to a degree. We had no credit card debt, and only lived (for a while) on what we took in. But we still had car payments and a house payment. I'd convinced myself, however, that those weren't really "debt", since we had, essentially, collateral.

That attitude, however, I now see as flawed. Debt is debt. And debt makes me a slave to money, no matter how much I think it doesn't. The recent recession in this country is proof of this. People are foreclosing on homes left and right, home values have dropped to levels far below what people owe. So much for "secured debt".

And these same people (myself included) are slaves to money as a result. We are forced to live where we live, fearful of losing our jobs and our homes as a result, rather than trusting in the Lord.

At one time, I figured that if we had the faith of a mustard seed, the Lord would protect us from such calamities as foreclosure. But now I realize that if I had the faith of a mustard seed and trusted in God's plan, I wouldn't have had to hope God would keep me from financial ruin. The truth is, I'm living with debt now because of my own faithlessness, my own sinfulness.

God has blessed our family, to be sure. But I can't get past the fact that as I'm struggling to pay off the debt I've managed to rack back up again in the past several years, this money could have been put to much better use. Often, I imagine what my life would be like if I could say, "Hey, family, let's go out to dinner tonight," and be able to pay cash without worrying if I'll have enough at the end of the money without relying on credit cards.

I'm getting there. My wife and I are working towards being "debt-free" once again. In less than a year, we should be there. But then we want to go further. We want to stop being a slave to money. Buy cars with cash, rather than financing them, for example. Or, the ultimate goal, to have a home that belongs to us no matter whether I lose my job or not...a home that is paid off.

I wish I had lived this way from the start, never falling prey to the seduction of having more than I can afford. Consider the typical 30-year mortgage. Even if I never faced losing my job, and was able to keep up on my house payments, in the end, I'll be paying almost two times more for the home than what it cost. Consider it. For a $200,000 home, I could pay an extra $260,000 in interest. That's $260,000 that might go to work building God's kingdom, helping the poor and hungry, of taking better care of my family such as being able to replace those couches we have in our home right now that we can feel the boards through.

My short-term goal is to eliminate all "unsecured" debt within the next 12 months. Beyond that, I'd like to be free of all on-going car payments within two years, and ten years from now, have a home that is completely paid for. Because then, we'll no longer be slaves to money.

Perhaps you'll consider joining my journey.

I'll write more on this subject later...

Just wait until...

2010-05-26T09:56:00.002-04:00

A few days ago, I was in a conversation with a couple other fellow parents discussing, you guessed it, parenting. I won't go into the gory details, but at one point one of the parents made that so-oft-repeated phrase, "Just wait until..." followed by some child's age that our kids haven't yet reached, and how we should dread this coming time period in raising our children.

Thing is, I'm sick of hearing this. I've been hearing it my whole life. First, it was the, "Just wait until you're in the real world." Then, "Just wait until you have a wife of your own." This, of course, leads to, "Just wait until you have children of your own, until they turn one, until they turn two, until they turn three, until they turn five, seven, ten..."

And yet, each step along this path of "just waiting until", we've not seen it. The problems, the horror, the whatever it is we're supposed to be waiting for.

The thing is, my wife and I firmly believe that children are a blessing from the Lord. A blessing. Not a "kind of" blessing, or a blessing as a newborn, and at eighteen, but not a blessing at all the ages in between. They are blessing every single day. Which means there is a level of responsibility thrown at us, at parents. God has blessed us. In our case, five times so far. And as parents, we have to take that blessing seriously. Our kids will not raise themselves, or naturally become model children. It takes work and effort on our part.

If I were blessed with a new job, would I just sit back and expect the blessings to fall into my lap without me putting in the hard work? Nope.

A few weeks ago, I was reading Psalm 127, and the first verse really struck me. "Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders work in vain."

The Lord has laid out a plan for our lives, for how we are to raise our kids, and if our kids are not turning out how we'd like, it might be time to look at ourselves and see what it is we're doing wrong. Parenting is less about the kids, and more about the parents. Our heart, our attitude, our commitment, our willingness to examine ourselves and the sins in our own lives that will ultimately creep into the lives of our children.

I can't help but think that every time a parent says, "Just wait until...", it's that that parent has given in and accepted sinful behavior on the part of their children as unavoidable. I think it can justify the behavior of their own children to warn other parents who aren't in the same "boat" of the storms ahead. That's easier, I suppose, then actually changing yourself as a parent.

My wife and I are constantly having conversations about our children and our parenting. We don't always get it right. Often we completely mess things up. But then we talk about it and vow to fix it. We ask God's forgiveness, and often, ask for the forgiveness of our children.

I have an issue of losing my cool at times. I'll start yelling when I don't need to, when there are better, more effective ways to handle things. It is an ongoing sin in my life that I'm working on. I have to work on it, because otherwise I'm at risk of becoming a "Just wait until" parent myself. After all, as it says in the New Testament, "Fathers, do not exasperate your children."

I fear I'm guilty as charged. But the Bible doesn't just say it...it says it for a reason. It is a call to action on the part of fathers everywhere to step up and do better than they are.

Rather than look at the examples of fellow parents who have children behaving in "Just wait until" ways, I'd rather look at the examples of fellow parents whose children are a blessing from the Lord. Those parents are the ones who put in the hard work and triumphed. And so I strive to be more like them.

On second thought, I suspect that they are striving to be more like Christ. That's why they are succeeding. So, I'll strive for the same. And as I do, I'll always keep in mind that children are a blessing from the Lord. Always.

Party like it's 2003!

2010-05-25T14:30:00.002-04:00

Do you remember what life was like before February 2004? That was when we had to actually, you know, be social in order to be part of a social network. Talk to people, invite them over, call them on the phone, or perhaps even use a quaint bit of technology called e-mail.

It's amazing, isn't it, that in just six years, it seems like people can't live without Facebook. Despite all the complaining about their frequent changes to the interface, annoyances at getting too many requests to help build someone else's farm, and concerns over increasingly reduced privacy, if you actually suggest to someone that they could, of course, just walk away from Facebook. They could delete their account (which, as it turns out, isn't as easy as it sounds) and be done with it.

It's about that time you start hearing a list of reasons why Facebook is like manna from heaven, and why they could never get rid of their Facebook account. They need it to keep up with Aunt Sue (because we all know how important it is to know she's having trouble keeping up with her children's school work). Or they need to be able to let all their friends gain easy access to all the photos they've been taking (even though, truth be told, no one really cares even though they're posting their own photos, too).

Thing is, we can live without Facebook. In fact, we did it for a few thousand years. In fact, even without e-mail or cell phones or internet or even land-line phones, people seemed to survive. In fact, people seemed to survive by relying more on one another than we do today. They actually formed social networks (aka, extended family) that would last for generations.

Now, before you think I suggest we go back to those days (and, frankly, it has a certain appeal to it), I'm merely suggesting that we seem to be willing to give up parts of our lives for this thing called Facebook quite willingly, forgetting that we got along just fine without it before. Because, as much as I enjoy reconnecting with old high school friends, or having last-minute updates on what's going on in everyone else's lives, none of that has ultimately improved my life.

So, a few weeks ago, I did something about it. I actually deleted my Facebook account. And you know what? I'm still kicking. Somehow, I'm still living my life, still loving my wife and kids, still going to work, still working in the yard. I'm still going to see family at our annual Memorial Day picnic. In short, I'm still partying like it's 2003.

You can, too.

Really.

Not that you have to. I'm just saying.

Believing Their Own Lies

2009-03-17T10:20:00.003-04:00

Over this past weekend, we took our kids to the Cranbrook Natural Science Museum. In most regards, it is great museum...but I'm bugged by the blatant attempt to not merely show the world as it is and was, but push an evolutionary worldview. There is an entire section, for example, that tries to "prove" that evolution is true.

And, while that annoys me, it isn't unexpected. But what I came across on this weekend made me downright angry.

Cranbrook is hosting an exhibit that is all about dinosaur eggs and baby dinosaur fossils, etc. But there is a hidden secondary purpose to this display: to make impressionable minds believe that dinosaurs evolved into birds.

This is, of course, a more recent development in evolutionary theory based on virtually no real fossil evidence. Still, scattered around this room were dozens of "artist impression" paintings of what these dinosaurs looked like. At first I didn't take much notice. But then I started to see that almost every single one of them had dinosaurs with feathers. And so I glanced around the room, and sure enough, with a few exceptions, the paintings featured feathered dinos.

And that's when I started to get angry. These paintings were made based on a belief, not science, and the museum, by displaying them, is hoping to convince those who were there that dinosaurs developed feathers and eventually became birds.

Trouble is, it is a lie. All of it.

Then, the most significant point came when I first read the caption next to "picture" of an "oviraraptor" dinosaur. While the picture clearly showed the dinosaur with features, the caption said, quite clearly, that paleontologists have found NO fossil evidence that the oviraraptor had feathers, but they painted them that way because they believe they might have. Hmm. Notice that bit about there being "no fossil evidence"? I sure did.

Except that about thirty feet away, there was another little display that said asked a question. It asked what two things make scientists today believe that dinosaurs evolved into birds. The answer? Number: That the oviraraptor had feathers, and that the dinosaurs carefully tended their nest of eggs.

The second bit, of course, doesn't really offer any evidence at all, since is a behavior. But the first? A blatant lie that contradicts the very statement made elsewhere in the very same museum. There is no fossil evidence that the oviraraptor had feathers, yet this display stated that they do!

Of course, I took this opportunity to point all the flaws with all of this to my own kids. But the thing is, this kind of tendency to believe in their own lie is found throughout evolutionary science. There is so very little evidence that supports even the possibility of macroevolution, yet scientists defend it as fact to the point of having to actually lie to the general public to keep people from balking at it.

Do your research, folks. Ironically, there is so much MORE scientific evidence that supports the creation model than there is the evolution model. Don't believe me? Well, go look for yourself.

Heave (the) Ho(e)!

2008-04-21T14:29:00.003-04:00

So, this weekend I began the long, arduous process of building a new patio. The patio won't be huge, and while deciding just what kind of patio, exactly, I'll build, one major factor in every household decision for me is: how much will this cost me?

Now, I've learned from past experience (read: mistakes) not to be too cheap, otherwise you end up with a patio that, over the winter months, allows underground beasts to rearrange your bricks, forcing you to start over, only to repeat itself the following year.

So, yeah. I'm doing this right this time. But it also means I'm forgoing the absolutely beautiful bricks in favor of the old 4" X 8" rectangular standby.

Anyhow, so far, I've started digging. And, you know, I'm not as young as I used to be...but I figured that with all the working out I've been doing, I shouldn't have a whole lot of problem with getting 6" of topsoil out of the way.

I'd be wrong.

After a little more than an hour of shoveling, I was done for the day, my back sore, and bruises forming on my heals. I had managed to dig out trench only about 2 feet wide, and 15 feet long.

So, here's where being a father can be great (perhaps even moreso than the actual act it took to become a father!). Because I have two strapping young boys who were just hopping at the idea of doing some real "manly" work and digging. I handed over my shovels and let them at it.

Remember what I said about wanting to save money? Well, this was great. Free manual labor! They weren't complaining that they weren't getting paid, so why should I? Unfortunately, that little while angel over my left shoulder (known affectionately as "the conscience") pointed out that, after two days and 2 hours of work by two of my boys, we were still only halfway done. They were tiring out, so I let them know I'd pay them $1 per hour.

I thought I was being rather generous. Until I told my wife. She informed that I was being a cheapskate. I mentioned they actually didn't mind doing it for free. So, we compromised...and I ended up paying them $2 per hour instead. (Okay. So compromise sometimes means admitting that your wife was right.)

The shoveling isn't done, yet. But it is close to done...and I have two very happy boys who have, at the time of this writing, have earned $6 each.

Tonight, hopefully we'll finish the job. Heave ho, boys. And I'll heave the hoe. Then comes the next back-breaking part of this process: laying the foundation. I wonder if they'll do this part for $.50 per hour. (Because then when my wife tells me that I'm paying them too little, I can double it to $1 per hour.)

My Daughter Beat Me Up!

2008-04-18T09:12:00.002-04:00

In this corner, we have our first contender: a bearded, weight-lifting, treadmill-running, health-food-consuming born and raised in Michigan, racing treacherous winters and scorching summers...Ryan Bruner!

And in this corner, we have...his four-year-old daughter!

Round one. Ryan's looking fierce. Arms swinging, sweat forming on his brow. He dodges to the left, dodges to the right. Ooh! He takes one to the upper jaw. Then another in the gut. Then another and another. He manages to jab one right to his daughter's nose, but she's quick to recover and pummels him again. He's down for the count!

And that, my friends, is how things are in my house. No, it isn't a new discipline technique. And no, it isn't an attempt to toughen up our daughter. And NO, I'm not abusing anyone. (If anything, she's the one abusing me!)

No, nothing like that. Welcome to the world of Wii Sports...where you can beat up your kids (or your kids can beat up you) and have a blast doing it. Or sore arms.

Well, we did it. We bought a Wii. Well, first we searched for a Wii, but thanks in part to the coordination efforts of a friend of mine, I managed to buy the last one from a shipment of them to Wal-Mart a few weeks back. I got it all connected up, and ever since, our family nights have consisted of beating each other up, or attempting to make four strikes in a row (so far, no one has managed that one), or hitting one out of the park.

And so far, here's what I know. I'm good at bowling, and that's about it. My eight-year-old beat me at baseball. My ten-year-old beat me at tennis. My six-year-old...well, he hasn't beat me at anything yet, come to think of it. And my four-year-old? Well, she currently holds the Bruner-weight championship title. She's managed to go three rounds with her oldest brother a couple times, but usually she wins in the first round.

It is kind of funny to watch, too. Her "Mii" (which, for those who don't have a Wii, is simply a character you create on the computer to look like yourself) with braided pig-tails throwing punches at my bearded Mii with glasses.

There are, of course, down sides to the whole Wii Sports addition to our home. Such as my six-year-old deciding to take boxing outside the virtual arena and into our living room. That was nixed immediately. But in general, it has been a lot of fun to be playing together as a family. It has even taught our kids a lesson in team spirit. When my wife was getting down about failing to pick up even a spare after several frames, the boys were quick to cheer her on. It's also provided opportunities to realize that it isn't who wins that matter, but that we're having fun along the way.

Anyhow, that's our life, so far, with a Wii. My daughter beat me up. But don't worry, next time, she's going down, I tell you. Down.

Can you tell that I love her?

Firecracker, Firecracker

2008-03-11T09:38:00.002-04:00

I was always a bit of a weirdo, even as a kid.

Back in the first grade, the boys on the playground would taunt and tease the girls. Personally, I couldn't stand for it, and so I found myself being a traitor to my kind and coming to the defense of the girls. Of course, in hindsight, I'm sure the girls could have held their own just fine...but at least I felt like I was making a difference in the childhood irrational fear of cooties.

One side effect of this was that I found myself playing with the girls moreso than the boys. This also meant I had an inside scoop into a world generally off limits to the male gender. I got to see what it was girls liked to do when the boys weren't around. (Or, at least, when all the boys except me.)

It was then, in the first grade, that I learned my first cheer.

Firecracker, firecracker, boom, boom, boom!
Firecracker, firecracker, boom, boom, boom!
Boys got the muscles!
Teachers got the brains!
Girls got the sexy legs,
And we won the game!

I remember being drawn to this rather risque cheer because I got to say the word "sexy", and managed to get away with it. And I suppose it isn't the most PC of cheers. But, I was in the first grade...and this was the 70s.

So, flash forward to the present. Today, I'm actively involved in various musical groups at my church, the most recent of which is the choir for kids in fourth through sixth grade. I admit, I kind of push the kids. I take music seriously, and expect them to not only sing...but sing well. But, being an adult among kids means you risk becoming a staunchy old man. What to do, what to do?

Last weekend, we had a special Saturday rehearsal for the upcoming program, and during the break, three of the girls decided to work on a cheer of their own. And the door was opened unto me. I had my opportunity to connect to these kids in a way that showed them I'm a kid at heart. So, as they finished their cheer, I offered to show them mine.

Of course, it wasn't nearly as exciting without my pom-pons, of course. But I soon had them enthralled. Enthralled that an adult such as myself would make a complete and utter fool of himself. They laughed and giggled, and when I was all done, they wanted me to do it again.

Mission accomplished. That's all it took...one thirty-second cheer...and I'm suddenly the coolest thing since, well, whatever kids think is cool these days. Ironically, I earned their respect by acting like a weirdo.

It seems to be the same with my own kids. They may know to obey and follow our rules and even want to please us...there is something about just having some fun together that makes them want to obey and follow the rules and please me. If I'm having trouble with one of my kids, it is often a sign that I'm not spending enough "fun time" with them. And frankly, I don't spend enough fun time with them. With everything in life vying for my time, sometimes such a simple thing can become lost in the daily grind. But it is when my daughter says to me as I'm getting ready for work, "Are you staying home today?", that I realize I need to be more weirdo with my kids. I need to be embarrassing. Because, ultimately, that's what kids want. They want a father they can be embarrassed by. Because embarrassing fathers are fun.

Now...if only I could find my pom-pons...

To be Young Again

2008-02-25T13:24:00.003-05:00

Ever since I started writing my young-adult novel(s), I have increased my daily intake of young-adult reading material as well. It makes sense, to read the type of books you want to write. Right?

But something interesting has happened in that time. I discovered I like books for the young-adult (henceforth referred to as the YA) more than I like books for adults. At least, generally speaking.

Of course, there are exceptions. Recent adult books I read and loved include: The Kite Runner; 1984; and The Thirteenth Tale.

And as much as I can rattle off some great adult books, there is just something about YA books that attract me in a way adult books don't. In some cases, it is the imagination of it all. Exploring the world through a child's eyes, or exploring worlds that seem long-forgotten once we grow into adulthood. I think, too, there is a level of innocence about YA books. Not that YA books don't tackle some sensitive and serious issues. After all, The Chocolate War is, to this day, controversial and often tops the list of books to ban. Which is a shame, since it is a great book. (I don't think it should be banned...although, I also don't think my 9-year-old is ready for it just yet.)

Yet, I think the innocence I'm talking about is more like innocence lost. YA books show the blinders coming off the innocent character, discovering that the world is far more harsh than their own lives might have them believe. Perhaps it is a story about an ophan girl who has never known love, trying to find her place among her knew family. Or perhaps it is the story of a boy who discovers he's a wizard...and that ultimately, that magic can never bring back his parents. Or maybe it is about a girl who simply wishes to be "pretty" like the rest of the world, but learns that perhaps being pretty isn't all its cracked up to be...that people can love you for who you are, and not what you look like.

Mostly, I think reading YA allows me to return to my childhood. To be young again. I hear most adults complain about their adolescence as a time they never wish to return to. But I liked my YA years. It was a time when everything was new, when there was self-discovery, and there was a passion about things that I've lost as I've aged.

It is ironic, really. I started reading adult books when I became a teen. It wasn't until I became an adult that I started reading books meant for teens.

So, next time you're in the library or bookstore, head to the young-adult books and take a look. There's a lot of great material there! It's your chance to be young again.

Mister Know-It-All

2008-02-22T12:57:00.003-05:00

You want to know something? I'm a really annoying person.

Thing is, I don't mean to be. I'm also a very nice, compassionate, intelligent person. Yet, I can't seem to help being a Know-It-All.

I don't mean to say that I actually know it all. I don't. Not even close. I just come across that way. Really, it is more that I'm a stickler for accuracy...and so if I read or hear something that isn't quite right, I have this innate need to set things straight.

Of course, on occasion I've been wrong about what I thought wasn't quite right. But, generally, I tend to keep a lot of unimportant facts and details in my brain that really don't matter to anyone else. Worse than that, however, is that I end up telling people these unimportant facts.

I swear, if my wife ever considered divorcing me, it would be over the times I decided to "correct" something she said. Never mind the correction was completely beside the point of the conversation. Yet, in those times, I can almost see the flames of annoyance in her eyes. Then I have to come up with some clever or witty cover to douse her irritation with me. (As it turns out, I'm neither clever nor witty most of the time.)

I wonder why it is. I mean, it's not like I've never written or said anything that wasn't 100% accurate myself. And, honestly, I find it terribly annoying to be corrected when that happens. I, of course, have to come up with something terribly clever or witty to hide the fact I didn't know what I was talking. (And as it turns out, I'm neither clever nor witty most of those times, either.)

Yet, knowing that...knowing that being a Mister Know-It-All is just annoying, I can't seem to stop myself. It is a disease, really. And so, I must apologize right here and now to each and every person who had to roll their eyes at me. And while I'm at it, I'll apologize to each and every person who will inevitably have to roll their eyes at me in the future. Because I'm a flawed individual who just happens to Know It All. I can't help myself. (Annoying, isn't it?)

It's All Good (Maybe)

2007-12-13T09:55:00.000-05:00

Just when I thought it was safe to cook healthily, it appears that scientists have, once again, muddied the waters. For reference, take a look at this news article. And if you don't feel like reading it, the summary of it is this: It appears that there is no scientific evidence to support the idea that saturated fats are actually bad for you. And there never has been.

This is disconcerting, since we have all (or at least, I have) been going to great lengths to avoid saturated fats in our diets. Saturated fats are bad, so the theory has been. This is different than trans-fats, by the way, which should just be avoided at all costs.

It appears that consuming a diet higher in saturated fats does not increase your likelihood of heart disease. And while it may increase your total LDL levels, it also raises your HDL levels in a way that keeps things balanced. It has been determined that the radio of HDL to LDL matters more than total LDL levels. The higher HDL levels offsets any negative effects of LDL.

So, where does that leave us? Well, as it turns out (and I'm sure this fact has Dr. Atkins rolling in his grave), carbs have a more significant role in heart disease than it was believed. That's because a diet high in carbs can lead to higher levels of triglycerides in the blood. Triglycerides are actually more significant in determining heart disease. One major source of triglycerides is, of course, consuming high fructose corn syrup. Avoid the stuff. But also just sugars in general. Because it triggers the release of insulin, which leads to the conversion of excess sugar in the bloodstream to...you guessed it...triglycerides.

This would seem to be consistent with the Type 2 diabetic's inclination toward heart disease. A diet high in carbs, which eventually leads to the diabetes.

And just what, then, is the proper way to eat?

Moderation, of course, is the key. A diet high in fiber and fruits and vegetables. And avoiding trans-fats. But those simple sugar and corn syrup-laden foods? It should be no surprise they are bad for you. And foods heavy in saturated fats? Well, they may not be as bad for you as once expected...as long as you are, again, eating in moderation.

Take a look at peanut butter (and a variety of tree nuts). These are known to be healthy choices. Yet, they have high saturated fat content. The key is that they are also high in polyunsaturated and monounsaturated fats. So, find foods rich in both of those.

Maybe, just maybe, that diet I was prescribed when first diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes is the best diet after all. Not necessarily low-carb, but low-sugar. And I suppose this means I'll have to cut back on those Hostess Chocolate Chocolate-Chip muffin loaves I love so much.

Believing Science

2007-11-16T13:54:00.000-05:00

Back in college, I took a very pro-evolution class called "The Nature of Science", which fell under the realm of Philosophy, according to my University. In this class, we talked about various aspects of science from a philosophical point of view. But about half of the semester was devoted to the evolution versus creation debate. And, the instructor was undeniably biased toward the evolutionary point of view. Fine.

In this class, we learned of an argument that, once upon a time, evolutionists used to use to prove that evolution takes places. Then, it was shown how this, as it turned out, did nothing to prove evolution. (Nor did it make any difference whatsoever to the creation side of things.) This case was about some butterflies (or moths...actually, I forget), and how prior to the industrial revolution, there were all these butterflies of a certain color. But, once the industries started their task of polluting the air, the butterflies changed their color. It was thought that, as a result of the darkening of the trees due to air pollution, that those butterflies that were white were obvious targets for birds, and quickly had to either adapt or be eaten. So, evolutionists of the day believed, the butterflies adapted by turning dark. Soon, all the white butterflies had become dark butterflies.

The problem was that no actual adaptation took place. Instead, it was just a shift in the already existing population. Very few dark butterflies survived prior to the pollution. After the pollution, the dark butterflies blended better, and soon the white butterflies became bird food.

I bring this up because of something I've noticed recently in regards to recent news about various viruses that have either mutated or may mutate, causing a health hazard. The idea is evolutionary in nature (micro-evolutionary in nature, actually...so, having nothing to do with supporting evolution versus creation, since the creation view supports micro-evolution). There is a virus. But this virus mutates, developing characteristics that allow it to better survive, and harder to kill by modern medicine.

We've seen the news about the bird flu, for example. Or how about the new one about the rare cold virus that has killed some folks recently? Are we seeing evidence that a virus as truly "evolved", in a sense, and mutated into another form?

Or, is it possible, that we are seeing a population shift? Or, perhaps, different breeds, in a sense, of the same virus? It is possible that both viruses descended from the same parent virus. Over time, and through isolation, one strain of the virus lost certain genetic information compared to the other strain. So, yes, they are different...but not as a result of a mutation. Both, then, coexist. However, for whatever reason, there is a population shift. The more dangerous strain is becoming more prominent, possibly because whatever external factor that used to keep it in check isn't around any more.

I raise this because it has implications on the "fear" that the bird flu may mutate at any given moment to something more dangerous. Perhaps it won't.

And look at the implications for the overuse of antibiotics. It has been suggested that viruses are becoming resistant to antibiotics. They have mutated. But it is also possible that these antibiotic-resistant strains have always existed. Only, now that we have been successfully eliminating their competition through antibiotic use, the ones that are resistant are, again, experiencing a population shift.

What I haven't seen is any real evidence given that we've actually ever witnessed a mutation as has been suggested in the media. Would we be able to differentiate a mutation from a population shift? History would suggest not necessarily. What I'm curious about is if anyone who is more familiar with this has links to information that provides such evidence. Because as of right now, I keep reading phrases such as, "scientists believe...," qualifying any such claims.

Such qualifiers sound suspiciously similar to the very phrases scientists balk at when they come from creationists. It only goes to show how much of science, even today, is framed by our beliefs.

The Case of the Missing Case

2007-11-15T09:51:00.001-05:00

Two days ago, the three movies we borrowed from the library were due back. Two of the movies were ready to go. The third? Well, we had the DVD, but no case for it. This, of course, is not unusual in our home. With four kids (not to mention myself!), things get misplaced frequently.

So, a mass search of the house ensued. First, in all the usual and expected places. When the case didn't turn up, we searched all the unusual and unexpected places. Still no case. We interrogated the kids, but none of them knew where it was. Under the beds, behind furniture, stuffed among the piles of papers and books strewn across the house, in the laundry room (including, yes, in the washer and dryer!), through piles of laundry, bathroom cabinets, and everywhere.

Nothing. Of course, we're in the process of preparing for a move, so things are in a general disarray at the moment. I explained this situation to the librarian, and he gave me special dispensation, renewing the disc for me to give me more time to find the disc.

I, of course, checked under our bed, between the wall and our mattress, in and around our nightstands. Very thoroughly, I might add. So, of course, I was a little put out when my wife grilled me on just how well I checked there.

"Did you look between the wall and...?"

"Yes!"

"What about underneath...?"

"Yes! I did!"

I detailed where I looked quite extensively. But the next day, the case was still missing.

That night, just before going to bed, I decided to make one last check in our room. Just to be sure. You know. Just in case. Which really means that little voice in the back of my heading saying, "Uh, Ryan? Are you sure you looked as well as you say you did?" Of course, admitting I hadn't would only prove my wife's distrust of my searching ability as correct. So, I wouldn't admit.

Anyhow, there I was at eleven o'clock at night on my knees, searching under the bed once again. And that's when I noticed something. Near the wall, behind a box. It was thin and white. Just like a DVD case. I moved the box and, lo and behold, there it was! The DVD case!

Of course, the only possible solution was that at some point one of the kids found it and stuffed it back there at some point after I had searched under the bed. That's it. Really. Because it couldn't be that I didn't search good enough. Not after tearing apart the entire house.

*Sigh*

Okay, okay, okay. I admit it. I was wrong. I looked under the bed, sure. But not as thoroughly as I had made my wife believe. And as a result, I went to my wife on my knees and begged her forgiveness. (Honestly, I really did do that. Because I know when I'm doomed.)

So the case is missing no more. Of course, the question still remains. How, exactly, did the case get there to begin with? That, I'm sure, was the misdoings of my kids. Still, it taught me something. I'm just not about to admit what that is.

What's Next? No Friends Allowed?

2007-11-07T11:38:00.000-05:00

Well, I think we're approaching the end of civilized civilization as we know it. And I'm only partly joking. Because from this point forward, you are not allowed to hug anyone. That would constitute a "public display of affection" after all. Even if that hug is a friendly "good-bye" hug among friends. That'll earn you a detention.

Oh, and I guess that little tear drop forming in the corner of your eye when you know you won't be seeing them for the entire summer vacation? Cause for suspension, I'm sure. In fact, you'd better not even have friends, because that would eliminate any possibility of displaying any form of affection at all.

That's what this world is coming to, apparently...at least as evidenced by this article.

Something is wrong here. I'm sure the school board was originally trying to preventing the "suck-face" displays that irritate the on-lookers in the school hallways. Seems reasonable. But come on, a good-bye hug among friends?

I'm tired of the implications that touching implies some impropriety in this world. If anything, I think there is a serious lack of touching in the world. People need affection. People need to know they are loved and cared about. People need a shoulder to cry on or a comforting embrace at times. Girlfriends need (for some reason that eludes me) to hold hands or lock arms as a way to prove their BFF status to everyone around them. Even boys need to rough house. Touching is a part of life. It is a necessary and healthy part of life.

So, what is it with banning the "PDA" (public display of affection)? And what school principle would be so cold-hearted to interpreted such a school policy so literally? Have we forgotten our common sense?

I'll admit, I'm not a "huggy" kind of guy. I find it slightly uncomfortable when my fellow man throws his arm around me to show me he appreciates me. Yet, frankly, I wouldn't want it to end. Because the only way I'll stop being uncomfortable with it is when I see how important it is as a normal part of life. A normal part of relationships.

There is a guy at church who a touchy-feely kind of guy. If he is within a few feet of you having a conversation, he'll undoubtedly pat you on the back, hug you, shake your hand, or even, dare I say it, place his hand on your shoulder! And despite my own discomfort in displaying similar PDAs, I find it truly pleasurable to be around this man. He makes you feel loved. He makes you feel like he really cares about you, and that you matter.

I wish the same could be said about me and my more hands-off approach.

So, I say, go ahead. Hug a friend. And if it leads to a detention, so be it. Because we all need a little hug now and again. And no school policy should tell us otherwise.

I'm Right! (Aren't I Always?)

2007-10-23T15:52:00.000-04:00

There's some saying about a man who toots his own horn being bad thing. I forget how it goes, precisely. But, I'm going to take my chances here and say...I was right!

Of course, what I'm right about really should be nothing spectacular. It involves cereal and a healthy heart. According to this article, men who eat a bowl of high-fiber cereal each day are at significantly less risk for heart disease than those who don't.

It seems common sensical to me. So much so that I've been preaching the "eat foods high in fiber" message for a long time. My wife, frankly, is sick of it, and I have to sneak a peak at the nutrition labels now when she isn't looking. My personal goal is that when I'm eating any food that would be considered a "grain" or "bread" item, to aim for at least 2 grams of fiber per serving.

My kids, of course, would love if it I had been wrong. Because me buying "kid's cereal" is a rare treat. Sure, it comes "fortified" with vitamins. But fortifying really doesn't make it healthy. It just makes it seem healthier. No, I insist that they eat high-fiber cereal, eating it like a man. Of course, there are plenty of healthy yet tasty high-fiber cereals. Raisin Bran, Frosted Mini Wheats, Kashi Go-Lean Crunch, Mueslix and similar multi-grain cereals, just to name a few.

Sorry, kids. But this only proves I'm right and justifies the lack of Cocoa Crisp and Lucky Charms cereals.

See, thing is, when my cholesterol levels started to creep up a while back, it was during a time that I had reduced my high-fiber cereal intake. When I returned to due diligence, my cholesterol levels dropped, no medication necessary!

So branch out, folks. Browse a little longer in that cereal aisle. Check the labels. If you see less than 4 grams of fiber, put it back on the shelf. Yep, that means skipping some cereals that otherwise seem healthy, such as Special K. And if you are new to the game, I don't suggest jumping right in with a 9-gram per serving cereal. Ease into the waters of healthy cereals. Your heart will thank you for it. (If, that is, your heart could talk.)

Incidentally, diabetics, who are most prone to heart disease, are most likely to benefit from this change. Just bolus accordingly!

Shedding Light on His Dark Materials

2007-10-08T09:54:00.000-04:00

I received a new book in the mail this weekend, co-authored by none other than my own brother, Kurt Bruner. Kurt has a bunch of books to his credit, including several co-authored with Jim Ware (Finding God in the Lord of the Rings being the most popular.)

My brother writes Christian non-fiction, so perhaps that's not your cup of tea. If it is, however, then his new book might be right up your ally. It focuses on Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials fantasy trilogy.

At this point, I can't tell you, first hand, much about the book. For one, I've never read the His Dark Materials trilogy. And two, I've not yet read Kurt's book about His Dark Materials. But, since it just came out, and there is an upcoming movie based on the first book in the series, I thought I'd bring it to your attention.

What this means for me, of course, is that I'll have to go read Philip Pullman's books and then read Kurt's book. So, give me about four months to get back to you. Or just go buy Kurt's book without waiting for me. Either works.

The book is titled Shedding Light on His Dark Materials, by Kurt Bruner and Jim Ware.

When Vacation is Over

2007-09-12T13:38:00.000-04:00

Vacation is over. Our twelve days of bliss ended last night at roughly 9:00 pm when our car, fully loaded (including the car-top carrier), pulled into the driveway. Four of those days were spent in the car, making our way from Michigan down to Florida...and back.

You know, back when I was a kid, my family would take 2-week vacations in the car, and I remember my mother yelling at us to get our noses out of that book and look at how beautiful the scenery was. We'd pop our heads up, see that instead of there just being trees, there were now trees on hills. Uh, yeah. Back to our books.

I found myself on the opposite side of the fence this time around. We have a gorgeous country. The foothills and mountains in Tennessee are beautiful. Yet, there my kids were, noses buried in their portable TV screens playing video tames (okay, so times have changed a little bit), reluctantly glancing up when we'd gasp and proclaim how they need to take this in now, because they'll rarely see this kind of beauty at home!

Our destination was, as I mentioned, Florida. More specifically, Walt Disney World. Four parks, six days, legs-so-tired-we-could-barely-walk...but it was a blast. I managed to terrify my two oldest boys by taking them on the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror, and I swear my second son was about to have a heart attack riding Expedition Everest. (He quite literally "screamed like a little girl.") Of course, when he got off, he decided to ride it two more times.

And now we're back. Back to work, back to keeping up with the house, back to cooking healthy meals (since I think I managed to gain about 10 pounds).

It is always interesting, though, to see what has changed in the time you are gone on vacation. In 12 days, for example, the daily temperature dropped from around 80 when we left, to 69 today. The price of a bottle of Diet Mt. Dew in the vending machine at work went up from an unbelievable $1.35 to a disturbing $1.45. And there is now a pile of lumber sitting across the street from our new house. (Well, new basement. It isn't exactly a house yet. Just a hole in the ground lined with concrete.)

Mostly, though, things are pretty much the same. Rather comforting, I'd say.

A Harry Potter Analysis, part two

2007-08-07T08:44:00.000-04:00

Note: As with my previous post, this post contains spoilers for those who haven't read the complete Harry Potter series. Proceed with caution.

The Messiah figure is quite common in literature...and particularly in the genre of science-fiction and fantasy. One reason for that is, in the world of science fiction and fantasy, unlike other more "realistic" genres, coming up with a way to have a character die and come back to life is easier. It simply takes a bit of magic or whatever.

But not all Messiah figures are created equal. Take The Matrix. Neo is, undeniably, a Messiah figure. He was "prophesied" as being "the one" (and even his name is a anagram of this). And, at a key moment in the movie, he dies. Only after his death and subsequent resurrection does he have the power to defeat the agents that led to his death.

And despite later symbolism, such as Neo's "ascension into heaven" at the very end of the movie, and his ability to raise Trinity from the dead in the second movie, Neo, as a true Messiah figure, kind of falls flat. Nothing leading up to his death and resurrection really can make him like Jesus Christ.

In Lord of the Rings, we have Gandalf, and his death and eventually resurrection as well, after dueling the "demon". But, again, his role as "Messiah figure" is limited. He, ultimately, isn't the salvation of all...but merely salvation of some of his friends. Of course, Tolkien didn't set out to write allegorically.

Harry Potter is different. While he, too, was prophesied as the one who would save the wizarding and muggle worlds, and while he eventually dies and comes back to life (in a sense), he is a stronger representation of the true Messiah, Jesus Christ. Why?

First, the true Messiah was a model of perfection. He lived a perfect life. This was key, because in order for him to be the final sacrifice for all, he had to be the "spotless lamb" that God had required of the Jews for generations. And while Harry wasn't exactly perfect, what is clear is that he, unlike even Dumbledore before him, approached his role as "savior" with a pure heart. He was never seeking anything for himself. He was seeking truth. Repeatedly, Dumbledore admired Harry for his pure heart, his ability to love, and the love that was shown to him through his parents. He was able to secure the Deathly Hallows because he wasn't, as was the case of Dumbledore, seeking to raise himself up as powerful. He wasn't proud.

And it was this very quality that made it possible for Harry to defeat death, and ultimately, Voldemort.

Harry also had his "disciples" prior to his death, including friends Ron and Hermione, as well as others. But he also had his "pharisees". The kids (and grown-ups) who despised who he was. The Malfoys, for example.

As the Messiah figure, Harry ultimately defeated death, "Satan" (in the form of Voldemort) and brought about a "heavenly kingdom"...that is, a wizarding world that no longer had to live in fear.

Now, the figure I find more complex in is Dumbledore, so I'll attack that another time.

A Harry Potter Analysis

2007-08-03T08:51:00.000-04:00

I'd like to warn anyone who hasn't read through the final Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, to stop reading now. This entry contains spoilers. You have been warned.

Back in college, I took a science fiction literature class. Despite my love of sci-fi, it was probably the hardest class I had ever taken in my four years at U of M. See, I never was one who took much stock in finding symbolism in books and movies. Mostly, that's because I didn't see. But in order to pass this class, I had to learn to see it. It wasn't until several weeks in that I noticed a strong pattern of Christian imagery showing up in science fiction. The Messiah figure, for example. So, it hit me. I know about Christianity, being a Christian myself. Christian imagery was something I could do. So, I skated by (barely) through the rest of the class finding Christian imagery in everything we had to read (even if it wasn't there).

So, you might not be surprised for me to note the strong Christian imagery found in the Harry Potter series. How much was intentional on J.K. Rowling's part, I don't know.

It starts before the beginning, with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and a prophecy. Throughout the series, Voldemort is portrayed as being snake-like, speaking in the language of snakes, and even having a "pet" snake, Nagini. You can't help but compare this to the Genesis account of the serpent, representing Satan, in the Garden of Eden.

In Genesis, the serpent is cursed after leading Eve astray: "And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heal."

Voldemort attacked Harry's mother, killing her. But her love protected him, and ultimately Voldemort merely "struck Harry's heal", leaving the scar. But this scar wasn't enough, and ultimately, in the end, it would be Harry who would "crush Voldemort's head".

Like Satan, Voldemort sought absolute power. And like Satan, Voldemort managed to lead many astray (Death Eaters compared to the fallen angels or demons). Incidentally, I think Death Eaters, as a symbol, represents multiple things, this only being one of them.

Another comparison to the demons or fallen angels are Dementors, soul-sucking creatures who come to serve Voldemort. If viewed as spiritual beings, the only defense against Dementors are another "spiritual" being, the Patronus. Our word "patron" is derived from the Latin word patronus, which means protector. The Patronus, in Harry Potter's world, is represented by light, compared to the Dementor's darkness.

Once Harry has been "marked" by Voldemort, he became "the chosen one", the one expected to be the salvation of the magical (and muggle) world. As a side, I can't help but see the magical and muggle comparison similar to the Jews and Gentiles. Anyhow, as we finally learn in Deathly Hallows, Harry must die in order to defeat Voldemort. But death, alone, is not enough. And with the help of the Deathly Hallows, Harry ultimately overcomes death. While he spends time (3 days in the tomb?) in the King's Cross station, he ultimately "raises back to life". Harry was, with no attempts to hide it, the Messiah figure. And once Harry defeated death, Voldemort had no power over him.

The Hallows, themselves, seem to be a symbol of the trinity, at least in my view. It is only through this trinity that power over death comes. We have the Invisibility Cloak, which I would equate to the Holy Spirit. Then there is the Resurrection Stone, symbolizing Christ. Finally, there is the "Elder" wand. God the Father (ultimately elder). I don't know that the symbolism goes beyond that. For example, I'm not sure that the Elder Wand's actions/power is supposed to be compared to God the Father.

That's enough for today. I'll follow up with more in a later post!

My Feet Are Enjoying It

2007-07-12T11:03:00.001-04:00

When I was a boy, we would roam the neighborhood and neighboring woods quite frequently barefoot. Our dusty, dirty street...or road, as we preferred to call it, since a street would somehow imply the presence of pavement...was part of our playground, and despite the razor-sharp stones strewn about, we would run along without shoes or socks without issue.

That all changed for me when I was diagnosed with diabetes. Going barefoot became somewhat taboo, considering diabetics can have foot problems such as neuropathy. And diabetics have trouble healing (apparently, though, 25 years later, I've been healing just fine).

So, I was forced to wear socks. Okay, forced is a strong word. Frankly, I preferred wearing socks. I had dry skin, and slathering my feet with cream and putting on socks at night was the norm for me. But now, the option of going barefoot was stolen away...forced to wear socks.

It didn't take long for my feet to grow accustomed to being clothed 24/7. With rare exception, I actually preferred to wear socks as much as possible. To this day, the hair on my legs starting below the sock line has been worn away and just won't grow back. To this day, my feet, when bare feel worse than naked, cold, vulnerable, sensitive.

So, I wear socks. Always.

Which brings me to the issue of sandals. I've never been much of a sandal person, primarily due to said socks. Thing is, during the summer months, keeping stocking feet inside leather shoes is rather sweat-inducing. But to wear sandals without socks? Are you crazy? My feet hate it. The soles of my feet get sweaty and stick to the bottom of the sandal. When you walk, there is this sort of sucking feeling as the sandal peels away from your sweaty feet with each step.

Just, ick!

So, I wear socks with my sandals. And you know what? I think it looks just fine. Really, I do. I've seen others wear socks with sandals, and they look fine, too.

Now, my wife disagrees. But I've reached an age where I, frankly, don't care about the fashion sense of sandals. I'm wearing socks with sandals because I like it that way. It feels good, and my feet don't sweat. So what if Stacy and Clinton from TLC's "What Not To Wear" might pounce on me any minute for it. It is something I'm not willing to budge on. Those fashion gurus are going to have to wait for style to catch up to me. Perhaps I'm a trend setter. Perhaps I'm a nerd.

Either way, my feet are enjoying it.

I Don't Need No Stinkin' Statins!

2007-07-09T13:24:00.000-04:00

I had my latest endo visit last week.

For the last couple of visits, my endo has been concerned about my LDL levels (the "bad" cholesterol). It was at 111 last time, and he said it should be under 100. Anything over 100 and they start pushing statins. And so, he started pushing statins.

Statins are, it seems, the latest wonder drug in the arsenal against heart disease, and since diabetics are, in general, at high risk for heart disease, it only seems natural to push the drug. And while I'm not really against the use of drugs such as statins, I'm concerned when doctors start turning to drugs before really analyzing dietary and activity-related causes. Elevated LDL levels may simply be a result of genetics. But it can also be a symptom. Turning to statins so quickly really only treats the symptoms and ignores the cause.

I knew the cause, in my case. My diet had gone downhill. While a generally healthy guy, I had allowed too many slices of pizza and breakfast burritos to slip into my diet. This, in addition to my rather sedentary lifestyle led to a rather sudden rise in LDL levels. I'd never had problems with LDLs before.

Ultimately, I declined the statins. I couldn't see going on a drug for something when I knew the cause. And, many months later of going back to healthier eating (eliminating saturated and trans fats from my diet as much as possible, increasing my intake of fiber-rich foods), and an exercise regimen, I wanted to tackle the problem the old-fashioned way.

Results are in. My 111 has dropped to 66. My HDLs have risen. I felt a bit like gloating. I wanted to say to my endo, "I don't need no stinkin' statins!"

That isn't to say statins aren't necessary at times. If someone truly can't get LDL levels down by improving diet and exercise, then it makes sense. My concern is that there really is little attempt at educating a patient in what that proper diet and exercise entails. Adding a bowl of oatmeal a day isn't going to do a whole lot if you're still eating that daily slice of pizza for lunch, for example.

Fortunately, I'm a self-motivated kind of guy when it comes to my health, and so I saw the problem and took back the reigns. Others may simply take the statin, but continue eating an unhealthy diet.

I've got one life to live, and I don't need to live it tied for the rest of my life to yet another drug. Insulin is quite enough, thank you very much.

When a Geek Laughs

2007-07-05T10:15:00.000-04:00

I'm a geek. And in case you weren't aware, being a geek is "in". Part of pop culture, in fact, with shows like Beauty and the Geek. It wasn't always that way, I know. As a teen, being a geek was okay...but only to other geeks. My geek friends could safely call me a geek, but if a sports jock called me a geek, it was a serious insult.

At one time in my life, I was also a nerd. And in case you are wondering what differentiates the geek from the nerd, I define a nerd to be "a geek who looks the part". That's because there are plenty of geeks out there who you'd never peg as a geek by looks alone. (Okay...so, maybe I am a nerd, by that definition.)

Anyhow, recently, I become aware of seeming common trait among geeks. Geeks seem to amuse themselves easily. Things that aren't even funny will make them laugh out loud. And even moreso for things that aren't funny but are their own sayings.

There is one guy at work, for example, who has a laugh you can hear across the room. It is this laugh that originates not because anyone else said anything funny, but because he said something cleverly unfunny but amusing to himself. Anyone without arms length is obliged to laugh along with him, all the while knowing it really wasn't all that funny.

The sad truth is that I suffer the same malady, much the chagrin of my wife. I'm constantly making jokes that, in hindsight, really aren't funny to anyone else but myself. But I think they're funny. So, I laugh. Usually by myself. With everyone else just staring at me blankly.

I have to believe that when a geek laughs, it is a self-preservation technique. Geeks are so analytical, so self-focused, that they tend to miss a lot of humor around them. Yet, we all need to laugh. So, finding humor within ourselves is the only solution.

I celebrate my geek-hood. I firmly believe that while women like the jock, or perhaps the "bad boy" when dating...the one they really want to settle down with for the rest of their lives is the geek. A geek brings security, and often a big source of income if they are truly geeky enough.

Unfortunately, they don't bring much in the way of a sense of humor.

But that's what having kids is for.

When to Break the Rules

2007-06-27T10:25:00.000-04:00

When living with diabetes, there are the "right" things to do regarding treatment. All the things the doctor tells you to do and not do, the techniques the pump companies insist you follow, for example.

Thing is, in real life, times come about when the "right" way isn't going to work, and you're left without a decent backup plan. It is times like these that a MacGyverism can become necessary. (If you're not familiar with a MacGyverism, well, you'd have to be a fan of the TV show MacGyver...but basically, it means thinking up a solution to some problem on the spot with the tools at hand.)

I ran into such a case just yesterday. Mostly because I'm an idiot...but, unfortunately, idiocy can overcome the best of us from time to time. Anyhow, yesterday, I happily headed off to work, ignoring the fact that my insulin pump reservoir said I had all of 4 units left. Of course, when it says I have 4 units, it really means I have 14 units. But 14 units wasn't going to be enough to cover the fact that I had just eaten 40 carbs, and need to last out the day. But, since I only work 20 minutes from my home, I figured I'd see if I could make it.

Well, at 2:30 pm, my BGLs were tending high, and I got the dreaded empty reservoir alarm. But I still had a couple hours of work left in me. I dreaded having to head home, fill my reservoir, and come back again.

So, I broke the rules. I did something that isn't recommended. First, I disconnected my infusion set and rewound the pump. (Always disconnect, because rewinding a pump could actually suck insulin and/or blood out of you if you remained connected.) Second, I removed the reservoir/infusion set line from the pump. Then, using a handy-dandy ink pen (capped, of course), I gently pushed the reservoir plunger down, utilizing the remaining and otherwise unusable ~10 units of insulin left to fill up the tubing. One completely filled, I reconnected and used the pen to inject several units of insulin...being VERY careful to watch when I had run out, and the tubing started filling with air instead of insulin.

Then, I disconnected the infusion set again and retested a bit later. BGL was dropping, and I had enough insulin in me to last me until I got home.

Sure, the whole thing is not recommended. You'll never find a doctor or Minimed representative suggesting this technique. And, in fact, I would never recommend the technique. It was plain silly of me to have forgotten to fill my reservoir before I headed off to work. But, sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.

Thing is, diabetics have to do this kind of thing all the time. You are living your life daily with a disease that is unpredictable, being controlled by humans who are even more unpredictable.

Of course, my insurance company refuses to pay for enough insulin to allow me to keep a spare vial anywhere. They will only cover precisely the amount I need. I guess they fear I'm going to sell any extra on the black market or something. Sigh.

It Ain't Easy

2007-06-07T14:30:00.001-04:00

I've been dutifully exercising at the fitness center since mid-January, and for the past couple months, actually going five days a week. I've improved my strength tremendously, such as going from being able to leg press 130 lbs (10 reps) to leg pressing 230 lbs (10 reps). I can even do bicep curls of 25 lbs (10 reps), up from 10 lbs when I started.

I'd give myself a pat on the back, except that one of my main areas of weakness hasn't really improved much at all. Flexibility. I still can't touch my toes. (Well, I can...but only if I go really really fast, which, after the ripping sound it made in the back of my leg, I figured isn't such a good idea.) I also found that there comes a point where you plateau.

I should be proud of myself for reaching a plateau. I had read about the elusive concept in the past, but never really knew what it was like. But here I am...on a plateau. Because, try as I might...those strength numbers stopped improving about two months ago.

Worse yet, if I miss a couple days, or have a long weakend...err, I mean weekend...I find that I've actually gone backwards, and the following week is spent making up for what I lost.

I'm not at all sorry about this, however. I'm far more in shape now than 6 months ago. Even my wife can tell the difference. I like being able to move furniture and do various heavy-labor tasks that, before, wore me out. I like the fact that my pants, which in recent years had to be upgraded from a size 32 waist to a size 33, is actually a bit loose-fitting now. I can use the third hole instead of the second hole on my belt. I can even see my...uh, mini-me...when I look down, without having to suck in my stomach.

But despite the positives, what I'm realizing is that I'm not in my twenties any more. Okay, yeah. I knew that. But I didn't realize just how much those ten years can change you. You have to work at keeping in shape, where before, it seemed almost natural. They say that, once a man hits 30, his testosterone levels begin to drop. Testosterone helps build and maintain muscle mass. (Evidently, it also means greater risk for testicular cancer, so loss of testosterone isn't all bad.) So, now, to maintain, or even gain, muscle mass takes serious effort on my part.

When I started out, I had dreams of having arms the size of my thighs, and thighs the size of...well, something bigger than my thighs. I had dreams of seeing very distinct muscular lines covering my abs. But, I'm afraid, I'm no where near that. I still have a gut that sticks out (just not as far as before), and I still get winded climbing up the second flight of stairs at work.

I'm a diabetic. I have been for 25 years now. If there is one thing I'm constantly aware of, its that the disease is silently trying to damage me. I won't give in without a fight, however. Eating my oatmeal is no longer good enough. Gotta work at staying healthy, so that I can live well beyond 55 years old, which was the life expectancy of a Type 1 diabetic when I was diagnosed. I'll hit 80 if it kills me! (And, after a mile on the treadmill, it sometimes feels like it just might!)

Guilt Over Something Silly

2007-05-30T16:19:00.000-04:00

I read this article today, which reminded me of an event from my childhood that still triggers a tinge of guilt.

See, like so many kids before me, I had sent off balloons with notes hoping to gain a pen-pal in some far-off locale. Nothing ever came of them.

So, a friend of mine and I decided to up the ante. We wrote a note promising $500 to the person who found this note tied to a balloon and replied. We watched excitedly as the balloon rose higher and higher into the sky and eventually vanished out of sight...and after all of 15 minutes, out of mind.

But, flash forward several weeks later, and I had received a letter in the mail from a man requesting his $500. From Vermont. (We sent off our balloon in Michigan.)

And so this is where the guilt comes in. Because honestly, we never imagined anyone would ever find the note, let alone take it seriously. But this man did, and expected payment. How horribly disappointing it must have been for him when we had to reply back telling him that we were just a couple of kids. In a vain attempt at humor, we included a $500 bill in Monopoly money, but I can't help but wonder how he must have felt, thinking he won some real money, only to find out later it was just a joke.

Funny how we can hold on to something like that and still feel guilty about it years later. I think it is because unlike real life where we may cause damage, but ultimately ask for forgiveness or know it is okay...in this case, there is no such opportunity. No way of knowing if the person was angry about it.

And how much is life like that? Asking for forgiveness is a powerful thing. Receiving it is even more powerful.

Obsession to Win

2007-05-18T11:28:00.000-04:00

I'm not much of a sport fan. Okay. "Not much" really means not at all. But I haven't been able to help but follow some of the Tour de France doping scandal with Floyd Landis. The whole situation is just one sadness upon another. And in the end, I can't help but realize that it all comes down to an obsession to win.

I don't know if Landis is guilty or not. Probably only Landis knows that with any certainty. But if Landis is telling the truth, and there was no doping involved, you have to feel sorry for the amount of turmoil he has gone through to defend his name and championship.

If Landis is lying, it is amazing to see what lengths someone will go to in order to avoid ruining their reputation, even if that ruined reputation is the result of their own misbehavior.

If Landis is lying, though, I can't judge him. Neither can you. Because every one of us is guilty of something. In the words of Gregory House, from TV's House, M.D., "everyone lies." Perhaps that's true. But what is even more true is the fact that not a single one of us goes through life without making mistakes, without messing up, without committing sins against ourselves and those around us.

If Landis is lying, what right do I have to condemn him? For that matter, what right do I have to condemn anyone who has made mistakes and tried to cover them up?

Anyhow, there is an obsession to win. To be on top at all costs. And despite the platitude that winning isn't everything, when it comes down to professional sports...winning is everything. Athletes risk their careers to dope just so that they have a chance to make it to the top. Athletes who are on top are found having to defend that position for their rest of their lives. Lance Armstrong still faces allegations of doping, for example.

What it seems is the issue isn't so much about the doping itself, but the need to dope to begin with. Something has instilled this obsession to win to the point that doping seems a necessary evil, yet at the same time, kept under the covers.

Then I look, again, to myself. What do I have under the covers in my life? What is it that makes me feel the need to be on top of my game? Or, rather (and more importantly), to give the appearance I'm on top of my game? What makes it seem impossible for me to be honest and up front and say, "Wow, I messed up big time," or, "You know what? I'm not nearly as good as I thought I was." This is honesty--something far more admirable than winning in a person. Only, honesty doesn't win you medals, or higher pay, or fame and fortune. At least, not directly. But at the end of the day, do I want to look like a winner, and then spend the rest of my life defending that title? Or do I want to live a life of honesty, where the need to defend myself is moot?

There is only one standard of perfection. I'm not it.

The Way They Used To Be

2007-05-14T10:29:00.000-04:00

Ah, the good old days. Do you remember them? When you would load a web page, and it was a mish-mash of text and images, and that's it. Okay, maybe a cute little animated icon every once in a while. But the web was safe and comfortable back then. Leisurely.

As of late, I'm becoming more and more disgruntled with websites, no thanks to Podcasts and YouTube and Flash-based sites.

See, what was so great about the web is that you could click on a link and browse a site at your own pace. You could skim articles if you were in a hurry, or take your time and read over the course of a few visits. You were in control, and that was what set it apart from television. Sure, you have been able to record shows off the television for years, but ultimately, the pace was dictated by the format. The web offered freedom!

But today, that is becoming less and less the case. Take the Podcast. Somebody had this great idea of making an audio recording of something that you could download and play on your PC or iPod or whatever. Great. Except that in the time that it takes to download and listen to the file, I could have easily read through the article in text format twice. It turns what is simply my ability to read at my own pace to forcing me to listen at their pace...and ultimately listen by way of speakers or headphones, limiting the times and places I can take advantage of the information.

There is a particularly interesting sounding Podcast on a website that I'm really interested it. But the format has kept me from listening to a single episode, and they don't bother ever posting a transcript, which is all I really care about.

On-line videos are another annoyance of mine, for similar reasons. I just don't have the patience (or time) to sit and watch something to learn something I could get in another format. Okay, I don't have a problem with downloadable video in general...just not when I have no option for information another way. YouTube is primarily about entertainment. I get that. But why must I only be allowed to view certain news items on news sites such as MSNBC if I'm willing to watch a video? Kind of defeats the whole advantage of the web.

And don't even get me started on Flash-based sites. Those annoying websites with cleverly-laid-out graphics and animations that ultimately keep me from getting to the information I want at the pace I want it. Instead, I have to hold my mouse over a little picture, have it whirl around, doing acrobatics on my screen, eventually landing me to another graphic with limited information that forces me to repeat the process.

There is a tendency to use technology for the sake of using it, rather than using it because it is ultimately the best way to accomplish something. The web is ripe with sites that abuse that. Just because we are able to download videos now at blazingly-fast speeds doesn't mean we want to. Maybe we just want to be able to read the news. The 21st century version of the newspaper...a format that has worked for a couple centuries, actually.

I preferred the good old days of web surfing. I think I'm becoming an old-fogy. But more and more, I like things the way they used to be.

Peanut Butter, Parenting, and Pumping Up

2007-05-07T12:10:00.000-04:00

Well, my three-day weekend with the kids went really well, and I even managed to have a good time and keep the house in decent shape. Admittedly, by Sunday afternoon, I was exhausted. I'm not used to doing so many activities. Let's see. We went to the playground on Friday. A huge wooden play structure where I had to stand up on this tower perch to see all my kids easily. I just couldn't keep up! We also ran a bunch of errands that I figured would take the whole weekend...but didn't.

Saturday, we went to a different playground...this one smaller, where I could actually follow them around. Later, we took a bike ride, with me toting my youngest two in the bike trailer. At the end of the day we tried to do some kite flying, but the wind had died down too much.

Sunday, after church, we headed to the park to fly the kite. Did that for about an hour.

All in all, though, an enjoyable weekend with my kids.

On to other things...two of my kids are allergic to peanuts. From the time my oldest boy was one, we've pretty much been a peanut-butter free household. That is sad for me, because I lived on peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. So, yesterday, I did something new. I bought myself some peanut butter, jelly, and bread and brought it in to work with me. Wow! Have I missed PB&J! (And for the record, it has to be Simply Jif. Not regular Jif, not off-brand, not Peter Pan brand. Simply Jif is simply the best!)

An exercise update. Since I started in January, I have to say I haven't really had much problem with exercise affecting my Blood Glucose Levels. In fact, in the past four months, I think I've only had two exercise-induced lows. And in the meantime, my strength has improved dramatically. I've even started doing some Cardio about 4 days a week. I kind of look forward to the exercise now. (No, no. Really, I do. I'm not just saying that.)

And in final news, over the weekend my blog just crossed over to 20,000 views since I started it. Pretty cool.

A Few Days in Recovery?

2007-05-03T09:12:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow, I start a lesson in wife appreciation. Not that I don't appreciate my wife now. She's great. But it isn't until I "walk a mile in her shoes" will I fully grasp her contribution to our family.

See, tomorrow, my wife is leaving me. Okay...she's leaving me for only three days...spending a much-needed vacation with a good friend away from home. She deserves it. This is something she's done for the past few years.

And while I'm all in favor of her going, I'm also scared. Because it means for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, I'm both father and mother to my kids. I mean, I love my kids...but spending 72 straight with them is something I'm just not accustomed to.

I already know how it will go. Day one will be a breeze. I settle in, enjoy spending some alone time with them, maybe take them on an outing or something. No problem.

Day two, things will start to change. I'll start to see the house falling apart, and I'll realize that I have no idea where my daughter is, only to find her playing with something she isn't supposed to be. My patience will be tested as my youngest son taunts my daughter, and my daughter screams in return, and I yell and send them both to their rooms, and eventually rummage through the kitchen looking for comfort food.

But I'll keep it together.

Day three...well, we're entering unknown territory now, because this is the first year my wife will be gone for three days instead of just two. When she comes home, she might just find me drooling, staring at the ceiling, speaking incoherently. I'll probably have lost feeling in my brain.

In the end...after a few days spent in recovery...I'll have a renewed appreciation for all my wife does as a stay-at-home mom. And not even so, because I won't be taking on several responsibilities that she does in addition to keeping my kids from killing themselves...or me killing them! It will be worth it, though. My wife will be refreshed, experiencing freedom she gets only a couple days a year.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Bruises

2007-04-24T11:19:00.000-04:00

Bruises are a way of life in a family with four kids. My wife and I are constantly amazed at the sudden appearance of new bruises, scrapes, and "bleeds" (as my daughter likes to call them) that seem to just materialize on their bodies overnight.

Normally, it is just an aspect of childhood we accept. Yet, for the past few weeks, we've had to be particularly cautious with our kids because our church is putting together a new directory. Which means pictures.

With our date set, we simply have to keep any wayward injuries from appearing anywhere on the body that might show up on camera.

Easier said than done.

Four days before our photoshoot, my daughter trips, using her eye as a means of catching herself. On the coffee table. She was okay, under the circumstances. Except for the scab on her forehead, and the, uh, black eye!

Fortunately, she heals quickly...and even more fortuitous was the fact our photographer had to cancel the appointment and reschedule. She is all healed up now, and we're ready for our pictures again.

But yesterday, in a seemingly harmless game of "let's see who can jump the farthest" between my two oldest boys and myself (which, by the way, only confirmed my superiority in the standing long jump!), the final leap across the driveway ended in a collision between my oldest boy and my five-year-old. Wham!

He burst into tears, and started screaming. All I could think about was, "Oh, no! Please...no facial injuries!"

A quick look-over, and I could see the only injury was a scrape to the elbow. Whew! I got him all cleaned up and suitably bandaged, and decided to take our adventures indoors.

When my oldest boy was, I believe, two years old we went to have our family portrait for a previous incarnation of the church directory. On the way into the building, he trips, landing face-first on the parking lot, the skin of his nose left behind in memoriam. Despite a little make-up to try to cover up the injury, his face couldn't hide the fact he had just been traumatized.

We still have a week before our new photo date. And in that time, I'm tempted to keep our kids in straight jackets. Wearing catcher's masks. Locked in a padded room.

A Better Life

2007-04-20T09:02:00.000-04:00

It is every parent's desire that their children will have a better life than they did. (Mostly, this is to ensure they will be able to support us when we retire.)

But when that desire becomes reality, well...I'm not as convinced.

My oldest boy concerns me. I taught him to play chess, and already he is proving to be quite a contender. He hasn't beat me yet...but he's only eight, and I'm not sure how much longer I can hold him off.

Then, there are the video games. I have trouble remembering that the A button means jump, and the S button means shoot or throw or punch. They play games where you have umpteen different key combinations without any trouble. When my boys and I would sit down to play video games together, at first I was the one paving the way, revealing new moves, new levels. They would be excited for me. Now?

"Look, Dad! We're on level nine on Spider-Man!"

Nine? I barely made it to level two.

I've had no choice but to stop playing video games with them.

And now...and now...

I gave him A Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Second two days ago. He started reading at 9:00 pm. He finished it at 11:30 pm that same night. Next day, he did the same with another book.

Me? Well, I started reading a new book a week ago. I'm to page 60.

Yeah. Well. I can drive, and he can't. (For now.) And I'm taller. (For now.)

Too Soon For a Cure

2007-04-11T09:31:00.000-04:00

Have you heard the news? There is a cure for diabetes!

Well, sort of.

Not.

I fear this news will create a bit of false hope in diabetics, for several reasons.

First, because this didn't technically cure diabetes. Instead, it killed off the auto-immune response that triggers Type 1 diabetes. If your insulin-producing beta cells are already gone (such as mine have been for about 24 years now), you're out of luck. Instead, this treatment is more like preventing Type 1 diabetes by early intervention, and not quite a vaccine.

Second, the long term effects of the treatment are, at this point unknown. It is possible that the body will, once again, trigger its autoimmune response at some point in the future. It is too soon to know. It reminds me of the recent problems with the varicella (chicken pox) vaccine. The drug companies and government kind of rushed the vaccination out, and now, just a few years later, kids who were vaccinated, are developing chicken pox. Not only so, but the vaccination is delaying the onset of chicken pox enough that it could actually become more dangerous. Might this experimental diabetes treatment be the same? Might these kids live lives free from Type 1 diabetes, only to have more significant health problems later in life? We seem to forget that Type 1 diabetes is entirely treatable.

Third, the treatment itself is dangerous, and might not even work. Of the 15 kids who had the treatment, it only worked for 13 of them. So, for those two that it didn't work, they underwent significant health risks. Actually, those health risks applied to the other thirteen as well. It is a small sampling. But if this treatment were done on a larger scale, might we see serious harm or even death?

It seems to me that this is kind of like using a machete to slice up your strawberries. It is overkill (quite literally). Instead of targeting the cause of the disease itself, it is a "shoot anything that moves" mentality, figuring that, sure, you may kill a bunch of innocents, but, by golly, you got the fugitive in the process!

I'm skeptical. Can you tell? In the meantime, other treatments will still be necessary for the millions of other Type 1 diabetics who have already been diagnosed. It is too soon for a cure, folks. One more false hope.

The Book Wife

2007-03-30T11:51:00.000-04:00

Sometimes we are inspired at the oddest moments. Sometimes we realize how incredible someone is at the most inopportune times.

For me, such a moment came yesterday while my wife was out with a friend and I was sitting, of all places, on the toilet doing, well, toilet-related things.

Around me were books. Actually, pretty much anywhere you are in my house you will find books. But what struck me about these particular books was that I had never read any of them. My wife, however, had.

Ordinarily that would come as no particular shock. My wife is a reader. She has an insatiable thirst for books, and has probably read 100 times as many books already than I will ever read in my lifetime.

But my wife isn't just a reader of fiction. And this is where the realization was so powerful. My wife reads for entertainment, true. But she also reads to improve herself. Books about becoming a Godly wife, or about techniques in homeschooling, or about how to leave a family legacy with our kids, or any other topic you can imagine. My book wife is constantly trying to improve herself, and as a result, improve us, her family.

She isn't happy just being who she was yesterday, or who she is today...and she's not happy being satisfied with where our kids are now, or who I am as her husband and their father.

Just a couple days ago, the two of us sat down and had a conversation about things I won't bore you with now. But at one point, I told my wife how she reminds me of the character Yentl. Have you see the movie? Starring Barbra Streisand? Phenomenal movie, by the way. Sadly, it hasn't yet been released to DVD.

Anyhow, in the movie, Yentl is a actually a Jewish woman who is out of place because she wants to learn. She isn't happy being like the other woman, who happily do women's work. She wants to know what the men know, and more. So, when her own father dies, she cuts off her hair, puts on men's clothing, and becomes a boy.

Well, see the movie to learn what happens. And while my wife isn't about to cut off her hair and turn into a cross-dresser, she has that same desire to learn...to broaden herself, and in the process, those who know her.

And all of this came to me on the toilet last night. I become suddenly in awe of how incredible she really is. I mean, I knew she was incredible before. But even more incredible. And, in a way, somewhat intimidating, because I also realized how my own efforts seem to pale in comparison. In her efforts to improve herself, she is trying to, ultimately, improve her family. Can I say the same? Are my own pursuits, ultimately, for the benefit of everyone else? Or myself?

My Problem With Pop Machines

2007-03-27T15:19:00.000-04:00

First, my apologies to the rest of the nation who uses another word. Pop is what we call it here, and so that is what I'm calling it in this blog. Substitute soda, coke, or whatever else you prefer.

I'm getting really annoyed with pop machines lately. Okay, so prices are outrageous. Why is it that I can buy a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke for less than the price of a 20-oz. bottle from the pop machine? But, whatever. It is my own fault for being the dope who pays the $1.35.

But I have other issues. More important issues. Like, who has decided that people who drink diet pop get only one choice, or two at most, while those who drink regular pop get like six or seven choices? Don't they realize that diet is being increasingly popular?

Yet, even when a pop machine offers you a "choice" of diet, it is between Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi...or, between Diet Coke and Coke Zero...or between Diet Pepsi and Pepsi One.

Excuse me, but what if I don't want cola? Next choice? Diet Sprite.

Apparently they seem to think that's all people who drink diet like. Cola or Lemon-Lime.

At my workplace, I was happy, because the pop machine offered me Diet Mountain Dew. Okay, I'll admit I would prefer if it were Diet Code Red Mountain Dew...but I'll live. But what did they do, arbitrarily? They recently replaced the Diet Mountain Dew button with a second regular Mountain Dew button. So, my choice of diet is Diet Pepsi, Diet Pepsi (yes, it is there twice), or Diet Coke.

Thanks.

At church, the pop machine offers a grand total of one diet pop choice. Twice, I left a note on the machine please requesting that they add a second diet pop offering. There are a lot of diet pop drinkers at my church, and the Diet Pepsi is always the first to be sold out.

Okay. So, that's annoying, to be sure. There are so many other, better, diet pops out. Coke Zero Cherry, or Black Cherry Vanilla Diet Coke, or Diet Code Red Mountain Dew, or Diet Pepsi Jazz (of either variety), or Diet Dr. Pepper, or Diet Ruby Red Squirt, etc. None of which are offered.

Well, a couple days ago, I started experiencing a new issue. Pop machines that randomly decide my quarters aren't good enough. I'm not talking about machines that are telling me "exact change". I'm talking about plunking in four separate quarters, and the machine arbitrarily decides it won't take any of them. It tried about twenty times. At first I thought it was just a fluke. Yet, a day later, a different pop machine, it, too, decided my quarters were no good.

And here's the kicker: yesterday, I used two crisp one dollar bills to buy myself a pop (the dope I am...yes, I know). It happily gave me my Diet Pepsi, and my $.65 change. Only, it decided to give me a quarter that isn't from these United States...which means I can't even use the quarter it gave me in another pop machine!

Maybe it's all for the best. Maybe I need to go back to just drinking water from the water fountain.

Chocolate Milk and Common Sense

2007-03-23T13:47:00.000-04:00

Today I did something very odd. Well, odd for me. At lunch time, I bought myself a chocolate milk. Honestly, I rarely ever drink chocolate milk. In fact, I rarely drink milk at work, even though it is my beverage of choice at home.

Anyhow, drinking chocolate milk hardly seems blog-worthy material...except in this case. Because, as any good diabetic, I always read the label and check the carb content before consuming. And, as any good diabetic knows, knowing the carb value isn't good enough. You have to also know how many servings are in that package. A little math, and voila! You have your total carbs.

Or do you?

See, had I done that blindly, I would have given myself a bolus for 232 carbs. No, that's not a typo. But there was a typo on the bottle. 29 carbs per serving, but the bottle said there were 8 servings, when in reality, there were only 2.

Of course, I am more than just a good diabetic, and I immediately realized the error. But what if I hadn't? What if I am like a good percentage of Americans, and just took the nutritional information (whatever it all means) at face value. It could have been a serious issue.

It shows the perils of blindly accepting things. Even when being diligent, we have to use common sense. There is no way that bottle of chocolate milk should contain 232 carbs!

Which brings me to another, less obvious example of misleading labels.

Are you aware that the carb content listed on an item is, in reality, the minimum carb content, and not actual?

See, it goes back to a day when manufacturers weren't being held accountable for their labels, and they might say that a package had 2 oz, but really only contained 1.7 oz as a means to save a little money. Someone sued (or at least, I think they did), which led to a tightening of laws. If a package says 2 ounces, then I had better be getting at least 2 ounces.

At least.

And that's where the problem is...because, in reality, while a manufacturer may try to get as close to that 2 ounces as possible, for fear of falling under, which would be illegal, they will err on the side of caution and the package will contain slightly more than the label says. In fact, it could contain twice as much as the package says. And while the carb content is listed for a 2 ounce serving size, and the package says there is 1 serving, in actuality, it could be 1.5 servings., meaning your carbs are way off.

Calculating carbs is in inexact science. Even if you weigh each and every byte you put in your mouth, some foods have various parts with varying carb densities. Take the Frosted Pop-Tart as an example. If the package says it weights so much, but in reality it weighs slightly more, is that "slightly more" from too much frosting, too much filling, or too much pastry? It matters, because if it is all from too much frosting, that will be significantly more carbs than from too much pastry.

So, good luck on getting your carb calculations perfect. It isn't possible, so don't fret about it. That's what the correction bolus was invented for!

Bookstores Are Bad For Your Health

2007-03-19T13:20:00.000-04:00

On Saturday, while my two oldest boys were at a four-hour long choir rehearsal, I decided to get some writing done. Made some good progress, too, but four-hours straight is too much for me, so at the 1 1/2 hour mark, I decided to make a trek to the nearby bookstore.

These days, I don't go into a bookstore all that often. If I don't get my books from the library, I get them from Amazon or something.

And I was reminded of something...that being in a bookstore can be a bad idea for wanna-be writers, such as myself. Bad, because each and every time I walk into a bookstore lately, instead of the joy of finding some new book I want to read, it is a panic-inducing mess of paperbacks and hardcovers. A mess that I'm just crazy enough to want my own book to not be a part of, because I want my book to be noticed and bought, rather than sit on the shelves.

There are books everywhere in a bookstore. I'm sure that's news to most of you. And I think to myself, "Why do I think my book is gonna make it among all this?"

So, I figure I needed to focus. Lemme see. Where might I find Jon Clinch's new book, Finn? Because he is getting grand reviews, it must be easy to find, right?

Well, sort of. I didn't bother checking the new release tables or anything, because I think there are more new release tables than actual bookshelves. So, I headed over to the "Fiction and Literature" section. (Not entirely sure why it is called "Fiction and Literature", as if those are mutually exclusive things they arbitrarily decided to shelve together.)

I found Finn. Two copies, spine out, among hundreds of other spine-out books. And guess what? It didn't really stand out at all. I mean, if I hadn't been looking for it, would I bother to pick it up?

Then I went to the teen section, looking for Ally Carter's book, I'd Tell You I Love You But Then I'd Have To Kill You. Not there. (But, she said the paperback is coming April 1, so I'll check then.)

Then, I fled from the store, blocking the entire experience from my head (rather unsuccessfully, as this account attests).

The only solace I found in the entire experience was that there were literally hundreds of people in the store. So, there are people buying books.

I can only hope one of them, eventually, will be my own.

A New Meter Review

2007-03-15T09:25:00.000-04:00

Well, I did it. I not only flirted with a meter other than my One Touch Ultra by Lifescan, I'm having a full-fledged affair. I bought myself a box of 100 strips and a meter from my local Kroger. The meter itself was only $10, and a box of 100 strips cost $44, which is the same price I pay for 50 strips for the One Touch.

I'll start out by saying I really love this new meter. There are a few differences, but mostly, I prefer it to the One Touch.

I suppose you'll want to know why. Okay, okay. I'll tell you.

The Kroger meter strips are cheaper. But you already knew that one.
The Kroger meter is smaller. Not a great deal smaller, but definitely smaller. Not only that, but when I have all the strips, the meter, extra lancets, and the "poker" in the case it comes with, it is still smaller.
The carrying case is just plain cooler than the one that came with my One Touch Ultra.
The poker that came with the meter is far more comfortable. In fact, with the exception of one time thus far, after I poke my finger, I wondered if it had done anything at all. I honestly didn't feel a thing. But, I managed to milk blood from my finger just fine, so apparently it worked. There are five adjustable settings for depth, and I used the middle one, same as the one that came with my One Touch Ultra.
There is a built-in backlight.
While both the One Touch and Kroger meters have a 5-second test, the Kroger meter will not start counting down until you have enough blood. The One Touch Ultra starts to count down almost immediately, and occasionally you don't have enough blood in time, resulting in the waste of a perfectly good test strip. Not an issue on the Kroger meter.
The Kroger meter has similar features as the One Touch Ultra, including auto-on by sticking in the test strip, displaying averages for 7 days and 14 days, etc. But one thing the Kroger does that the One Touch doesn't is it has an audible feedback feature (which can be turned off). Basically, it beeps when it turns on, when there is enough blood, and when the test is finished.
As I mentioned, the Kroger meter is smaller.

So, all in all, a very nice meter. And at $10, I can actually buy several and keep one at work, one in my car, one at home, etc, if I want.

Now, despite all the positives, there are a few things that I either don't like or I'm just not used to yet:

The strips come individually packages in foil wrappers rather than a vial. In a way, this isn't a problem. In fact, I can fit a lot more strips in my case in less space as a result. But it means not only tearing open the foil wrapper, but having the extra garbage to deal with. Not a huge issue, but different. The wrappers are actually extremely easy to open, so it isn't a big deal.
The test strip goes in the bottom of the meter rather than the top. My One Touch Ultra, the strip goes in the top. Being on the bottom makes it slightly more awkward to apply the blood sample if I'm using the bottom side of my finger. Having the strip on top makes it easier, no matter where on my finger I poke. Again, this is more of an adjustment on my part than anything.
The blood sample size on the Kroger meter is very slightly larger than on the One Touch. Truly, it isn't enough to make a difference to me, but I mention it because some people might have trouble getting that extra .1 microliter of blood (or whatever it is). For me, it is no worse, and actually the difference is moot since the meter won't start counting down until I have enough blood anyhow, so I have more time to squeeze out more blood.
Calibrating the meter isn't a matter of just scrolling through some numbers. Instead, they have this calibration stick. You place it in the meter when you open a new box of strips, and it codes the meter for you. In a way, this is easier. However, it means you have to keep the calibration stick around. Even that isn't so much of an issue, however, since they provide a little place to keep it in the carrying case.

And there you have it. Honestly, I'm not sorry to make the switch. I almost wish I would have done it a long time ago. I'm not sure how the Kroger version compares to other generic versions, such as Meijer's or Wal-Mart's, etc. But I'm here to say, if you are paying for strips yourself, or with a significant copay...or if you just want to save the insurance company money (which is worthwhile, since it ultimately helps lower health-care costs for everyone), then I highly recommend the Kroger brand BGL meter.

Confessions of a Guy Going High

2007-03-11T23:14:00.000-04:00

Anyone had a Shamrock Shake lately? I never remember to get one when they are out, although I used to love them. So, my wife and I got one a couple days ago while we were out. First of all, I gotta say...I was a bit disappointed. I really think they used to be better. I'm not sure why, but it just didn't taste nearly as good as I remember.

But this point isn't really about Shamrock shakes. Well, not exactly. See, this point is about how even the best of us can be naughty and choose to eat (or drink) something when we know we shouldn't.

It all started several hours before my wife and I went out. I tested, and I was high. Not just a bit high, but significantly high. No problem, though. I bolused, and I'd be back to normal in no time.

Except then we went to Taco Bell and I got the Grilled Stuft Burrito. Ever had one? Delicious! But not only does it taste great, but it is a type-1 diabetics worst nightmare. Carbohydrates galore, with the rice and beans and flour tortilla. Yum. Of course, I added to that a taco. I figured I bolused enough to cover most of those carbs. I guess. Didn't have my meter with me to check.

Then came the Shamrock shake. I got a small. That was sort of kind of being good. Right?

Bolused more insulin. Got home and tested. Well, you know how most meters have a maximum that they will read? Anything above that maximum and it will just say, "Hi"?

At first I thought my meter was just being friendly. But no. There isn't enough screen space for a "g" and an "h", so I was left with astronomical BGL levels.

I wasn't worried about ketones or ketoacidosis. I had insulin in my system. But still, I should have known better, but at the moment, I didn't care. I wanted that Shamrock shake.

It took most of the night before I was finally back into reasonable numbers, peeing every hour, waking up to test. 453, then 375, then 323, then 220, and finally 150.

Today I was a good boy. But every once in a great while, I go high. Really high. And then I have to pay the price and do the hard work of getting it back down again without going low. In the end, was it worth it?

No. It wasn't. Because, as I said from the beginning of this post, the Shamrock shake wasn't all that great.

I confess. I should have had a Boston Cream doughnut instead.

Meter, Meter, On The Wall, Who's The Fairest...

2007-03-08T20:42:00.000-05:00

You know, sometimes a person can be stupid without even realizing it.

So, there I was standing at the Kroger Pharmacy asking the pharmacist for a box of One Touch Ultra test strips. $43 for 50 strips. Craziness.

But then I noted that sitting there on the counter was Kroger's own BGL meter and strip. The meter, just like the One Touch Ultra, uses a tiny amount of blood and tests in 5 seconds. It is about the same size as the Ultra. But most importantly, the strips only cost $24 for a box of
50.

Hmm. Do a little math, and you can see that there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of advantage to sticking to the name-brand meter these days. Oh, sure, once upon a time One Touch had the lead on meters, with one of the smallest drop sizes and fastest testing times. But that's no longer the case. And frankly, One Touch's latest meters don't offer me anything additional that I really need. They have graphing, or slightly smaller sizes, but nothing I haven't gotten along without for 24 years. They could, I suppose, reduce the test time to one second or something...but honestly, that isn't enough. It takes me longer to get the strip out of the container, stick it in, cock the lancet device and squeeze the finger. Four fewer seconds means little. (And for the record, they don't offer a meter with a one-second test.)

So why is it that I haven't made the switch? Save myself and my insurance company some money, and guy generic?

I have no good answer, except that I've been with One Touch for so long now, it almost feels like cheating to flirt with another brand.

But you know what? I'm flirting now.

So, my fellow diabetics...this is where you come in. Have you "made the switch"? Have you asked the mirror on the wall which is the fairest meter of them all? If so, were you pleased with the switch to generic?

Goodbye, Captain America

2007-03-07T13:39:00.000-05:00

It is a sad day in Superhero land. According to this article, Captain America is dead.

Now, honestly, I never read a single comic book with Captain America, yet he holds a special place in my heart. Why? Because back in the 70s, there were two TV movies made about the character (or, rather, the son of the character, who shares the name Captain America). And being a kid obsessed with superheroes at the time, I, of course, watched both of these movies. There were rumors of a TV series spin-off. In fact, my faulty memory has convinced me that there was, in fact, a TV series when apparently there wasn't.

Anyhow, superheroes have been on my mind a lot lately. (Based on the last couple posts, you wouldn't have guessed, eh?) Not only am I writing about superheroes (kind of, sort of), but I'm watching them on the show Heroes, as well as anticipating Spider-Man 3 and The Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer. (Okay, so the FF movie, not as much. The first movie was kind of pathetic...but I'll watch the new one.)

On top of these, we also have the release of Melanie Lynne Hauser's second book: Super Mom Saves the World. Kind of a cross between superheroes and women's fiction. Funny, witty, beautifully written. Well...the first was. The second I'll get my hands on soon enough.

Superheroes abound. But, sadly, no more Captain America.

On the bright side, the article mentions that Captain America is being made into a movie!

The Everyday Superhero

2007-02-27T11:34:00.000-05:00

Okay, so last week's post concerning books about superheroes didn't turn up much. I'll take that as a sign that either you, my readers, have very little taste in books...or else I'm just a geek.

So, I figured I'd talk about another kind of superhero, which Sarah mentioned. The everyday superhero. The persons in your life who keep you from harm, or inspire you, or rescue you when you're in trouble. They can lift you up when you're down, or draw out a smile from a frown.

The most obvious people who fit this description are your parents. And for those who are parents, themselves, it means that you, too, can be a superhero. Siblings and friends fall under this banner, as do some strangers.

Like, the time my oldest son was admitted to the hospital due to imminent asthma-related respiratory failure. We encountered several superheroes that day, starting with his doctor, who sent him over to the hospital to begin with. My son had to be transferred to a pediatric ICU in another hospital, where he spend the next few days. Anyone with children will tell you how hard it is to leave your child there in the hospital. We had other children who needed us, and so my wife and I tag-teamed. But there was this nurse who stepped in at one point, allowing us a break. She was amazing, and my son fell in love with her...as did we. She rose above the call of duty during that time, and became not only a superhero to our son, but to us, his parents.

Superheroes are everywhere, sometimes doing such seemingly insignificant things, but meaning the world to the other person.

Where Are All the Superheroes?

2007-02-19T13:28:00.000-05:00

Superheroes seem to be big business these days. Movie blockbusters, such as the recently released Ghostrider, or X-Men, Spiderman, and Superman Returns, bring in huge amounts of money. We have the NBC show Heroes as well.

I'll admit I've always been a fan of all-things super. From the time I was six years-old, I've been living in the fantasy world of superheroes. There is something appealing with the idea of being able to do something that no one else can, to experience flying or creating fireballs out of thin air or any other myriad of powers superheroes have these days.

But one thing I never got into was the comic book. Superheroism was either something within my own imagination, or fulfilled on the big screen. To this day, I'm not much into comic books. And so I was thinking recently about how there seem to be so few books out that involve superheroes. I mean real books (oh, don't bug me about comic books being "real"...you know what I mean...books that aren't graphic in nature, but rely exclusively on the written word).

My book, Mindburst, would certainly fall under that category. I'd certainly define it as being part of the superhero genre. Except that there are no pictures. Same with my recently published story, The Dreammaker, and another story I'm shopping around at the moment.

But I wonder why that is. I want to read about superheroes, not just write about them. I've stumbled across a few. The Charlie Bone series is somewhat superheroish in nature. And Midnighters, by Scott Westerfeld. (Granted, I haven't yet had the pleasure to read that one, but I've read other Westerfeld books and loved them, so look forward to experiencing Midnighters.)

I don't want to read a superhero novelization of a movie. I want to read original superhero books. So, tell me. Do you know of any? I'd really like to know. But if reading the story involves pictures, don't bother.

Note: I have absolutely nothing against the graphic novel or comic book. Nothing whatsoever. I have great respect for the graphic artists and authors who conceive of these kinds of stories. Marvel and DC Comics have both offered me plenty of pleasing stories ultimately made into movies. But I'm just not a comic-book-reading kind of guy, is all!

Super Mom Returns

2007-02-16T15:31:00.000-05:00

So, have you heard of this Melanie Lynne Hauser person?

See, she claims to know a thing or two about Super Mom, the maternal superhero that starred in her first novel a while back called Confessions of Super Mom. I read the book, fell in love with the book, and have waited patiently for the sequel. (I even blogged about it. Just check the archives. I'm sure it's still there somewhere.)

But anyhow, back to Melanie. See, she has this blog, and sometimes she refers to herself as Super Mom. But I'm here to tell you that it just isn't so. It can't be, because I'm absolutely certain that I live with and sleep with Super Mom. My wife. No other explanation for all she accomplishes in a day.

Well, I guess I'll cut Melanie some slack, because coming very very soon to a bookstore near you is the long-awaited sequel, Super Mom Saves the World!

Now, don't delay here. If you haven't read the first book, you have just about enough time to get your hands on a copy and read it before the sequel comes out. And if you really need more convincing, go visit author Melanie's website, where you can read an excerpt.

Well, go on. What are you waiting for? Reading my blog? No, no. There is nothing to see here interesting. Really. Super Mom is where it's at!

A Practical Wish List For Diabetics

2007-02-09T12:56:00.000-05:00

You know, living with diabetes can, I suppose, be a pain at times. Literally. Every one of us with the disease would love to wake some morning, open the morning paper (okay, well, I'm dating myself there...click on the morning news website) and find the headline that reads:

CURE FOUND FOR DIABETES!

So far, it hasn't happened.

But I was thinking about all the little things that could make life easier for the diabetic. Things that are seemingly incidental. They aren't major advancements in diabetic care. So here are just a few things I wish were improved.

1. Infusion sets

I'm a pumper, using the QuickSets from Minimed. A couple years ago, Minimed tried to improve upon the QuickSet. I actually liked the improvements...but there were tape issues, and ultimately Minimed went back to the old standby. But one thing that is rather irritating is that you have to change the things so frequently.

So, I'd like to see an infusion set that could safely be worn for, say, seven days or more before the need to change it. Not a huge deal. Just a few more days before I have to jab myself again. (Inserting that infusion set still hurts about 50% of the time for me.) Of course, a side-benefit to the fewer changes is lower costs. Changing out the infusion today means about a box of ten every month. That same box could last 2 1/2 months otherwise.

2. Cheaper blood testing strips

Nevermind about the real-time BGL monitoring. I would be willing to bet that people test infrequently more due to the cost of strips than out of fear of another poke to the finger. Instead of improving those meters, giving us features we really don't care about any longer now that we have the 5-second test, figure out a way to lower the cost of the strips. Most recently, I paid about $42 for a box of 50. That's close to a dollar per strip.

I know why they are expensive. But honestly, if that same box of 50 cost $10, I would test about 4x as much. Last I checked, four times $10 is $40...so we're stilling close to the same amount. Plus, for those who are struggling financially, it would mean far more affordable care.

3. Insulin that doesn't go bad in the heat

Now that we have insulin analogs that work in 10-15 minutes, lets start focusing on more practical improvements. Like, how about the ability to keep a spare bottle of insulin in the car or in my drawer at work without fear of it going bad? That would be a real advancement in my book. (Actually, this same desire applies to medications in general, even non-diabetic related ones such as the Epi-pen. Do you know how many of my son's Epi-pens we have ruined by leaving them out in the hot or freezing car?)

4. The meter-built-into-a-watch

I'm not talking about anything like that Gluco-Watch thingy from a few years ago. I'm talking about shrinking down that One Touch Ultra meter into the size of a wristwatch. Include in the band a place to keep around enough strips to last the day, and maybe even a tiny built-in poker. I can still place the strip in the slot and poke and apply the sample and all. Just give me a package I can have with me at all times easily without needing to carry around a purse (which looks very strange on a man's shoulder, as you can imagine).

Your turn. What are some of the simpler, smaller things you'd like to see. Not things that would take a huge advancement. Just some practical ingenuity.

Nobody's Perfect, Diabetically Speaking

2007-02-07T12:32:00.000-05:00

I'm not perfect.

No, really. I'm not.

I have, in fact, proclaimed my ability to fairly accurately predict the general range of my blood glucose levels as a diabetic, often within about 50 mg/dL. Scott has even gone so far to call this ability my "Spidey-sense". Very flattering, though undeserved.

Why am I coming out, now, with my lack of perfection in this area? Well, because just as I try to be helpful in teaching others how to hone their own Spidey-sense, the truth is no one will ever be perfect at it. In fact, there will be times you are widely off.

Take last night as a fine example. I came home from the store with some cookie dough all ready to eat several delicious chocolate chip cookies. So, after sticking the cookies in the oven, I figured I'd better test. I mean, I knew I wasn't high. Maybe 150, though.

Click...squeeze...5...4...3...2...1...

302! D'oh! So, I bolused and waited for my BGL to drop...and then ate my delicious chocolate chip cookies. (Turns out I over-estimated carbs, and ended up low enough to eat an extra chocolate chip cookie about an hour later.)

So, see there? Even Spidey can be wrong.

But this whole experience got me to thinking about something only slightly related. As I was testing, I was thinking about how much each strip costs, and how expensive that can be for those without insurance. I'm sure plenty of folks forego testing as often as they should in order to save money.

So, let me give you a tip that I sometimes do if I don't have the ability to test, but suspect I might be high. Let's presume I had been perfect yesterday, and I had known I was around 300...but couldn't tell for sure. Let's also presume I was out of strips (which happens from time to time). What to do?

Well, I could give a correction for that 300. But if I'm wrong, I risk a serious low. I could do nothing, but that wouldn't be healthy if I was right. The answer is to compromise.

In such a scenario, I will bolus enough to bring down a high slightly, but not enough that should I dip into low territory, it would be dangerous. Start with a unit or two in my case. Then I wait. I wait maybe two hours...enough time for that bolus to do most of its job. (Sure, there is residual insulin, but very little with a two-unit bolus.) If I didn't go low, then I'll give myself an additional bolus of a unit or so. Then wait again.

Rinse and repeat.

Then, once you start to feel yourself going low, you stop bolusing and eat a snack enough to counteract any additional insulin you bolused.

I'll add a caveat that this is only a good idea for those who are sensitive to their lows. Not a good idea for those who experience hypo-unawareness.

Anyhow, that's my technique for today. Sure, not a medical-doctor approved method, but we live in a real world with real medical costs and real situations where you might not have test strips available. It works for me, and that's all I'm saying!

Attention, Logbook DM Users

2007-01-31T11:44:00.000-05:00

Some of you know me back from my Logbook DM days. (Uh, Scott!) If you're not familiar with Logbook DM, here's the brief story.

Many years ago, before the PDA even existed, I had this idea that software could help a person calculate their insulin dosages pretty easily given the rise of carb-counting. I played around with formulas, and used my trusty HP calculator to store some of them for my own use. I even discussed my idea, at the time, with my endocrinologist, who was quite intrigued with the idea. But, alas, the technology needed to make it practical was still a few years away.

Some time later, I bought my very own PDA. A Sony Clie running the PalmOS. And, of course, I realized that this was the perfect platform to realize my dream. But before I started working on that dream, I figured I would see if anyone else was doing the same thing.

Answer was yes and no. There were applications for diabetics out there, but none of them really worked the way that I wanted them to. They were designed and laid out like a programmer would want them to be, not like a user. They seemed to ignore the connection between current BGL, food intake, and the insulin bolus. So, I wrote Logbook DM to address this.

I had a lot of ideas for Logbook DM...some of which were probably ahead of their time, and ultimately never realized. This included fuzzy-logic used to analyze your trends and give recommendations as to what might be causing highs in the evenings or lows after lunch, etc. I just didn't have the time to spend on it.

But, Logbook DM was apparently useful to a great many users and is still available to this day, albeit at a lower price. That lower price is because I no longer actively develop Logbook DM.
I even considered making it available for free, but then realized that would actually be unfair to those developers who are still developing their software. They would have no incentive to improve their software if I'm giving away a decent application for free. And, frankly, I'd rather see my software superseded by something even better.

The unfortunately thing is that while Logbook DM is still a decent application, technology has moved on, and new devices have come out. New devices that have presented some compatibility problems. The Treo line of devices, in particular, have proven themselves troublesome. Not sure why, exactly, but certain features of Logbook DM don't play nice on the Treo, even though the same feature works fine on others.

So, to those who use Logbook DM and have faced issues with it resetting, I have this one general bit of advice that has helped a great many. Apparently, the PalmOS has this feature where you can selectively disable hi-res support for any given application. If Logbook DM has caused problems for you, then I suggest going into your PalmOS preferences (not Logbook DM preferences) and turn off hi-res support for Logbook DM. This seems to clear up a majority of the problems.

Sadly, I just don't have the time nor resources to develop Logbook DM beyond where it is today. I wish I did. I have a list of features I still would have liked to see...including having a version that runs on the PocketPC/Windows Mobile platform. I'm sorry to say, it isn't going to happen. And if some enterprising individual wants to take over the Logbook DM application, contact me and I'd be willing to hand over the source code (as ugly as it is) to be further developed.

Still Numb, and Wishing For a Tricorder

2007-01-29T15:51:00.000-05:00

You'd never guess that my blog is world-famous for it's discussion of "numb fingertips". Really. Just check my blog stats, and you'd find that, on average, 20-30% of people who Google their way to my blog use the terms "numb fingertips".

Nevermind, I've discussed the topic all of twice.

But, to satisfy the masses, I'm providing entry number three. Why? Because, quite simply, I have numb fingertips. On my right hand. My ring and pinkie fingers.

The last time I had numb fingertips, it was because of a weird sleeping position. Problem went away in a few days. But several months back, I started experiencing on-going numbness in my two fingers. I spent time looking up the issue, including Googling "numb fingertips" and running across this blog entry by one Ryan Bruner.

Okay, so I ignored that one. But I did discover some possible causes. I tried to take the recommended remedies, but nothing really helped. So, I finally consulted an Orthopedic doctor a few weeks ago and had an EMG on Friday.

The next time a doctor recommends I need some kind of test, I think I'm to decline. First, there was the MRI. You can read about that in my blog. But EMG sounds harmless. Something electrical, so I figured they just tape some sensors to my hand and record the results.

Not quite the case. Sure, the doctor taped some sensors. He also drew little lines all over my hand, wrist, and arm, measured distances, and then repeatedly zapped me with electricity. Basically, it feels like you're being electrocuted. Probably because you're being electrocuted.

Not fun. It was mostly annoying, but at times it really hurt, and my screaming just resulted in the doctor saying, "Sorry about that, but I didn't get a measurement. Gotta do it again."

Apparently, the test measures how long it takes for various nerves to transmit the electrical impulse.

After the shocking part was over, there was part two. It involved placing needles into various places and taking some electrical measurements. I wasn't too worried. After all, I've give myself shots since I was 9. I could handle it.

Except insulin shots don't actually go into the muscle. These needles do. And so, once again, I was yelping in pain.

The positive from all this was that the doc did determine that I had a slowing of nerve impulses across my Ulnar nerve...which is exactly what the Ortho doc figured was the case. I go back for my revisit in a few days, and will likely be fitted with something to keep my elbow straight and protected while I sleep at night in an attempt to relieve pressure on the nerve.

But after the MRI experience and now an EMG, I'm really thinking it is time for someone to invent the Tricorder, a la Star Trek.

The Rules of Writing

2007-01-24T10:01:00.000-05:00

If you spend any time hanging around a group of writers (which is kind of weird, if you ask me, but whatever!), you'll probably hear some kind of debate revolving around writing rules. There are umpteen different rules that writers are advised to follow, and any decent and/or experienced writer will likely be able to spout a half-dozen of them off without much thought. Oft times, these rules even contradict each other.

One thing you'll also hear is how there are no rules in writing.

So which is it?

I'll admit, I'm a rule kind of guy. I took one of those personality tests, and was rated an INTJ. If you read about such a personality, you'll find that INTJs tend to like rules. Or, at least, rules that serve a useful purpose. So, little surprise that I rather enjoy writing rules.

Yet, I totally understand that there are no rules in writing as well. The problem comes in the word "rule". Because the "rules of writing" aren't so much rules in the, "if you don't follow them, the world will end as we know it" kind of rule. No, the rules are more or less suggestions or guidelines of the kinds of things to watch out for, but go ahead and break all you want if you so choose.

Let's think back to elementary school, when you were learning the rules for spelling and reading. For example, you probably learned that the letter A makes the short sound, such as in the word "ran". You did a ton of worksheets that illustrate this rule. Sure enough, every word you had to read and/or spell followed this rule. Cat. Bat. Sat. Tan. Van. But then, the next week, you get this word: Cane. Suddenly, the rule fails.

Was the rule wrong? No, not exactly. The rule was really a stepping stone. A way to simplify teaching. And once you grasped that concept, you could start learning the exceptions to the rules. You build, until one day, you can read just about anything without even really thinking about the rules involved.

That's how I see the rules of writing. They are stepping stones. Ways of introducing writers to concepts so that they can improve their writing. But as they improve, those rules will become less and less absolute, until the day comes along that you really don't care about the rules. You'll break those rules at will, even though a good percentage of the time, it has become natural to follow them...or not!

Let's take one of the favorites: adverbs are bad. This rule is often grilled into us, and we become hyperaware of each and every adverb we write and read, cringing in horror.

Yet, what's the truth about this rule? Adverbs aren't bad. They serve a very useful purpose in writing. Their overuse could be a sign of poor writing. But their overuse could be a sign of an intentional writing style. So, why the rule? Because it makes a writer aware of a tendency to rely on adverbs where a stronger verb could be used instead, as just one example.

"He ran quickly to the car."

In this example, the need for the adverb is questionable. Running implies a certain level of quickness. So, adding the adverb is redundant. Or, quite possibly, it is a good opportunity to replace the "ran quickly" with a single, more-powerful verb.

"He darted off to the car."

But there are plenty of places an adverb adds to a sentence.

"The dog pounced on me, enthusiastically."

I don't claim this is the greatest prose in the world, but here the use of the adverb adds something that is lose without it.

So what's the point? The point is, a rule of writing may be useful for learning, much like how knowing an A makes the short sound...except when it doesn't. Once you understand the rule, and understand when the rule does or doesn't matter, you can just forget it. Break it all you want!

And one caveat to all of this. People learn in different ways. Some never need these kinds of rules. They just naturally write well. They are blessed.

I'd Rather Live With the Pain

2007-01-18T08:49:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I had my first ever MRI. Not just any old MRI, but a "Left hip MRI arthrigram", which basically means they inject this special die into my hip before doing the MRI.

Why, you may ask, did I need an MRI? Well, I'm glad you asked. About six months or so ago I started experiencing this hip pain. In the joint, really...the leg socket on my left side. It only hurts when I move it certain ways. Normal walking or sitting it is fine. I went through twelve weeks of physical therapy, which improved my range of motion, but did nothing to actually eliminate the pain. My doctor thought it was just tendonitis, which it apparently wasn't. So, off to an orthopedic doctor, who requested the MRI.

Getting an MRI sounds more impressive than it actually is. Mostly, it's boring. But you know when they show people getting one on television? They make it seem like the space is fairly large. I can think of an episode of House where a girl actually crawls out of one. But let me tell you, there isn't room to crawl. I think I had maybe 6 inches above my head, and that's it. My arms couldn't even stay by my sides comfortably.

Anyhow, the MRI was fine. Although, twenty-five minutes of staying perfectly still gets old really fast. But it was the injection of the die into the joint that was horrible. First off, I'm very ticklish. Which means I'm very sensitive. Just to have them clean the area before they started tickled. Then, they inject local anesthetic. They warned me that it feels like a bee sting for a few seconds. Nevermind I've never been stung by a bee for comparison. But, once the needle went in, I have to say...I never want to be stung. Because it hurt like the dickens. (Okay...I'll interject right now that I have no idea why a "dickens" hurts, but I thought it would be fun to use that phrase.)

It was at that point I thought that maybe I would have rather just lived with the hip pain. And it wasn't even over yet. Once they numbed up the area, next came the "big needle"...the one that goes all the way into the joint. The physician's assistant doing the job jabbed it in and, once again, it hurt like the dickens. I flinched and groaned, and he said, "Oh, did you feel that?"

Uh, yeah.

So he said he needed to inject a bit more anesthetic. Which, of course, hurt like the dickens. Finally, he finished by injecting the fluid with the dye. Which, as you can imagine, hurt like the dickens. Although in this case, it wasn't quite as bad...more like a bad ache.

Then it was over. Had my MRI. Got dressed, and walked out of there.

Of course, as the evening progressed, the anesthetic wore off, and my hip was in a lot of pain. (I won't say it this time, but can already tell me how much it hurt, can't you? Like the...) I could barely walk. This morning is better. Still sore, but returning to normal. But I still think I would have rather lived with the pain.

Exercise, or Is That a Low?

2007-01-16T09:29:00.000-05:00

Today is my third official day of exercise. I hate to say it, because it sounds so trite, but I have to admit the exercise is kind of fun. Like when I used to play racquetball every other morning with my friends back in college. Okay, so the first couple weeks we played it was tortuous to get through even 20 minutes of game play before we collapsed to the floor, lungs on fire, feeling like we were about to cough them out of our chests. But we quickly adapted and even grew to look forward to getting up early.

See, I'm no early bird. I don't like getting up early. But there we were, waking up at 7:00 in the morning to play for 45 minutes, leaving time to shower before heading to our 8:30 am first class of the day. Remember, I was in college. College students love to sleep in. But we did it.

And now, I feel a bit the same. It is a kind of incentive to wake up and get there early. Sure, the workout itself is a bit grueling, but afterwards I feel a bit exhilarated. Okay, okay. Not exactly exhilarated. More like my lungs on are fire feeling like I'm going to cough them out of my chest. But I'm sure I'll feel exhilarated, eventually.

Anyhow, one thing I'm already learning about exercise is that it throws a curve ball at the whole being able to predict your blood sugar levels thing. Because some of the after effects from the workout are quite similar to symptoms.

For example, the slightly shaky muscle fatigue from the weight machines is very similar to the slightly shaky, weak feeling I experience when my BGL is low. Which means, if I go low, how can I tell?

And then there is the slight stomach pain from the ab crunches, which is quite similar to the nauseated feeling I get when my BGL goes high.

I'll work it out, I'm sure. I'm just at the beginning of this road to greater strength, flexibility, and general health. However, let me just tell you that it was a bit disconcerting when I was adjusting the weights on some of the machines this morning. One machine, which I was struggling with at the 50 lb. mark, had been left at the 150 lb. mark. Which means someone before me was using it at 150 lb. Which means, of course, that I'm a great big wimp! (All the more reason to work out, eh?)

Exercise Program: Day 1

2007-01-11T13:16:00.000-05:00

It's official. I'm the proud member of the Fitness Center here at my workplace. And I even lived through the orientation session, which is what day one consisted of. The whole experience was weird for me, starting with the locker rooms.

I'm not shy. I don't care about being naked in a room full of other naked guys. But, it seems that various locker rooms take on unwritten rules and protocols that everyone follows without ever saying anything. Back in college, my friends and I played racquetball three days a week at the campus recreation center. There, the locker rooms were expansive, and no one cared if you walked the mile and a half from your locker to the showers sans clothes or towel. Some did, some didn't. Showers were wide open style, so anyone who was shy was out of luck. Guys would stand at the sinks buck-naked as they brushed their teeth or shaved.

Another gym I've been to had a bit more closed showers. Not completely hidden, but with these half-walls that gave you the illusion of privacy. There, people pretty much kept themselves wrapped until they were to the benches next to the showers, drop their towel, then step in.

So, what about this gym? Trouble was, the time of day I went, there wasn't really anyone else around to follow any rules. Each shower stall has its own shower doors, etc, with this little area where you can hang a towel before getting in. Very private. But I noticed that the one guy who was in a shower had left his clothes out on the bench near the lockers. No help at all. So, do you go ahead and strip at the lockers and head to the showers? Or do you take your towel to the shower and strip once you are just inside the door? They really should have signs or something that say, "Listen, no one really wants to see you without clothes, so do the rest of us a favor."

Anyhow, next up was rating your current physical health. They sort of do a health inventory on all new members, taking blood pressure, pulse, height, and weight. And then they have you do as many push-ups as you can in 30 seconds (eleven, if you really want to know), and these half sit-up thingies in 1 minute (twenty), and finally this flexibility measurement where you try to touch your toes, but using this machine.

What did I learn? When it comes to flexibility, I'm a failure. I couldn't even reach the starting position, giving me a negative score. Pathetic! But, the lady was all nice about it, saying perkily, "Oh, that's perfectly fine! You did great!"

Liar.

Then came the treadmill. Six minute walk at 3.5 mph. She measured my heart rate along the way. By the time my assessment was over, my gym time was pretty much up.

Tomorrow begins the real work. I meet with her again, this time setting up my exercise plan, showing me the ropes on the weights and what not. Until then, I have to decide: naked or not?

Conceptually Speaking, I'm Tired

2007-01-10T14:43:00.000-05:00

The North American International Auto Show is upon us, once again. Growing up, and even into adulthood, this was a must-see event. There was something exciting about previewing the latest and greatest car models...not to mention the cool concept cars. You brave the crowds, fighting for a chance to catch a glimpse of that three-wheeled thingamabob, or that car with the doors that flipped up like wings. You imagine the most futuristic vehicles sitting in your driveway, getting in, and having it take you to work as you sit back and read a book! Or, perhaps, just checking out what other cars you might consider to replace the one you already own, but have suddenly grown tired of.

That's how it used to be. But the auto show kind of grew, and crowds became a bit unbearable, and while it is still fun to look at new cars, it just isn't worth the hassle.

And apparently, "old fogy" mode has kicked in for me, because frankly, I'm growing tired of concept cars. I'm tired of the automakers teasing us with awesome looking vehicles that we'll never see. I'm tired of outlandish ideas that no one should ever see. We get it, Ford, GM, Chrysler, Honda, Toyota, Nissan, etc. You can come up with some really nifty, eye-pleasing candy for us to sample. But what's the point? You won't sell us more. I feel a bit like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory...given an everlasting gobstobber that I'm not allowed to eat.

What's the deal? Why can't you show us real vehicles? Or, rather, realistic? We're mature enough to handle it. In fact, we're mature enough to handle those far-fetched styled vehicles as well.

I remember asking my dad, once, why they don't make concept cars for real, and one reason he gave was that there is a point where the public won't buy something that is too futuristic. Yet, that seems less true today. Personally, I think futuristic would sell nicely.

And even when we are taunted with a vehicle that is production-worthy, either it, too, is never seen again, or by the time it actually makes it to the marketplace, it is old news. Ford's Thunderbird was a prime example of that. The concept vehicle was an awesome reincarnation of an American classic. People raved about it. But several years later, after the design had been watered down, the whole "retro" movement had become old news.

Give us the future now, because frankly, I've grown tired of the concept car. It no longer generates excitement, but frustration. Frustration that instead of that sleek-looking vehicle on the podium, we get that clunky-looking counterpart sitting on the floor next to it.

Go, Go Gadget Stem Cell

2007-01-08T10:31:00.000-05:00

As I've posted before, I'm vehemently against embryonic stem cells, because for me, it involves the destruction of life. Instead, I have always felt there are other possibilities yet to be explored that, should embryonic stem cell research be allowed, might get left behind and never tried.

But today, in the news, another source of stem cells, potentially as valuable as embryonic stem cells, has been revealed: stem cells from amnio fluid.

This is what scares me about this whole thing. Scientists (and those persons longing for cures for their respective diseases) have been pushing for embryonic stem cell research so hard you'd think it was the Holy Grail. Yet, in doing so, they are missing a vital stepping stone: finding a source of stem cells that doesn't depend on destroying life. Of course, to those who don't see embryos as "life" in the same sense I, and other like me, do, it is no big deal.

But to me, this new source solves the problems. It gives flexibility unseen before in adult stem cells (despite the fact that several different therapeutic uses of adult stem cells have been developed...something which embryonic stem cell research can't claim). It also shows how utterly blinded much of the research community has been, staunchly trying to push embryonic stem cells as the only real source, rather than thinking creatively in new ways to use stem cell research without controversy.

Of course, in one article, a scientist is quick to say something to the effect of, "Well, this doesn't mean we should stop embryonic stem cell research." No. Of course not. Because that would be admitting that, just perhaps, the hoopla around embryos as the only source isn't true. Rather than celebrate this as a great advancement, the scientist is still trying to hold to a principle.

Not that I necessarily blame them. We all do it, don't we? When we believe in something, and work hard at something related to that belief, we will be skeptical. And, truth is, we don't know for certain that amnio fluid as a source of stem cells is completely as flexible as embryonic stem cells, even though early research points that it is. Of course, we also don't know that embryonic stem cells will ever result in therapeutic cures either. It is all theoretical right now.

But for now, I'm ecstatic about this discovery. If offers a controversy-free way to progress in stem cell research, which should make both sides of the debate happy.

And, me being a skeptic myself, I'm still not convinced that I'll ever see a cure for my diabetes in my lifetime, no matter what the source is for stem cells. But if it offers hope to some, that's great. I can say that with tremendous confidence and relief, now knowing there is a new path for stem cell research that does away with the destruction of new life.

It is still a waiting game, however. Years of research behind us, and there is still years of research ahead of us, for which I'm still thankful for companies such as Lifescan, which makes my blood testing meter, and Minimed, which makes my insulin pump, and Lilly, which makes my insulin. Because until there is a cure...until we can say, "Go, Go gadget Stem Cell" and watch it miraculously transform in a new beta cell...there is still the need for treatment.

Exercise: The Great Unknown

2007-01-05T11:58:00.000-05:00

I'm a rather healthy guy, if you ignore the fact that I have diabetes, bad back, joint pain in the hip, numb fingers, and, at the moment, a cold. But I'm also getting old. Well, not old old. But older. At last count, I was 33 years old. And given that in the past two years I moved up a pants size, and my belly, which used to be somewhat flat is starting to look a bit, well, less flat, I'm considering starting an exercise program.

Ah...not just any old exercise program. No. I'm planning to join a gym. I'm fortunate to work for a company that has an on-site fitness center. I have to pay to use it, but it is convenient. And in the world of exercise, convenient is a must. (Then again, that treadmill we have in our bedroom is rather convenient as well, and I think I've used it a total of ten times.)

So, in the next couple of weeks I'm going to start my journey at becoming "Mr. Buff." The kind of guy that turns the heads of ladies every time I walk by. Actually, that happens already, except they all seem to look away rather than at me.

Okay, okay. I don't care what the ladies think (except one particular lady who happens to sleep with me...and yes, I'm talking about my wife!). But I do hope to get into shape. Or at least into a different shape.

What will be interesting will be to see how such a change in my life will affect my diabetes. Will my insulin requirements shift? Or my LDL cholesterol levels drop? Will I have more frequent lows? Or maybe less frequent highs?

Or will I just throw my back out?

It is the great unknown. Wish me luck. And in the meantime, I can think of one thing my wife will really absolutely love about my exercising: she can help me pick out some new workout clothes. (Uh...what did you think I was talking about?)

On Your Mark, Get Set...Attack!

2007-01-03T10:34:00.000-05:00

Well, the holidays are over. That's a good thing. Because like every holiday break, this one was jam-packed with stuff to get done. And so I'm glad to get back to work so that I can relax.

Honestly, though, once I finished repainting the boy's room, we had a nice time. New Year's Eve involved staying up and playing games with the family until midnight, pausing, of course, to stuff ourselves silly with delicious desserts we won't see again until next holiday season. And, the brunt of the cold that has infiltrated our household (despite my wife's best efforts, diligently slathering us
with antibacterial hand sanitizer every time we left the house, touched a store cart, or even looked like we were about to sneeze) waited until after New Year's Day to really take any of us down.

My third boy faced the worst of the wrath with a high fever and severe cough. Thank the Lord for Motrin and Albuterol, however. Together, along with a decent dose of prayer, we kept him out of the hospital this year. Poor kid. Two days ago, I put the DVD Cars into the player while the family ate. I forgot about him for a bit, but when I finally headed back in to check on him, he was just staring at the menu screen for the movie. I had forgotten to press Play, and he was too out of it to care.

Anyhow, back to New Year's Eve. This year, my wife bought us Uno Attack! It was a blast to play, and it is the first time we were able to play a family game where the entire family could play...even our three and four year olds. (Of course, they needed a measurable amount of assistance from Mom and Dad, but they had a blast.) My daughter mostly got a kick out of pushing the button and having a stream of cards shoot out. My youngest son got a kick out of being able to choose between playing his yellow seven, his yellow six, or his yellow two. My second oldest son got a kick out of trying to earn as many cards as he possibly could, then trading his hand with Dad so that I'd end up with fifty thousand points. My oldest just got a kick out of playing.

My wife? She got a kick out of winning. She blew the rest of us away, actually.

All in all, it was a blast, and we pretty much repeated the evening the following day and played more Uno Attack and eating more delicious desserts.

Hope you all had a great holiday! And now that it is over, I hope you can actually get some time to relax!

Short Story Published!

2007-01-02T13:26:00.001-05:00

As I had mentioned last year (isn't that fun to say?), my short story The Dreammaker has been published in the January 2007 issue of Beyond Centauri. I haven't yet received my print copy, but it was a giddy-inducing moment to see it posted on their website, only to discover that my name appears on the front cover! Very exciting. This is my second published short story.

I, of course, will encourage everyone who is anyone to go purchase a copy so that you can show it to all your friends and family and say, "Hey, I know this guy!" even though we've never met outside of this virtual forum. It is a science fiction/fantasy magazine for children/young adults.

And as a teaser, I'm going to post the first few paragraphs here to whet your appetite for more. If you want to read the entire story, you must buy the magazine! (By the way, as of right now, the only way to get to the January 2007 issue at the website is to go to the main Genre Mall webpage. You have to scroll down a bit to see it. Apparently, the subpage specific to Beyond Centauri still lists the previous version as of this post.)

So here it is:

The Dreammaker

by Ryan Bruner

When the boy moved in across the street, Christy could tell he wasn't quite normal. His jet black hair sat on his head like a crooked beret--long on one side and short on the other. His eyes were bold and bright, and his clothes hung so low that he had to hike them up every time he sat.

He sat a lot--under the Oak tree next to the road--reading comic books. And he watched everyone and anyone who drove or walked by, his gaze following them as though staring into their very souls looking for something. Then he would turn back to his comics.

For three days, Christy peeked out at him through her bedroom blinds until his gaze focused on her. Even from across the street, she felt naked, as though he were taking something away from her from the inside out. It almost hurt, and she flicked the blinds closed, gasping for breath.

She tried to avoid him, but each time she peered out to see if he was still there, his eyes glared up at her. It was silly, she knew. He had just moved in. He was probably one of those shy types hoping someone would be his friend. How could she not say hi. They were neighbors, after all.

...

Christmas, and a Contest (sort of)

2006-12-28T22:13:00.000-05:00

Hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas! My daughter ended up with a broken leg a few days before! But she's got a nice bright pink cast now, which my wife stenciled with daisies and hearts, so she's all good.

This year, my wife and I did our "stocking game" again. It really is the best event of the holiday season. Spending limit: $20. But this year we had 7 Christmas words, and we each drew one out from a box and threw away the rest. Then, we had to buy presents that spelled the Christmas word for the other person. When it came time to open them, we had to try to figure out the word.

My wife had ANGELS, meaning, she had to buy gifts for me spelling the word ANGELS. I did the same for her with the word SHEPHERD. A lot of fun, and tricky, since we only had about an hour to find all the gifts. (I kind of cheated, though. I had trouble finding another H, so I had to pick Hazelnut Cappuccino Coolers, but Hazelnut really was the flavor, not the name of the product.)

Last thing. As I mentioned in my last entry, I was going to post my children's short story to my website. Well, it is now available. Go check out The Tri-Country Airplane Throwing Contest and let me know what you think. Better yet, print it out and give it to one of your children and let me know what they think of it! It is, after all, for kids.

Upcoming News

2006-12-20T09:23:00.000-05:00

I'm not yet listing this news on my website because it is a bit early, but I figured I'd mentioned it here.

First of all, a few months ago I had a short story accepted for publication in Beyond Centauri, which is a science fiction/fantasy print magazine for young adults. My story, The Dreammaker, will appear in the January issue. I'll post when the magazine is available officially, but I'm excited because it is my first print publication credit, as well as my first young-adult credit.

Second, I had written a children's story (amazingly, involving absolutely nothing supernatural!), which I have shopped around to a couple major kid's publications. Neither accepted it, so I'm going to place it up on my stories section. Since it is for kids, I'll welcome anyone to print it out and give it to their children to read. In the next week or so, it should be up.

And, since we are approaching Christmas, I wanted to wish everyone a Merry Christmas now, in case I don't get a chance to post again before then!

The Diabetic Role Model

2006-12-14T10:10:00.000-05:00

When I was just a sprig in Tennessee (err, a kid in a middle school in Michigan...but I just watched one of the Christmas episodes of Little House on the Prairie last night), I was quickly turned into a diabetic role model.

See, I wasn't the only diabetic in my middle school. In fact, there were four of us...which, statistically speaking, is rather impressive. Anyhow, the school nurse thought it was important for us diabetics to form this special club or something, meeting once a month to discuss all the trials and tribulations of having the disease. She would also use it as a way to sneak in lessons on nutrition, but I was on to her about that.

Anyhow, the thing is, by the time I was in middle school, I was well versed in my disease, and was pretty much over any "issues" that might come along with it.

But there was another boy with diabetes who wasn't over it. He had been recently diagnosed and was bitter about it, to the point of trying to pretend he didn't have the disease at all. Given he was likely still experiencing a bit of honeymoon period (time when the body hadn't fully quit producing insulin), he would try to go days at a time without taking his insulin, and ultimately end up in the hospital.

So, I was elected (by way of an anarchy, actually...it was the single vote of the school nurse that mattered) to be this other boy's role model. I was to befriend him, talk to him about dealing with diabetes, etc. And I did just that.

I'm not sure how much of a role model I actually was, though, because mostly I thought he was kind of a whiny baby. I mean, get over it already. You're a diabetic! All your bemoaning isn't gonna change that!

But, regardless, he did confide in me, and I helped him through a few rough times over the course of about two years.

I've always been somewhat of a loner when it comes to my diabetes. I pretty much take care of it myself, only relying on my endocrinologist to write me prescriptions and run my A1c tests. But looking back in hindsight, having dealt with a great many more diabetics, I can see how important it is for some to have such a role model...someone to inspire them to push through the emotional turmoil it apparently brings. Someone to teach them. Someone who will listen and understand. And then I realize how even I, the loner, find myself drawn into diabetic-exclusive conversations when I meet with a fellow diabetic.

We are a club. We have something in common that those without the disease can't ever completely understand. For some, like myself, it isn't a big deal. For others, it is a major life-changing event. Regardless, there is an instant comradery among diabetics that seems to transcend other differences in personality and beliefs.

Like it or not, I'm a role model. I always have been. And those of you who have lived with diabetes for years are role models as well. You see it in the Diabetes "OC". You see it in such on-line groups as insulin-pumpers.org. And if you have a child with diabetes, you just might want to encourage them to become a diabetic role model as well. Because there is something amazingly transforming when you realize that you have something to offer to others that they can't get anywhere else. Becoming a role model empowers that person by helping others.

I don't know whatever happened to the boy I helped back in my middle school days. We went to different high schools and never saw him again. But I can't help but believe that I made a difference in his life.

O Christmas Tree

2006-12-12T09:41:00.000-05:00

Have you heard about the airport in Seattle that removed the Christmas trees?

The whole situation is kind of sad. Apparently, in response to the fact that there were Christmas trees, a Jewish Rabbi requested that menorahs be placed in the airport as well. Of course, the airport, now fearing that if they placed a menorah, would then have to follow with other holiday decorations, decided to just take down all the Christmas trees instead.

This wasn't what the Rabbi had wanted, nor the airport workers. The workers pooled their money and bought Christmas trees of their own and put them up.

What makes this situation odd to me is that idea that Christmas trees are a Christian symbol. They aren't, actually. Despite having become associated with Christmas, the Christmas tree is not originally grounded in Christian tradition. It has nothing to do with Christ or his birth. And, actually, the time of year we celebrate Christmas really has nothing to do with the Bible. It was originally chosen to coincide with some pagan celebration.

Perhaps I'm odd. When I see a Christmas tree, I don't think of Jesus. I think of the holiday season. Now, I suppose if the airport had put up a nativity, it is a different issue, as that is clearly religious in nature. But Christmas trees?

Not that I blame the Rabbi in this, either. I certainly would have no issue about there being a menorah. The festival of lights and the event that the menorah represents demonstrates the power of God in a time before Christ. Problem is, if you put up a menorah, you definitely are placing a religious symbol up...which could lead to Christians insisting on putting up a nativity.

Rather circular problem I think. And, as I understand it, up until this past century, the festival of lights was a rather minor holiday as Jewish holidays go.

Whether people think the Rabbi was wrong for asking to put up the menorahs, or the airport was wrong for taking down the Christmas tree, or the airport workers were wrong for putting up their own trees in protest...I think it demonstrates something sad. People seem to forget that these holidays are meaningful to individuals. The public display of such symbols are in response to individuals wanting them there. Isn't this supposed to be a world of "tolerance"? (Which, actually, I take issue with...but I won't get into that here.) Yet, rather than tolerating anything, we say, "Hey, they got their way...I should get my way, too!"

That's not exactly tolerance.

Well, really...I think everyone should stop worrying about who wants to display their Christmas tree or menorah and get back to the real reason for the holiday season: shopping!

(Uh, that's a joke, by the way. Sarcasm. You know?)

Getting It All Wrong

2006-12-08T09:00:00.000-05:00

I was rather irritated with last night's episode of ER.

Actually, this entire season hasn't been all that great, but I've been watching the show since it's inception, so it is hard to give up, you know? Anyhow, if you don't watch, they introduced this character this season who is supposed to be a Bible-believing Christian. And, of course, they decided to cast this character as a stereotypical dumb-blonde. I've tried to tolerate that, because it is, after all, ER.

But last night made me mad. Because we got to "sit in" on a Bible study.

Apparently, the writer's of ER have never actually been to a Bible study. Because generally speaking, a Bible is involved. Here, it was more like a group therapy session. And while there isn't anything wrong with that...there is when the supposed leader of the Bible study is offering advice that is counter what the Bible says.

And then further, it is most frustrating when the one character who is sitting in who doesn't believe any of it sort of lies, making up a bunch of stuff about "purity of spirit", and suddenly everyone in the Bible study is swayed to his way of thinking, accepting the fact that everything they have been studying (presumably, even though they didn't really show it) is "antiquated".

I felt a bit ill at that moment. I mean, it was a blow to Christians who truly believe, who turn to the Bible, and yet have this show that just tried to imply that everything they believe is antiquated and irrelevant, etc.

One major flaw I saw was when the leader went around the room to talk about how you should deal with various sins. So, for the sin of pride, offer up humility, etc. Good. Fine. Then comes the issue of "lust". This is where, of course, the non-believing character says to offer up "purity."

Okay. Except the leader said, "Well, I was looking for chastity..."

Right there. That's where things went bad. Because, guess what? Chastity isn't the Bible's answer to lust. Chastity and "sexual purity" are not the same thing. (Oh, and when the guy said "purity", he wasn't talking "sexual purity", but this ambiguous "purity of spirit", which was meaningless, but apparently everything in the room loved because it meant they could go and have as much sex as they wanted or something.)

Anyhow, believe it or not, the Bible encourages sex. It celebrates it (Song of Solomon) in fact, and Paul actually instructs the church that they should get married and have sex! Why? Because of lust!

Sex is the answer to lust, not chastity. Of course, the Bible expects sexual purity, meaning that sex is kept within the marriage. But within that marriage, you're supposed to be having a grand old time in bed!

You know, I don't really have a problem if people don't want to believe that. What I have a problem with is ER making fun of the Christian belief, and even goes so far to get that belief wrong. Yeah. It's easy to poke holes at a belief that isn't actually accurate.

In the end, the Bible-believing Christian doctor decides that it is okay to have sex any old time as long as there is "purity of spirit", and the non-believing doctor decides, for the first time in his life, not to have sex. (Which is a portrayal I don't necessarily have an issue with, since that happens. Plenty of Christians fail to live up to sexual purity. It is one of the reasons, in fact, we believe...because we fail!)

Next time, get it right, ER. Why not actually show Christianity, for once, how it actually is rather than trying to insult us with misrepresentation? I don't know. Maybe it wasn't intentional. Regardless, count me as one who found the whole thing offensive.

The Family That's Sick Together...

2006-12-06T10:00:00.000-05:00

Bronchitis. Fever. Sore Throat. Coughing. Runny Nose. Ear infection.

These are just some of the things in our house right now. Six people in our family, and six people with some degree of illness.

'Tis the season to be sick, I guess. I was sick a month ago, and got over it. But in the past day, my cough is returning. My oldest boy had avoided any signs of illness until two days ago, when he started complaining of a sore throat.

There is a positive to the family that's sick together...I just don't know what that positive is yet. I'm sure I'll think of something eventually.

It's a bad time for it, too. (Not that there's ever a good time to be sick.) I have a choir Christmas program this weekend. Three performances. Plus, Saturday, my family (well, those here in Michigan) is having the annual Christmas get-together where we over-eat and hand out gifts to our nieces and nephews. So, we'll probably end up contaminating their families in the process, just in time for Christmas!

And speaking of choir programs...I'm very excited about this year's program. See, it's not just a choir program. It is an entire drama. And this year, I wrote the script. Well, not all of it. See, our Worship Minister had these comedy "sketches" (apparently, no longer called skits) he found in this book. They were short, unrelated sketches. And then we had a choir program with a bunch of Christmas songs of various styles, but again, unrelated.

So, he called upon me to write a funny script to tie it all together. And so, in two months time, I had done just that. It was rather fun, because I'd never really written comedy before until this past summer. And that script was only about seven pages. This script was considerably longer, written for four main characters instead of one. The promo for the program (which I also wrote) goes like this:

It's Christmas Eve, you're trapped in an elevator with four strangers, and the mall just closed leaving no hope of rescue.

No, it's not a promo for Die Hard 10 - it's a hilarious peek into the peculiar lives of Randy, Martha, Stephen, and Mel. Can they learn to recapture their Christmas spirit? Or will the elevator music get to them first?

On Monday, we had our first full rehearsal...and it was my first chance to see my script acted out. What a feeling, to see something you worked hard on come alive like that. I've done other choir programs before, written narrations, even wrote a complete choir program, music and all...yet, this was the first time I wrote of this caliber something outside my usual comfort zone.

So, if you're in Southeast Michigan this weekend and want to come see something funny, let me know and I'll tell you where to go!

If They Could Just Stay Little...

2006-12-04T08:40:00.000-05:00

So, my boys have outgrown their Carter's outfits. They are into Spiderman and Jedis, and have even taken a fascination with basketball.

And it seems my oldest boy is moving into a new stage of maturity. *Sniffle*

It seems, without consulting us (his parents) first, he has decided to become...responsible! It is a scary thing, because it means we (his parents) have to loosen our grip a bit more than we're ready to do.

But he's ready. He's all for it. A few days ago, I even assigned him his first home-improvement project: replacing an outlet cover in his bedroom. It had one of those child safety ones where you have to press a button to access the outlet. But, such a cover prevented the ability to plug certain things in. So, I handed him a screwdriver and outlet cover and let him at it.

Of course, I did this without telling my wife until after he was done, at which point she said, "But, he could have electrocuted himself!"

But she is handling it all quite well, having discussed with him how hard it will be for us to give him more responsibility, but how we know he's ready, so be patient with us. (My wife is always so incredibly perceptive of our kids, and actually, you know, talks to them about things like this, which they, of course, love. Weird.)

And so I have to wonder what's next. This is just a small precursor to such big events in his life, from ordering his own food at Burger King, going through puberty, to eventually learning to drive a car (eek!), falling in love, getting married, having children...

Uh. I'm getting ahead of myself. I can't take it in all at once. Thankfully, children don't grow up quite that fast...though it seems close to it. Still, I can't help but wish if they could just stay little until their Carter's wear out. Because this whole giving them responsibilities thing is hard.

I guess it's time to have that Spiderman talk. "With great power comes great responsibility." We'll tackle the birds and the bees later. *Gulp*

Great book, for teens, kids, and grown-ups, too!

2006-12-01T12:47:00.000-05:00

Right now, I'm in the process of finishing reading my first book by author Scott Westerfeld.

Uglies is a story set in a future where being ugly (that is, normal looking) is practically a crime, where everyone, on their sixteenth birthday, is turned pretty. The main character, Tally, can't wait to be pretty so she can be with her best friend...who was already turned pretty three months earlier.

Generally, I haven't made many book recommendations here, but I felt Mr. Westerfeld's work deserves some recognition. It really is fantastic. The book is targeted as the young adult/teen, but it is written in a way that can appear to younger kids, as well as adults. In fact, since I was "reading" it in audiobook format, my older boys were really enjoying hearing parts of it. So much so, that my oldest said to me, "You'd better not listen to this without us!" (I think they were drawn in by the concept of the hoverboard, which plays a prevalent role in the book.)

I've really enjoyed every minute of the book, and am excited to finish it. (Only a couple chapters to go.) Mr. Westerfeld has a way of really capturing the thoughts and feelings of the 16-year-old protagonist, Tally. She is an imperfect character, whose flaws go beyond being "ugly". Yet she is a character you care about, and see her struggling with knowing just what the right thing to do is.

On top of this, Mr. Westerfeld paints a believable, albeit far-fetched, future.

One bit of irony in this is that my short story, "Buyer's Remorse", which can be found in the stories section of my website, has a very similar extrapolation of the future. When I first read a blurb about Uglies, in fact, I was a bit taken aback.

Fabulous book, however. Part one of a trilogy. If there is a young adult in your life who enjoys to read, you might consider this for them! Or, for yourself!

Sportin' a 'Tude

2006-11-29T12:21:00.000-05:00

Have you heard the phrase, "Sportin' a 'Tude"?

In our household, this phrase is particularly apt right now for two completely unrelated reasons...and in both cases, the reasons are, I'm here to say from the get-go, not genetic.

Let's start with the whole sportin' thang. See, I'm not really a sporty kind of guy. Generally speaking, if you made me choose between watching a Superbowl game on television, or having a cavity filled at the dentist, I'd be hard-pressed to pick the Superbowl game. I just don't like to watch sports on television unless it involves being timed to some sort of music. And gymnastics. I like to watch gymnastics...although, perhaps that still counts, since many of the events in gymnastics are, in fact, timed to some sort of music.

Anyhow, my boys have seemed not to inherit my distaste for televised sports, and so last night, while my wife and I were out in the living room watching House, MD, my three sons were all cozy on our bed watching football. And when the football game ended, they watched basketball. As I headed off to bed, I had to kick them out, to which they protested, telling me the game wasn't over.

So?

But, alas, they were absorbed into it. (I still kicked them out, however. It was late and they needed to be in bed. Or at least I needed to be.)

Sportin'.

Now, the 'Tude part involves our daughter, who recently arrived at the tender age of three. And, in due form, threw the biggest tantrum I've ever seen any of our children ever throw in their lives. Tantrums just aren't part of my parenting experience, really. Yet, there's my daughter, so upset because I wouldn't let her play Polly Pockets in our bedroom that she refused to move. I gave her a warning: come out, or go into your crib.

The next twenty-five minutes she spent screaming from her crib, so loudly that every time I saw tail lights passing by outside our living room window, I was sure it would be followed by two police officers knocking at our door.

Fortunately, she gave up, and I got her out, and she was sad and made me hold her and play Polly Pockets with her, and I had one of those pathetic parenting moments where I thought that maybe I had done the wrong thing, just see how upset she was, yada yada yada. Until she started Sportin' a 'Tude again a few minutes later, quickly quelled by a threat of going back to her crib. She seemed much happier after that.

A 'tude.

And this morning, I went to make myself breakfast, and there sat my family at the table, family room television tuned to basketball highlights, my daughter all upset because no one was getting her a drink.

Sportin' a 'tude, indeed.

I'm Thankful...Really.

2006-11-27T12:53:00.000-05:00

I'm a dweeb. Or else I'm just busy. Not sure which it is, actually. But definitely one of those.

Why? Well, because a week ago I posted how I was going to spend all of last week talking about being thankful. And a week later, I have not made a single new post.

So I'm a dweeb.

But I really am thankful. I'm thankful for my wife, my kids, my family, my friends, my dog. Okay, not my dog. I don't have a dog. But I used to have a dog, and I used to love that dog, and he was a constant companion that I could turn to anytime I needed a listening ear. So I'm thankful that I used to have a dog.

Mostly, I'm thankful for a God to loves us...you and me...so much to overlook my dweeb-ness and offer forgiveness and salvation anyhow. I'm thankful for the opportunity to be thankful to Him, and for the ability to praise Him. I'm thankful for the ways he has guided my life, my decisions, and even bonked me on the head (spiritually speaking, of course) during a time when I wasn't talking to my wife (well, before she was my wife) and told me to get back together with her. He's a smart guy, God. Turns out, my wife is the most wonderful person in the world, and I wouldn't trade her for anything, and she completes me as a person like no one else could. I'd be a complete dweeb if it weren't for her, but because I married her, now I'm only an occasional dweeb.

I'm thankful for life's lessons, for unexpected directions, and directions very much expected and appreciated. I'm thankful that, even though my wife ended up in the E.R. overnight a few days ago fearing she was having a heart attack or something, that it turned out to only "potentially" be something worse, but ended up being relatively minor. (Well, minor in the grand scheme. To call excruciating pain "minor" when you're in the throes of it would probably result in her calling me a dweeb or something, so I feel I should clarify that.) So, yeah...my wife's fine and her heart is in good shape.

I'm also thankful that with each passing year, I'm simultaneously becoming less and less a dweeb in many areas, and more and more a dweeb in others. Ah well. I guess I should be thankful for that, because it means I have opportunities for growth still ahead of me. It would be boring if I had "arrived" and was completely dweeb-free.

So, this post is to let you know that I'm thankful...really. I just was busy last week.

Or I was a dweeb.

Give Thanks Where Thanks Is Due

2006-11-20T15:56:00.000-05:00

For those of us in the United States, we are just a few days from Thanksgiving Day. So, I thought it would be a good time to, you know, be thankful and stuff.

So this week I'm going to talk about things I'm thankful for...even those things that aren't easy to be thankful about. But before I begin, I was thinking about the act of being thankful, and how it requires that there is a receiving end. I mean, what point is there in thankfulness if there is no one to thank.

I might say that I'm thankful for having a house. But really, what did the house have to do with anything? It isn't really about the house. It is about all the opportunities I had growing up where I learned, got a good education, eventually a job and income to pay for the house. It is about all the people who buy cars who need the parts that my company makes, which gives me a job.

I might say I'm thankful for my wife. But what that really means is I'm thankful for all the effort my wife puts into being my wife, for loving me, loving my children, even when I'm acting like a doofus. It means I'm thankful for the parents who raised her to become the person she is today, as well as all the other people who helped shape her.

I might say I'm thankful for living in this great, free nation. But that means I'm thankful for the men and women who died to not only protect this country, but for the men and women who didn't die, as well as those who had the intelligence and vision to draft our constitution, etc.

I could say I'm thankful for my diabetes, because my life has grown out of that part of me. I am who I am because of a disease. But the disease isn't something worthy of thankfulness. And perhaps I'm not thankful for the disease at all, but to a God who helped me to grow strong in the adversity that diabetes brought me.

I guess the point is to give credit where credit where credit is due. Give thanks where thanks is due. Think about the things, people, and circumstances you are thankful for...but don't leave it there. Think about those who made those things, people, and circumstances possible.

I'll have more thanks to share tomorrow.

Why I Write, Part Two

2006-11-17T10:10:00.000-05:00

So you have this idea. This really great idea. But you know, like all great ideas, unless you do something with it, it will eventually be forgotten...until someone else comes along and actually does something with the same or similar idea, at which point you are hitting yourself over the head for not having done anything with the idea when it was your own!

Did you follow that?

I get ideas all the time. Once, when I worked at a Little Caesars pizza place, Little Caesars decided to introduce flavored crust. So, they shipped these giant rolls of stickers with the letters C, B, S, and P on them. When someone wanted, say, poppy seed on their crust, you stuck a little "P" sticker on their ticket so the person making the pizza would notice.

Thing is, there were four giant rolls, and we often had four people answering phones at the same time, and the stickers would end up unraveling, getting in the way, or we'd lose one of the sticker rolls or something. So, one evening when business was slow I started tearing apart a cardboard box and folding it this way and that, stapling it here and there, until I had created a dispenser that held all four rolls of stickers very neatly.

One of my co-workers was in awe. "How do you come up with ideas like that?"

(Honestly, it was no big deal.)

But that question seems to be a common one to authors.

"Where do you get your ideas?"

Well, you see, there's this idea factory... Okay, okay. Who knows? Ideas just come. Some times they come by purposeful observation of the world around you, and sometimes they just sort of pop into the head out of nowhere. I think everyone has ideas. But what makes an author an author is that they don't just brush off the idea. They file it away, or nurture it, and grow it until you have an entire garden of ideas to draw from.

And if an idea is strong enough, it doesn't leave you alone, and you either have to ignore it, or write it down.

I think any writer will also tell you that not all ideas that they write down are necessarily good ones. I have a folder on my computer full of short stories with ideas that I thought were good, but when I bothered to write them down, they were rather disappointing. Of course, I keep those files around in case someday I wish to revisit the idea, maybe placing a new twist on it.

But regardless, exploring those ideas is really a huge part of why I write. It is asking, "What if?" and then playing it out, seeing if it can reveal something unique, or entertaining, or profound. Often it doesn't. But sometimes it does.

Why I Write

2006-11-16T09:28:00.000-05:00

I once read somewhere that in order to be a good children's writer, you have to still be a child at heart. The idea stuck with me, because in many ways that's true. I still find myself drawn to the things of my youth...yet at the same time, I definitely see how some of that childhood has eluded me as I've aged. It helps to have children of my own, though.

My wife once noted how when a little girl asks to play Barbies with an adult, for the adult it pretty much amounts to bouncing the Barbie-doll around in front of the child while she plays along, acting everything out. It's true, too. In fact, it made me self-conscious of the fact that I tend to do the same thing with my own daughter now. I guess grown-ups have a harder time getting into the roll of Barbie and really playing it out.

Yet, when I was a kid, my friends and I would spend hours with our Matchbox cars, which it seemed could talk to each other...except that we knew that it was the little people inside the cars talking to each other, despite the fact that there weren't any little people inside the cars. Imagination.

All this is leading somewhere. Because I thought I'd share a moment from my childhood.

When I was a kid, as I wrote in a previous blog entry, I was fairly obsessed with superheroes. My next-door neighbor, Shelley, was also my best friend, and we played superheroes practically daily. (Either that, or "kidnapper", for some reason.)

Anyhow, there was a time period where the two of us tried to convince the other that our superheroes were real. Not just constructs of our minds, but real, in-the-flesh people. It started innocently enough, having our imaginary super-friend that we, of course, could only see. But it grew from there. I remember once going into the bathroom and having this conversation, loud enough for her to hear, with myself. Of course, I disguised my voice, which I'm certain fooled her into believing my superhero was with me. Soon, she did the same thing.

And then, there were the infamous "Autograph books". Do you remember those? It seemed that everyone had one...expensive books with nothing but a bunch of blank colored pages to have your friends (or famous people, I suppose, if you knew any) sign. So, my superhero signed my autograph book. I disguised my handwriting, of course. So there it was...proof of the existence of my superhero.

Except she didn't believe me...so I had to sneak and swipe her autograph book and sign it using the same disguised writing, never letting on that I had gotten my hands on it.

This whole thing went on for an entire summer. Neither of us would budge, and both of us became increasingly clever at how we were trying to prove how our superhero existed. I revealed facts and secrets about him that of course only a friend of a superhero would know. She did the same.

And finally, the day of revelation...the day we both fessed up and admitted it was all a hoax, which we both already knew anyhow. Yet we believed that we had made the other believe it all.

Isn't that so typical of childhood imagination? Not just the worlds and situations we imagine...but the self-delusional things as well. Truly believing that we have convinced someone that something is true (in this case).

Sometimes I miss that...because I think that it is a power far greater than super-strength or being able to fly. It is the power to exist in a whole other world.

And that is why, today, I write.

Heroes, of the Super Kind

2006-11-14T10:52:00.000-05:00

From the time I was six years old, I've been fairly obsessed with superheroes. It started with Superman and Wonder Woman and Batman, of course. I mean, how could it not? I even watched some of those old black-and-white Superman reruns where the guy is filmed laying on a table with a fan blowing his cape, and made to look like he was really flying. Of course, to the eyes of a six-year-old...he really was flying.

And a year later, my next-door neighbor and best friend and I moved one to creating our own superheroes. (Actually, you can read more about that on my website under "About".) But my love for superheroes that weren't my own creation never waned, and I was drawn to not just superheroes as people, but superheroes as in vehicles. Lemme see, there was Airwolf and Knight Rider and Street Hawk and Blue Thunder and, of course, the Transformers. Oh yeah...and this weird cartoon about this teenager who accidentally drove into this beam of light some scientist was working on that made it so that he and the car sort of became one and he could transform from human to car and back anytime he wanted. As stupid as it sounds, I really loved that show. Nevermind, I have no idea what it was called.

Anyhow, as I grew up, I never lost that love, and to this day, I rarely get more excited for a new movie than one involving superheroes. Even bad ones, like the recent version of The Fantastic Four. (Sorry...but come one guys...you can do better!)

A few weeks ago, I stumbled on the show Heroes. You know. "Save the Cheerleader. Save the world." Now, I had seen some ads for the show, but I never realized it was about superheroes, and so I felt a bit put out that I missed the first six episodes as a result. But I tuned in to the last two and I'm really really enjoying it.

But, I'm also really really hating it. Because I swear the writers of this show are stealing my ideas. I've now had no fewer than 4 specific ideas that I either have used or plan to use in my own books. What's up with that? And by the time my book is published (eh-hem...and of course it will be published one day...I hope), people are gonna go, "Oh, he's just copying that show Heroes." But really, I'm not. Because I started working on this thing like three years ago.

My story is my story, however, and so I must swallow my pride and except the fact that I'm not entirely original in everything I do. *Sigh* So, I'll sit back and enjoy Heroes, and hope that the seeming popularity of the the superhero genre will be a boon to my book. I hope.

Visiting Heaven

2006-11-13T14:48:00.000-05:00

Several years ago, my wife and I splurged and bought ourselves a new, king-sized bed. It was wonderful having a decent mattress, for once.

And by "decent", what that really means is, it was relatively cheap. We got a great deal on it, going to this little mattress shop that insisted that their mattresses are identical to the big-name mattresses, only cheaper. The folks were friendly, and so we...eh-hem, I mean I...I decided to go ahead and buy from them.

A few years later, of course, we learned the hard lesson that you get what you pay for. This finally came to a head last week. See, my wife hasn't really slept in our bed for quite a while. It is too painful. I've tolerated the bed, but even I was waking up throughout the night having to take ibuprofen. It was getting ridiculous. So, we took a trip to a real furniture store. One that sells real beds made by brands you've heard of before, like "Sealy" and "Simmons" and "King Coil".

Now, I must interject here that prior to visiting said furniture store, my wife and I did some internet research. And you know what? It turns out it is really hard to come to any firm conclusions on any given mattress. A mattress that one person loves another hates. Take the Sleep Number Bed. You know, the bed advertised by Lindsay Wagner? I've heard a few people say how they love theirs. Then I check into more reviews, and it seems to be almost universally loathed by others. Fine, check that one off the list.

Then we looked into the Tempurpedic "memory foam" beds. Good reviews, bad reviews, and not to mention prohibitively expensive. Traditional beds? Same thing.

Fortunately, we got to actually try out the beds in the store. We even got to try out this cool computerized contraption that you lay on which measures your personal pressure points and figures out which bed would be best for your body. My wife and I were analyzed, and we found an absolutely wonderful bed.

But then, we tried a natural latex foam mattress by King Koil. Wow. It was like visiting heaven. The bed sort of just enveloped you in luxury. Of course, the salesman declared that he just convinced his own parents to buy that very mattress. Sure...and had we chosen the Sealy Posturpedic, he probably would have told us how his brother just bought that one. Regardless, it was an incredible mattress, well beyond our price range. So, of course, we bought it. Delivery in a week!

The hope is, of course, that my wife and I will be able to sleep comfortably for years to come. So, watch this space in about 20 years and we'll let you know how it goes.

The Curse of the Vocal Cords

2006-11-10T09:08:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I think I've been cursed. And I don't even believe in curses.

See, next Wednesday, our church is having its annual all-church Thanksgiving dinner. And part of the evening includes a concert presented by the ensemble group I sing in. And two of the solos in the concert are mine.

I love to sing. I even had vocal training from my very own brother, who is a professional vocal instructor. And, as this concert approached, I felt a tad nervous. Why? I'll tell you why. Because it seems that every time I'm scheduled to sing anything at church, be it a concert on Thanksgiving or special music on Sunday morning...I seem to come down with a cold.

So, what do you think happened to me starting two days ago? Yeppers! I came down with a cold. And, with advice from my wife, I started popping Cold-Eeez right away. Yet, this morning, I woke up able to sing so low that humans can't even hear it. This wouldn't be a problem if I were a bass. But I'm not a bass. I'm a tenor. Tenor mean I sing high, not low.

I tried to squeak out one of the songs I'm scheduled to sing during my drive in to work today. It sounded an awful lot like Peter Brady when the Brady Kids sang, "A Time for Change."

And so, the curse strikes again.

Fortunately, in almost every case, I recovered just in time to sing, although once I had to modify part of the song in order to hit the notes. But usually the cold hits about two weeks before when I'm going to sing. This time, I only have a week. A week! Even if I can get over my cold, I usually need a few days to strengthen my voice.

And so right now I'm wondering if I can convince the rest of the ensemble to lower the songs a couple octaves...

For Best Results: Drive With Eyes Open!

2006-11-06T09:39:00.000-05:00

This post is about me. And I should start out saying that I was, in fact, driving with my eyes open...technically.

Okay. Let me back up a bit. I'm in this singing group at my church called OneVoice. There are eight of us, and we're doing a concert on November 15. This year is a concert all about praise. So, as you can imagine, most of our songs are either praise songs to God or about praising God.

For the past few months, I've been listening to the CD in my car that has all the songs we're performing in order to learn the lyrics. I'm horrible about memorizing words. Music? No problemo. But lyrics take me forever.

Anyhow, now that we are a couple weeks away, I have the songs mostly learned. Flash forward to this morning. I was driving along, singing along with the CD. I pulled up to a stop light. And that is where things got messy. Because I have this horrible habit of closing my eyes when I'm singing. See, when I sing, I'm singing to God. I don't like distractions, so I tend to close my eyes when I'm praising Him. Now, when I'm driving, I obviously must keep my eyes open. But here I was, stopped at a stop light, and so what did I do? I closed my eyes and started singing. I'm not sure how long passed, but next thing I know, the light is green in front of me, and there are cars behind me pulling around me.

None of them honked at me. At least, I don't think they did. But the cars that were in front of me at the stop light were long gone, and even the left-turn traffic from the opposite direction was taking advantage of me just sitting there.

So, I guess the only thing worse than a driver distracted by talking on the cell phone is a driving distracted by talking to God. Or singing to God, in this case.

Lesson learned here. For best results, drive with your eyes open. I'm sure your fellow drivers appreciate it.

Top Ten Disappointing Moments

2006-11-03T08:46:00.000-05:00

My post yesterday where I revealed that I'm still bitter about Misfits of Science going off the air got me to thinking about disappointing moments you experience in your childhood. So, I thought I'd do a bit of Letterman here and list my top-ten list of disappointing moments experienced as a child. And, of course, in true Letterman form...just being I call them my top ten doesn't really mean they are my top ten. Just a random list of ten.

So, here goes:

It's summer, and your favorite television show is on at 8:00. Captain America! (Okay, okay...so I have this thing for superheroes.) So, you're out playing with your friends and then it starts to get dark. You hurry inside, check the clock and discover it is now 10:00! You played through your favorite show! You were out having fun when you could have been a vegetable in front of the television! And, since the summer months are all reruns, it means you won't get to see the rerun at all!
For a month, the family has been planning a trip to Cedar Point. There is nothing more that you look forward to. Then, you wake up early, ready to go...and it is pouring down rain. You click on The Weather Channel, hoping the rain hasn't hit Sandusky, OH...but alas, it has. You try to convince your folks that maybe it'll stop raining. Maybe by the time you get there it will be clear. But they don't listen. They never listen. And so, you have to wait another week. (Which, since the rain lingers for the next four days, turns out to be a wise decision on your parents part...but you'll never admit it to their face.)
You studied for your upcoming math/science/English/history test, and know the material backwards and forwards. This is the time you're gonna ace the test. This is gonna pull your grade up into A territory, keeping your GPA high enough to remain on the Honor Roll. You sit down to take the test, and nothing makes sense...as if you studied the wrong subject or something. You get your test back the next day, and it is a B-minus. A B-minus! Suddenly, your hopes of getting into your favorite college are dashed, and you know you're destined to wallow in mediocrity the rest of your life.
Finally, after months of bugging your mother to death, you convince her to buy you that box of Honey Combs cereal, because now is the time they have free bike license plates inside the box. The next morning, you race down to the kitchen and see a grin on your older brother's face because he already dug out the license plate for himself.
Lasers! There is nothing cooler than to think that you can own a real-live set of laser guns! The game? Laser Tag...and it is the top item on your Birthday list. You review the list with your folks, and they seem to get it. If they get you only one gift that year, you want Laser Tag! Then your Birthday arrives, and there is a big box there. Just the right size! You know what it is. You start to open it, and sure enough, there are the guns...then you peel away the rest of the Scooby-Doo wrapping paper, and find it isn't Laser Tag, but the "Laser Light Game Set." A cheap knock off. It barely works, and it doesn't even use lasers. And the next year, when you ask for Laser Tag again, your parents say, "But you never played with the one we bought you last year!" So, instead, they buy you a new pair of jeans.
The newspaper is holding a Thanksgiving Day Parade coloring contest. The best submissions will be displayed on live television during the airing of the Thanksgiving Day Parade. So, you sharpen your crayons, buy several copies of the newspaper for that day and start coloring. You pick your best one. It is incredible. You've never colored better in your life. Rudolph's nose is the perfect shade of red, and you really believe that Santa's belly is made from a bowl full of jelly. You send off you entry, and then sit watching the television screen, never even getting up to use the bathroom. But when they announce the winner, it is a pathetic-looking entry that only won because the kid who colored it has been a quadrapelegic for most of her life. Come on...it isn't your fault you aren't paralyzed from the neck down!
You sit down to watch Misfits of Science. But it isn't on. Week after week, you wait for its return. But three years later you try to accept the fact that it is off the air for good. Fortunately, I still had MacGyver to watch. (This disappointment was repeated several times with such great shows as Probe and The Whiz Kids.)
You sit down for family dinner and discover it is Pepper Steak night...again! (Which means spending the first ten minutes picking out each and every pepper by hand.)
Worse, you sit down for family dinner and discover that the menu includes sauerkraut.
You go to the doctor's office, your mother telling you that you probably have a bladder infection. This, because during the drive home from Florida the previous week, you literally stopped off at every single rest area between Michigan and Florida...plus a few stops alongside the edge of the road...to pee. Bladder infection. Just get some antibiotics and go. Until they inform you that you have been diagnosed with a disease. Diabetes! And, as any intelligent nine-year-old can tell you, having a disease means you are going to die a horrible death in a matter of days...or a few weeks at best! And then the truly horrible news: you won't be allowed to eat sweets any more!

Go ahead and share some of your disappointing childhood moments!

Tag, I'm It

2006-11-02T09:41:00.000-05:00

Have you played tag recently? Actually, I did. With my kids, a few weeks ago. It was a very bad idea. I was sore for a few days afterwards. Apparently, running around when you're 33 isn't the same as running around when you're 10.

But, here I am, playing tag again. Fortunately, the only thing I have to exercise this time is my fingers, since it is Blog Tag. (Actually, giving my recent RSI to my hand, perhaps it isn't so fortunate.) I was tagged by Nichole.

Rules are (apparently) that I must reveal five typically unknown facts about myself, and then tag five other people. First part is easy. It's all about me! Second part is harder, because I don't got no friends! Let's give it a whirl.

Facts about Ryan you probably never wanted to know:

To this day, I am bitter that the television show Misfits of Science was taken off the air. It was, of course, a clever take on the superhero genre. At least, I thought so. Apparently the viewing public disagreed.
I didn't attend my own Prom. I didn't even want to attend my own Prom. Instead, I worked for double-time at Little Caesars. And despite the warnings from my friends that I would someday regret not going to my Prom, thus far I have yet to experience even the slightest tinge of regret.
I've dated exactly two people in my life. My wife, sure. But there was also this horrible moment during a time my wife (well, before she was my wife) and I weren't talking and this girl asked me to take her to Meijer (doesn't sound like a date...but it was definitely intended to be a date). I originally said no, but my parents told me I needed to go out, so I called her back and said yes and had one of the worst evenings of my life. We spent 45 minutes at Meijer, most of the time yelling at the store manager for the service charge of one penny by utilizing their mailing servies. I was so embarrassed. I'm glad I got back together with my wife, believe me.
In Junior High School, three years running, I won the "Standing Long Jump" competition at this annual class competition. Basically, there were various sport-related events such as wheel-barrelling each other across the gym, trying to knock down the most plastic bowling pins with a bean bag, etc. I was on the team specifically for my frog-like legs, and I usually outdid the other teams' best efforts by at least a foot. It was a proud moment, indeed.
I once sprained my ankle. (Actually, twice.) But it wasn't for anything noble, like scoring the winning kick in a soccer game or anything. No, instead, my friends and I were taking terms jumping off the roof of their wood-shed, seeing who could jump the farthest. It was about twelve feet high, and we had this nice three by three cushion to land on. We would move it out a foot at a time until it was somewhere between ten and twenty feet out. We'd run, jump, and land on the cushion. But then, one last attempt, I missed the cushion, slightly off center, and landed one foot on, one foot off. I ended up with crutches for several days, and a weak ankle for years.

So, there you have it.

As to five people to tag? Uh...let me think on that and get back to you. I'll edit this post later...

Okay...updated. Here are the people I'm tagging...ready or not!

Sandra Miller, A Shot in the Dark, http://artistmom2two.blogspot.com
Scott Johnson, Scott's Diabetes Journal, http://scotts-dblife.blogspot.com
Kerri, Six Until Me, http://www.sixuntilme.com
Martha O'Connor, http://marthaoconnor.blogspot.com
Kristin Nelson, Pub Rants, http://pubrants.blogspot.com

Now, Kristin probably is a long-shot. She's a busy literary agent...but I LOVE her blog, so I figure the worst that can happen is some of you might head over there and check her out! Many others I would have tagged appear to already have been tagged. That's fine...although, I think that means I'm one of the last in my social network to be tagged, which is kind of like being picked last by the captains of the baseball teams back in my school days. (Sniff, sniff.) It's okay. I'll get over it.

Something New...Kind Of

2006-11-01T12:43:00.000-05:00

Did you know that November is National Novel Writing Month? See, several years ago, a small group of folks set up this idea of trying to finish a draft of a novel in a month. Tall task. The point wasn't to have something ready to be published, but to have something, period.

The movement has grown, and this year I know several fine writers participating in the event. Me? No way. Minimum word count is 50,000 words. There is no way I could write 50,000 words in a month...particularly a month like November when I'm busy with my singing group, and choirs, and Thanksgiving...not to mention all the other stuff that entails being a husband and father of four.

I do wish luck to those attempting the task. But I am participating in another sense. I've just about finished up my last round of edits to Mindburst, and so I'm jumping back into writing. I have two other projects in the works, but another that I decided I'm going to start. Something new. Kind of.

See, it all started several years ago while I was busy directing my choir and writing diabetes-related software. I had this epiphany of sorts for a novel. I have ideas all the time, and usually if I ignore the idea, it goes away. But this one didn't, and pretty soon, I had conceived the story line for three interconnected novels spanning about 200 years.

I did a bit of writing, but time prohibited me from doing much work on it until I dropped choir and finished working on my software. I started writing, and got about 15,000 words in when I came up with this great idea about kids with mental powers living trapped inside this asylum. So, I shifted gears and wrote Mindburst.

Along the way, I decided that I wanted to write for the young adult audience, which means my fabulous idea spanning 200 years was on hold, indefinitely. Flash forward a couple years to several months ago, and I figured out an entirely new story that utilizes some of the ideas from that original trilogy, but does it in a way that is aimed at young adults. A lot has changed, but I'm excited about it and so I've decided, after much indicision on the matter, to go ahead with it.

So, November, for me, is the start of Lockdown (working title). I won't get 50,000 words written. I'm not sure I'll get even close to my goal of 20,000 words. But it is always fun to jump into a whole new world and see what happens. (Actually, I know what happens...but that's beside the point.)

Anyhow, if you've always had some inkling of a novel rummaging inside your head, this is the month to sit down and just write!

(In the meantime, as my blog post from yesterday points out, you can read chapter one of my novel Mindburst on my website now. Go check it out!)

Mindburst, Chapter One!

2006-10-30T20:31:00.000-05:00

I have a special treat for you! Well, I'd like to believe that. Actually, I've posted on my website the first chapter for my novel, Mindburst! You can read it, and then wait with hopeful expectation that I'll secure an agent, sell it to a publisher, and then read the rest in about two years.

So, go check it out here!

Pumpkin Day

2006-10-30T10:42:00.000-05:00

Friendly reminder: If you are on an insulin pump, don't forget to change the time to reflect the change in Daylight Savings!

Tomorrow's the big day. The day my kids are really looking forward to. Pumpkin Day.

Oh. That's not what you call it? I know, I know. But we aren't really doing the same thing as a good portion of the world. Pumpkin Day is, in our family, a celebration of God's Creation...of the world he provided, including pumpkins!

There are no costumes for us. No trick-or-treating. No ghost stories. We just aren't into that. Instead, we go out to dinner as a family. Well, that's just the start...but let me just say that if you ever want to have absolutely no wait, go out for dinner on Oct. 31. Last year, we went to Bob Evan's, and there were only two other tables with people. I don't understand it. I guess people are busy doing other things. Can't imagine what.

So, we have a nice, leisurely family dinner. Then we head home for the carving of the pumpkins.

There is a book we read called The Pumpkin Patch Parable. It compares how the carving of a pumpkin symbolizes the salvation offered through Jesus Christ. We read this book together, and then carve our pumpkins, always in a way that is happy. No mean or evil looking things. We are celebrating, here!

Finally, we have our treasure hunt. We have clues. The kids have to solve the clues and find the next clue until finally, at the end of the hunt, we have a bag of goodies.

It is a wonderful family time, and my wife and I look forward to it every year...as do the kids!

And this year, we're planning on spreading the fun across two days. It really is too much to do in one day. Last year, we had to rush through the treasure hunt because it was so late. So, this year, we're having the treasure hunt on a second day. I guess we'll have to change the name to "Pumpkin Days".

A Definitive No

2006-10-27T10:03:00.000-04:00

Controversy alert. This post deals with a subject that has raised heated arguments across the political field lately. However, my post isn't politically motivated, but personally motivated. I don't expect everyone to agree with me, but figured I should bring it up. This is, after all, my blog.

I don't support the ADA. I also don't support the JDRF. Kind of odd, considering I've lived with diabetes for most of my life. These organizations do a lot of good, I don't deny that. Yet there is one very strong reason I can't, in good faith, lend my financial support their way. Quite simply, it comes down to embryonic stem cell research.

Both organizations support it. I even called to find out if they financed such research, and the answer was a definitive yes. Which means my support is a definitive no.

I suppose if you don't share my views on "life begins at conception", then you don't see the issue. But for me, life begins at conception. Which means that embryonic stem cell research in any form is destroying one life to potentially benefit another. If you want to understand how it feels to me, consider this: if the issue were dealing with killing a newborn baby rather than an embryo, would it seem reasonable to say, "This baby's life isn't as valuable as the millions who might benefit from it's death."

Perhaps to you it isn't the same thing. But to the millions of people in this country vehemently opposed to embryonic stem cell research, that's exactly what it is. It isn't a matter of pushing our religious views on society, or taking a political position (although, granted, I'm sure there are some out there where that is the case). For me, and those like me, it is about saving a life.

Thing is, to date, all this talk about embryonic stem cell research is just that: talk. There have been no therapeutic advances made. Yes, part of that is due to lack of funding. But part of that is because progress is being made in adult stem cell research.

For whatever reason, that seems to be lost in the debate. Because today, there are treatments that make use of adult stem cells, and I'm constantly reading about new advances in adult stell cells which are showing them to be far more flexible than once believed. They may be harder to work with, but progress is being made.

If funds start going to embryonic stem cell research, then funds will be taken away from the adult stem cell research. That would be a shame, because there are actually reasons why adult stem cells might be the better route. One major reason has to do with rejection. If there is a way to harvest a person's own stem cells and use them for treatment, then you have eliminated a major hurdle in any kind of treatment. The body rejects foreign substances. If I were to be treated with cells derived from someone else, then my body will very likely attack those cells. Which means I would then need to be placed on anti-rejection medicine for the rest of my life, which has a host of health implications itself.

But I digress. Because I don't mean to go into all the benefits of adult stem cells versus embryonic, or vice versa...because ultimately, for me, it doesn't matter. What matters is the life that is ultimately destroyed.

As a diabetic, someone who theoretically could be cured by embryonic stem cell research, I just don't want it. I'd rather live my life out with all the risks of complications. I'd no more ask for a cure from an embryo than I'd ask some baby to die so that I could live a healthier life.

I honestly don't have ill feelings towards people like Michael J. Fox, who wants to return to a normal life, and so sees the embryonic stem cell research as their only hope. It isn't their only hope, of course...but I understand their position. But there are many, like myself, who also suffer from diseases, who don't want that kind of research done.

So, for me, that means foregoing support for ADA and JDRF.

I half expect there to be responses to this trying to "educate me" on the subject. Go ahead. But I'll just state that I'm not at all uneducated. I've read both sides of the debate quite exhaustively in the past several years, following advances, etc. So, talk amongst yourselves, if you want. I just wanted to clear the air on this, and make it clear that for a great many people, the "stem cell issue" is not at all political...an important thing to realize in this politically-charged time.

Being Disabled

2006-10-25T10:18:00.000-04:00

I'm having some repetitive strain issues in my right hand, so my blog will be sparse for the next couple weeks as a result. I hope to be back in full form soon. In the meantime, I'm learning to type one-handed. I'm glad to know this is only temporary.

But it actually serves as a good intro to something a fellow writer asked from me involving disability. I suppose most of us take for granted that our children can choose from the million and one toys available from Toys R Us or Wal-Mart, etc. But parents with children who have disabilities have more limited options.

That is where AblePlay comes in, a non-profit creation that helps filter through the toys by providing ratings and reviews specifically geared towards special needs kids. Check them out.

And if you know anyone who has special needs children, please tell them about www.ableplay.org.

The Wide, Wide Weird of Sports

2006-10-23T12:37:00.000-04:00

Professional sports events brings out the "weird" in people. Particularly big-time events such as the Stanley Cup, or World Series, or Superbowl.

Detroit is no stranger to such events. Well, okay...I don't know that the Lions have ever come close to the Superbowl, but we have won the Stanley Cup and World Series a few times, and both Michigan and Michigan State have been to the Rose Bowl.

Despite this, it still surprises me.

Several years back, the Red Wings were on their way to win the Stanley Cup, and apparently people were throwing dead octopus on the ice and driving around with brooms tied to their cars. I think the broom had something to do with wanting a "sweep", but I'm not entirely sure. The octopus? Not a clue.

My wife and I walked out of Meijer late one evening, and there were cars honking like mad driving along the road. It was my wife who realized it probably meant the Red Wings just won the playoffs. (She turned out to be right.)

Now, Detroit is in the spotlight again. The Tigers are in the World Series. Personally, I couldn't care less. But apparently, the rest of Detroit does care. And last night was one of the sightings of "weird".

There I was, sitting on a bench at church with my four-year-old, and in the hallway comes this big, burly, and balled-headed army man. That isn't a typo. I don't mean bald-headed. I mean balled-headed. (Although, he happens to be bald as well.)

He had painted his entire head white, with red lines curving around his face like the stitching of a baseball. My first reaction was he was trying out an early Halloween look, where Uncle Fester from The Addams' Family, must have had surgury gone horribly awry. But no. As he approached, I realized it was more horrific than that. It was actually a person turning their head into a baseball!

My four-year-old laughed at him, but as the balled-headed man walked away, he said, "That man's gonna scare someone!"

I just don't get it. It is a game. And painting our heads, or wearing giant foam-rubber hands or evening throwing out octopus onto the ice isn't going to make the team play any better. It is almost like people honestly think that the more excited they are for the game, the louder they yell at the television screen, the more people they have at their sports-watching party, the better the team will do.

I've tried to break to folks. I've tried to tell them that when their favorite sports team wins a game, they had absolutely nothing to do with it. They do not have any magical powers over the athletic abilities of the athletes. Nope. The athletes did it all on their own.

Yet, when the team wins, I notice it isn't, "The Tigers won!" Instead, it is, "We won!"

We? We. Weird.

It'll be interesting to see what happens as the World Series progresses. Not because I care one iota about how the Tigers do. But I am interested in seeing just how weird the weirdness will get from the Tigers fans.

How Gray Is Our Gah?

2006-10-20T14:05:00.000-04:00

I'm in this ensemble group at church. We've been preparing for a concert we'll be performing on November 15, which means I've spent most of my time in the car listening to the songs and perfecting (eh-hem...or a reason facsimile thereof) the nuances of the parts I'm responsible for.

One of these songs is a praise song that is fairly popular right now called, "How Great Is Our God." Some of you with more contemporary worship services just might have sung it on a recent Sunday.

Thing is, I'm really irritated with this song. Well, not the song itself, but the artist who sings this particular song on the album. See, in recent times, the "breathy" sound in voices is rather popular. Sometimes it can give a song an ethereal feel, or a passionate feel, or a raw feel, maybe even a heartfelt feel. (Heartfelt feel? Hmm. Kind of redundant sounding.)

Anyhow, the guy who sings this has that rather breathy sound to his voice. But all too often, being breathy also means that the singer doesn't actually pronounce the words.

I'm fine with breathy. Really, I am. I enjoy to sing breathily myself. But please, make sure you actually a-nun-ci-ate your words. Otherwhy ih migh soun lie thih! (Translation: Otherwise it might sound like this.)

Anyhow, this guy doesn't enunciate. At least, not well enough. And as a result, rather than a praise song to God, it is a praise song to Gah! And Gah isn't so great in his version, but he is rather gray.

Fortunately, I know how the song is supposed to go, so I'm not so confused by it all. But I can't tell you how many songs I've listened to where the artist doesn't pronounce their words clearly, and I end up listening to the song for months never quite sure what they are saying.

Of course, there are plenty of other songs with similar problems. Have you ever wondered, for example why people are "Bringing in the Sheets"? (After all, that makes more sense than "Bringing in the Sheaves" to this generation, doesn't it?)

Or have you wondered just who "Jose" is when you sing the Star-Spangled Banner? ("Jose, can you see?")

Anyhow, I'm still trying to figure out just how gray our Gah is. Let me know if you find out. Oh, and if you want to read more funny misheard lyrics, there is a website devoted to them. Check out http://www.kissthisguy.com for a lot of laughs.

Father-Son Not Equal To Father-Sons

2006-10-18T12:06:00.000-04:00

As any parent will tell you, parenting is hard work. And if you don't think so, then you just might not be parenting hard enough.

I say that last part with a bit of self-accusation, because in the last few weeks I have started to see that I was missing out on a fundamental part of parenting. That would be alone time.

No, no. Not me having alone time (although, now that I mention it, I certainly would love more alone time), but me having alone time with one of my sons (well, or daughter).

As we have told our kids, there are positives and negatives to having a relatively large family (and by "relatively", I mean we have four kids, which by today's standards seems large, but historically speaking is quite small). One of the positives, of course, is always having a sibling or sibling to do things with. A built-in friend, so to speak.

The downside is that we have a lot of laundry. And dishes. And just generally, not enough room. But even more than that is the time factor...the opportunities for Dad (that's me) to spend time with each of his kids individually.

For quite a while now, we've had "Boys' Nights", where my wife goes out with a friend I get to spend supposed "quality time" with my boys doing the kind of things boys like to do.

But, as it turns out, a father spending time with his sons is very different from a father spending time with his son. My oldest son had made this increasingly clear with some rather pointed statements (nicely disguised under his keen sense of humor), and requests to do something alone, like playing a game of chess.

So, I sat down with my wife, as we often do when something is nagging us about the state of our parenting, and discussed the issue. I love to talk to my wife about these things. She is absolutely the greatest mother on the face of the planet. She just has this sixth-sense about how our kids feel. Me? Well...I'm ashamed of the times I've dismissed their feelings just because I wanted them to get the playroom straightened up.

Anyhow, my wife helped me determine what was missing in my fatherhood, and then we worked out a game plan...how to have more father-son time on a regular basis. Fitting it into an already tight schedule is difficult, but I consider the effort worth it.

And so, this week began the one-on-one time. While I enjoyed the ability to connect with my boys on an individual basis, the true joy came in just seeing their faces, their excitement, just to be with Dad. And I'm looking forward to getting to know my own kids at a whole new level, carrying forward, hopefully, into adulthood. Because I don't want my boys to grow up one day and wish they had known their father better, or that I had listened to them more. Time to start, today.

Questioning My "Real Man" Status

2006-10-16T11:08:00.000-04:00

There are certain times in my life that I fear that maybe, just maybe, I'm not a Real Man.

Oh, I've fathered four children and all that goes along with that, and I am instantly turned into a zombie the moment a television turns on within ten feet, but there are a few nagging issues.

One has to do with who is going to the World Series this year. Or, more specifically, the fact that I don't really even care. The only reason I know that my home team of the Detroit Tigers made it is because at work and at church and even at my physical therapy, that's the subject of conversation.

"Did you watch the game?" is the frequently asked question from the last few weeks.

I try not to look like an idiot. I mean, it is one thing to not watch the game. It might even be okay to not necessarily want to watch the game. But to live in Michigan and not even know that the Tigers are playing...well, your manhood is thrown into question.

I'm a rare breed, I know. A few years back, the Associate Minister was teaching a Bible School lesson. He was quite a jokester with a wry sense of humor. Anyhow, for reasons that allude me, he said, "Wild horses couldn't drag it from me!"

My first reaction was, "Cool! An Anne of Green Gables fan." But then I realized he said it with a tone of contempt. And he quickly added, "Boy, do I absolutely hate that movie."

Apparently, his wife adores the movie...and his knowledge of Anne was the result of her punishing him by making him watch it. (He really is a sweet husband, though. He ended up suprising her with a vacation to the real "prettiest plot of land on the North Shore".)

See, I love Anne of Green Gables. I even watched it with my boys a few months back, figuring I should enrich their lives with good and virtuous movies. They claimed not to like it, mostly because there were no light sabers or explosions, but I'm here to tell you that they were fixated on it while it was on.

Anyhow, the point is, my love of Anne-girl is another mark against me and my right to being called a "Real Man". "Real Men" don't love Anne. They loathe her. Instead, they are supposed to skip out on ER visits to watch the big game. (Seriously. There was an article on www.msnbc.com about it last week.)

But I do take relief when my wife says something to me, and I can give an appropriate grunt in response while absorbed in the latest Geico commercial, only to have her ask me to repeat back what she said, and I can only say, "Hmm. I got nothing!"

I guess I am a Real Man. After all, I bet my wife hasn't noticed that the gecko from Geico has a different accent now than it did a few years back. And that's important information. At least to a Real Man.

Ramblings of a Poindexter

2006-10-12T16:13:00.000-04:00

I have a wonderful, loving wife whom I adore, and I was absolutely certain adored me. That is until two days ago. Because it was two days ago that her true feelings came out. She, very politely mind you, informed me that under no uncertain terms am I allowed to use the good toilet paper in our bathroom. No, I must use the bargain toilet paper, the same toilet paper that the kids use. The good toilet paper is hers and hers alone.

And so now I know where I rank. Somewhere below the stuff you wipe your bottom with. Rather unflattering, I should say...but it's okay, because she bought some Ben and Jerry's ice cream for me and me alone once that was "to die for", so I know she loves me. Just not as much as her toilet paper.

And yes, this little experience got me to thinking about the whole grand scheme of life. Or, at least, it got me thinking about a seemingly unconnected event in my life that nearly destroyed my self-esteem.

You see, I had to make a little stop-off home from Cedar Point one time. I was really sick, probably from something I ate, and went in to this gas station to use the bathroom. On the way out, I picked up something to drink and got in line behind this rough-and-tough truck driver. He glanced back at me, looking me up and down, and said something like, "Hey, Poindexter, you don't look so good."

Now, I know I am a geek. I take pride in my geekhood. But did I really look like a character from "Revenge of the Nerds"? Apparently so. Of course, I was delirious, and my judgment may have been a bit off, but I figured the guy was a jerk. That was until I got out to the car and glanced in the mirror. I did look like a nerd, because I still had on my sportstrap that held my glasses on while riding the roller coasters. Being as it was night time now, and nowhere near any coaster, I suppose I did look like a Poindexter.

That night I went home and cried.

Or else I just fell asleep. But I could have cried, if I hadn't been so exhausted...and sick...and well, pretty much so well-adjusted that I thought the scene was rather funny.

I generally don't worry what others think of me. Except when I do.

For example, when you are on your way back from the cafeteria carrying your 24-ounce container of yogurt parfait with fresh strawberries and blueberries and kiwi, and you go to open the door and you drop the container of yogurt parfait with strawberries, blueberries, and kiwi, splattering yogurt and fruit across the floor right in the very path every person coming from or going to the cafeteria takes.

Not that such a thing has ever happened to me. But if it did, I would be embarassed, and rushing trying to get it cleaned up with few people noticing.

I have to wonder why that is? Why should being called Poindexter mean nothing to me, but having an accident like dropping yogurt parfait (eh-hem, hypothetically speaking) all over the floor is terribly embarrassing?

I think, ultimately, it is somehow my mother's fault. I have no clue why. But I figure if I come to that conclusion now, on my own, it'll save me thousands of dollars in therapy later. Which is good, because I'm going to have use that money to buy my wife some more "good" toilet paper. Shh! Don't tell her, but I used some to blow my nose this morning.

The Symptom Game

2006-10-10T11:58:00.000-04:00

Okay, folks...how's it going in guessing your BGLs based on your symptoms? Learned anything? And yes, if you found it proved to be a worthless exercise, and you learned I'm nothing but a dweeb, that counts.

I have two topics to discuss today related to diabetes. The first is regarding yet another symptom to watch out for.

In general, going high for a short while is no biggie. But staying high can be dangerous. So, what symptoms can you look for? There are the usuals, such as extreme thirst, frequent urination, feeling a big sluggish. But how about feeling full?

I realized this past week that I've never mentioned this one. Well, at least I don't remember mentioning it. If I have, consider this a refresher. Because when your BGL goes high, your body attempts to halt the digestion process. It doesn't need any more food, since there is already a backlog in your bloodstream.

Generally, if you eat, within an hour or two, you tend to feel normal again...as in, not full. But if you are high, an hour or two later, you may feel like you just finished Thankgiving dinner. For me, this is a sure sign that I'm high. It means my digestive system has shut down for the time being, and usually, I'm pretty safe to give myself a large bolus...first, to cover the already high BGL, and second, to cover the food that remains undigested in my stomach.

And the second topic is in response to a news item I read today where a diabetic man, 35 years old, was confronted by police. The man was hallucinating and experienced seizures. The police weren't aware of his diabetes, however, and they had to use a tazer to get him under control. Problem is, the tazer ultimately killed him.

It is sad, but not altogether unusual. (Well, the tazering and dying might be unusual, but I'm talking about the fact that the police misjudged the man's actions.) This is a danger diabetics face...that if they experience a particularly bad low, the symptoms that result could be mistaken by others for improper behave, such as being drunk or violent. And, in some cases, the response taken by others to protect themselves could be dangerous or downright deadly.

I don't blame the police. How are they supposed to know the difference unless diabetics wear bright read tattoos across their forehead with the Medic Alert symbol or something? They can't. Which means it becomes our responsibility as diabetics to do what we can to prevent these situations.

As much as we work to keep ourselves from being high...being low is worse. I've mentioned it before, but the reason my doctor ultimately put me on the pump was not because my A1c levels were horrible (since I was managing about a 7.1 while on 4-5 shots a day). It was because in order to achieve that level, I was experiencing frequent lows. Lows are dangerous, sometimes from external sources.

So if you could do anything to improve your life as a diabetic, the first and foremost place to start is keeping your BGLs up and not down.

X-Men Revisited

2006-10-09T14:28:00.000-04:00

You may not believe this, but I like science fiction. I know, you're probably thinking, "What? That can't be! Not Ryan!" But it's true. And I'm particularly fond of the X-Men movies.

It if funny. I spent my childhood playing superhero games that are surprisingly similar to X-Men. And my novel has some definite similarities. Yet, I wasn't really introduced to X-Men until the first movie came out. I never read the comics, since I've never been much of a comic-book kind of guy.

Anyhow, I loved the first two movies. Bryan Singer did a fabulous job of not just giving us action, but giving us strong depth of character. But then he was called off X-Men 3, and a new guy came in to take his place.

I saw X-Men 3 at the theater, and I'll admit, I was terribly disappointed. It was lacking something. That Bryan Singer touch, I guess. I was so disappointed, in fact, that I didn't really care much about seeing it again.

But, sitting on my shelf were X-Men and X-Men 2, so I had no choice but to buy the third movie to complete the trilogy. And, since I bought it, I watched it. Let me tell you, I'm glad I did.

See, there is always a danger going into a movie with certain expectations, because what might otherwise turn out to be a good movie doesn't seem to due to expectations. Of course, that's not always the case. I had expectations for Star Wars 1, 2, and 3, and later watched them again and again, but still find myself utterly furious at George Lucas for pretty much ruining the series. (Okay, Revenge of the Sith was pretty good, even if he cheated and ignored some of the rules he had laid out in the original series. But I digress...)

Anyhow, in my subsequent viewing of X-Men 3, I decided that it actually is a pretty good movie. Oh, it isn't as good as the first two. But it is enjoyable, and there were definitely things I missed the first time through that added some depth the second time.

Oh, by the way, if you do end up watching the X-Men 3 DVD, please take the time to watch the movie all the way to the end. And by end, I mean including the credits. Yep, sit there until the screen goes completely black as the last bit of text crawls out of view. Why? Because there is an relatively important scene they show that changes something that happens in the movie. And that's as much as I'm going to tell you. (See, I was talking about the movie with a friend of mine, and he wasn't aware of this scene, so I had to tell him about it.)

What's the point of all this? Nothing earth-shattering. Actually, I have no idea whatsoever, except to say that I enjoyed my second viewing of X-Men 3. That's it.

My Secret (Pathetic) Garden

2006-10-06T09:26:00.000-04:00

Last year, I had this little play tent set up in the backyard for the kids. It was there all summer long, and so by the time the weather had completely destroyed it (either that, or it was the kids who destroyed it!), the grass underneath was non-existent.

So, what do you do with a dead spot of grass? I suppose I could have just planted seed. But I had this fabulously educational idea. As my family was wandering through K-Mart, I found the rack with seeds for flowers and vegetables and pumpkins and thought to myself, "Self, we should plant a garden!"

My boys helped pick out what the plant. Carrots, corn, beans, peas, red peppers, and pumpkins...plus a couple packets of Zenias for the front yard.

Thing is, our little splotch of land was precisely three feet by four feet, which mean foregoing the recommended "18 inches between plants". I also had to mix into the clay that serves as our dirt with some fresh top soil. And one fine day, me and the kids spent several hours tending our own little secret garden.

My boys were very good caretakers of the garden. They watered it every day, and got all excited when a tiny plant would pop up through the soil, only to have their excitement dashed when I had to inform them that it was only a weed.

Eventually, though, the plants did start to poke up through the soil. Of course, it was about this time that their interest waned. Or at least, my interest waned. I kind of lost the passion, and ignored several of the larger weeds that were taking over.

At some point mid-summer, we had our first crop. Peas. Due to the small space, we grew exactly one meal worth of peas. We cooked them and ate them, but I couldn't help but notice that our little garden looked nothing like the gardens my mother grew when I was a kid with corn taller than me, and going out everyday to pick a fresh bowl of green beans.

The red peppers never did much of anything. The corn never grew more than four inches tall, and the beans were dried out and dying before we could harvest a single one. And even now, we have this lovely pumpkin vine stretching out across the lawn. Notice I said pumpkin vine. No pumpkin. Not even the hint of a pumpkin.

And what about my Zenias? Thing is about Zenias is I loved them as a kid. I thought they were pretty in their multi-colored blooms. And how cool was it that you could pluck them and have next year's seeds all ready? But, like the garden behind the house, the Zenias in front of the house never bloomed. Oh, I have these nice tall green little stalks, but no flower.

My garden is pathetic. My Zenias are pathetic. Okay, okay. I'll admit it. I'm pathetic. I'm one of those people who likes to find the shortcuts to something, rather than invest the time and energy it takes for a decent crop.

And so I think about this in terms of parenting. It is so easy to take the shortcuts in life with parenting...to do what is easy, hoping it will all work out in the end. But it doesn't work out. Shortcuts mean you aren't investing the time and energy into the kids that it takes to raise them into highly successful and well-adjusted adults.

I have to constantly remind myself of that. Take care of the weeds that are infesting their attitude, spend time with them, watering and feeding them the love and attention they need. If you don't, you end up with what I've heard called "credit card parenting". If you don't do what you need to do to parent your child today, you'll have to deal with the bill later...with interest.

And so while my secret, pathetic garden might not bear any fruit, I will endeavor to ensure my kids do.

Life B.D.

2006-10-02T10:15:00.000-04:00

I was "born into" diabetes more than twenty-four years ago at the age of nine. And at some point between then and now I have forgotten what life was like Before Diabetes (B.D.).

I have said before, and I'll say it now, that I think diabetes is worse on the parent than it is on the child who is diagnosed. Oh, sure, I had my ups and downs early on. I was a wimp when it came to shots, for example, and so I went one-and-a-half years before I finally gained the courage to do it on my own.

Well, okay. I didn't have courage. Rather, my parent were so fed up with my refusal to do it myself that they gave me an ultimatum. Prior to that ultimatum, I twice before started to give myself my shots. Once, in order to be "rewarded" with a new bike. Of course, shortly thereafter I miraculously froze up and couldn't do it. Another time, they uped the ante, and bought me a new computer if I jabbed myself. I did, and I got the computer, and once again froze up.

The last time, however, was a bit more compelling reason. I either started to give myself a shot, or else my backside would experience the belt. Some might consider that a form of abuse. But guess what? It worked, and never again did I have any trouble injecting myself. Amazing how that works.

Anyhow, the point is there is the early learning stuff, the lifestyle adjustments, and the bouts of jealousy when your friends are eating M & M cookies or having a second slice of chocolate cake, but all in all, you just deal with it.

Parents, though...they can never let it go. They can never stop worrying about their son or daughter. They can never stop wishing a better life for them, wishing away the finger sticks and constant jabs, and wishing they could live a "normal life" again. There is that passion there for diabetes research, and the hope that they will, within their own lifetime, see their child cured from this hideous disease.

But I can't help but stand back and advise parents to relax. There are far worse things your child could be going through, and guess what? In time, diabetes will become no big deal. A time will come when they, too, don't remember Life B.D. I certainly don't.

I do remember the false hopes that my own mother's passion for a cure gave...and the ultimate let downs that resulted. I followed the progress of research for years, seeing each small step forward an indication that a cure was "just around the corner". But over and over again, that hope resulted in far worse pain. And to this day, I see such hope as harmful to kids. But kids have to come to terms with their disease. They have to understand that they are likely stuck with it for the rest of their lives. Only when that happens can they get past the jealousy and self-pity they will experience at times.

It isn't beneficial to think there is a cure soon. Perhaps there is. Perhaps five years from now, I won't be able to blog about my life as a diabetic because I'll be living a normal life. Perhaps. But most likely not. Instead, I deal with my disease as just part of who I am. It is the hand I was dealt, and now I have to play the hand out the best I can.

I can't tell parents not to worry. I'm a parent, and since there are life-threatening food allergies and asthma, I can understand that worry. But please, for the sake of your child, don't pass that worry on to them. Don't ever, for once, think that by highlighting all the "bad things" that could happen to them or does happen to them now (shots, BG testing, etc.) that you are in any way helping your child. You're not. Guess what? For 24 years (well, actually more like 22, since when I was dignosed, BG meters weren't really around for most of us), I've lived with those finger pokes and jabs with the syringe, and I'm stronger for it.

My Life B.D. is gone. A distant memory. And I'm not sorry for it. You shouldn't be sorry for it either.

Not a Sound From the Pavement

2006-09-27T16:09:00.000-04:00

Before my wife and I were married, she told me this heroic story about her father, and how while he was serving in Vietnam, he narrowly escaped being blown up at some munitions compound.

Then, sometime later, as we were sitting with her parents talking about whatever we talked about back then, and my wife brought this story up. As it turns out, she had a few itsy-bitsy details messed up, and he didn't narrowly escape. He wasn't even on duty at the time, and no one was hurt.

It seems that our minds like to fill in details to a story to make it more exciting, or at least make us feel more important than we really are.

That would be me. Mr. Important. Or not, as it turned out.

See, here's the thing. I play the piano. I started lessons when I was five, and continued through most of high school. I got to be quite good. Well, at classical pieces, anyhow. So good, in fact, that I went to Festival one year and played a piece by Mozart...Sonata in C I believe it was...and was told by the judge that I had the best grasp of interpretting Mozart he had ever seen.

It was a proud moment. And yes, that part of my memory is quite true.

In the coming year or so, my piano teacher challenged me with new things, until one day she told me that I had learned everything she could teach me, and there was little point in taking lessons from her. I was ecstatic to think I had reached such a stage.

And then, I went to the subsequent Festival playing yet another piece by Mozart, originally picked out by my piano teacher. Fantasia in D minor, or something like that. I loved that song, but was disappointed when, while my performance was excellent, the same judge that I had the previous year told me that I really needed to work on my interpretation of Mozart, because I had taken far too many liberties with it.

And I had. I knew I had. Frankly, the stylistic decisions that Mozart had jotted down for the song weren't right, in my mind. So I spiced it up a bit. While I played every note as written, I had my fun with tempos and interpretation.

No biggie. All that is true, too.

And for years afterwards, even after I had moved, and lost my piano, I would tell people the story about how I had become so good that my piano teacher felt I didn't need her any longer.

Then, a few years ago, my piano teacher came to a program at my church. I forget what it was, but afterwards we had a nice time catching up.

And the truth was revealed. I was never as good as I thought I was. No, it seems my teacher's decision to break our ties had nothing to do with my advanced abilities, and everything to do with the fact that I wasn't listening to her. Sonata in C? Great interpretation because I actually listened to her. Fantasia? Well, I stopped listening. I decided it was time to be "creative"...to the point that her advice fell on deaf ears.

This was all news to me, and I was devastated. Well, okay, I found it vaguely humorous, though somewhat surprising. All this time I had convinced myself that had I not moved and lost my piano, I could have been the next Horowitz or something.

But no. I was just a schmuck who wouldn't follow directions.

Funny the kinds of things the memory creates...including an inflated ego.

It Was My Idea First

2006-09-26T11:00:00.000-04:00

About four or five years ago I had an epiphany. A complete story idea sort of plummetted into my skull and couldn't escape. This happens frequently, actually...but in this case, it was an idea for a novel.

At the time, I was busy with other tasks, and so the story sort of simmered in my brain on low, taking form until the day came that I finally sat down to start writing. I wrote about 15,000 words of this story, a science fiction tale set 200 years in the future in a colony on Mars. I won't go into details for this story, as some of the ideas I've since pilferred for other stories and even a young-adult science fiction novel (not set on Mars) I may write some day.

But one itsy bitsy piece of this story was an idea I had. The future of computing. In my mind, there will be a day where individuals don't own their own computers. There is no need. Instead, there are "dumb terminals" everywhere, basically generic computers with all the processing power, but no actual data on them. Instead, each individual carries with them (perhaps as jewelry, or an implant, or something) that contains your personal computer files, operating system, and any other data. You simply walk up to a terminal, and wirelessly the terminal reads the data from your implant and you have your own custom computer system with you at all times.

So, today, I read an article...and it seems there is a company doing just that. Oh, it isn't so advanced as what I envisaged yet, but it is the first step. But let me make this clear: it was my idea first!

I know I have no rights to any monies associated with the product, but I feel I deserve at least a little fame for making this technology plausible in my uncompleted, abandoned novel.

If you're really interested in what the real-life software can do, go here. Read all about it. Pretty nifty idea, actually (if I do say so myself). I think it is a matter of time before such a technology will grow ubiquitous. Yes, you heard it here first, but I think this is the future of computing.

If you follow the progression of computing, it only makes sense. First, there was the mainframe. Then, someone had the bright idea of making "dumb terminals" that allowed multiple users to access the mainframe computer. Basically all computing power was on the mainframe.

Later, we started to see personal computers enter the market. Quite a shift. But we also started to see "distributed computing", where users could use their personal computers as "dumb terminals" to access a network of workstations. This eventually grew into the internet that we know today. But the PC still remains a mainstay. Still, with all the computer power scattered across the landscape, why not give access to each user's "personal computer" environment no matter where they go? The PDA was one attempt at this, but it wasn't quite right. As much as the PDA was a cool gadget (and still a useful one at that), it still can never fully replace the personal computer (be it a laptop or desktop).

At least not until this new technology is fully developed. It is a start. Kind of cool, though, to think that my idea might actually come to fruition. Too bad I didn't file any patents or anything. Oh well!

Underwear and the Great Clothing Shuffle

2006-09-25T15:09:00.000-04:00

It's that time of year again, when plummetting temperatures means the great clothing shuffle is upon us. Every fall (well, and spring), this great event takes place. Pull out the boxes of the fall clothes, throw out the shirts that last year you thought were hip but this year are already out of style (well, okay, so "out of style" applies to my entire wardrobe...so let's just say, the shirts that are the most out of style). It also means washing all the shorts and short-sleeves so that they can be packed away, except for a couple standbys in the likely event we get a day or two of warm weather.

Now, this event has grown in complexity over the years, since our family size has also grown. We have three boys and a girl all growing faster than we, as parents, would like (especially when I have to consider that this year, my oldest boy practically needs an entirely new wardrobe). Fortunately, my wife is the master of organization. She sorts the clothes by size, season, and sex, and since we can't very well get rid of anything until the younger siblings have their chance at the same clothes, it all comes down to a huge mess of boxes. Our family is single-handedly keeping Rubbermaid in business.

During this shuffle, I've been putting off doing my own laundry, keeping the washer free for my wife to get the kids clothes sorted. (I leave such work for her since, frankly, I'd be more inclined to toss everything out and start anew each season. All I'm responsible for is retrieving and returning the boxes from the closets without pulling anything.)

Okay, truth be told, it is just an excuse. I hate doing laundry, and so until I'm out of underwear, I make do the best I can.

Well, yesterday, I ran out of underwear. And you'd think I'd just throw in a load. But no, not me. I have to dig through my drawers and see if I can find anything else to get me through another few days.

Sure enough, I have my wife and my kids to thank, because for Father's Day this year, they made me these "matching" hand-painted boxes and undershirt sets perfect for sleeping. Thing is, the boxers are fairly worthless as boxers. They have a fly that won't stay closed no matter what you do, so you still have to wear underwear under them. And then my kids used so much paint that these boxers are actually stiff. After a few washings, you can't really bend them.

But I was desperate, and so right now I'm typing this dressed in boxers that I'd be somewhat embarassed to be found in should I end up in an auto accident. So I guess that means I need to wash my clothes tonight, eh?

Or at least my underwear.

And maybe...just maybe...I'll do my clothing shuffle while I'm at it.

The Great Space Coaster

2006-09-22T10:23:00.000-04:00

Anyone remember that show? "The Great Space Coaster"? I used to watch it as a kid. I only started watching it because it had the word "Coaster" in it. I was, and still am to this stay, a huge coaster enthusiast. I love coasters!

Sadly, the show had nothing to do with roller coasters. But, it did have the furry animal who always said, "No Gnus is Good Gnus". Or something to that effect.

But don't worry, this post isn't about that show. It is about news.

First, I wanted to follow up on my physical therapy just to say that my physical therapist must be punishing me for some horrible past trauma in her life involving someone who resembles me. Or least, that's how it feels. I've had two appointments so far, and never once has she offered to massage my neck and shoulders. Nope. Instead, she is tugging my leg this way and that, and pressing on my lower abdomen so hard I had to hold in the tears. Very painful. Of course, when I tell her this, she presses on my thigh gently claiming she's only pressing that hard. Impossible, I tell you! But, I can't complain, because the amount of free rotation I had without pain on the second day of physical therapy was already better than before I started, so she seems to be doing something right.

Second, I'm still trying to find an agent. However, I did have a "scare" (literarally) a couple days ago. See, I pulled into the driveway, shut off the engine, and opened the door all set to head inside, when my wife just pops out of nowhere in front of me, thrusting the phone in my face. She scared me so bad that I screamed like a little girl. Into the phone. My first inclination (well, second, if you count the urge to pee my pants) was that my mother had died or something. But she quickly told me it was an agent who had previously expressed interest in my manuscript.

Of course, I'm sure I deafened the agent with my scream, but I took the phone and headed inside, all ready to hear the words, "I'd like to represent you."

It didn't happen. No, instead, she was pleased with the changes I had made to the manuscript, but had a few more "issues". We talked for several minutes, and she explained to me the issues, but the conversation ended without an offer. The good news is that she still wants to see one more revision.

That's great news, actually. But scary news as well, because this next revision is a make or break moment. At least with this agent. If I don't get it right, then we part ways. If I get it right, then she'll take me on. Let the nail biting begin!

So, I'm back to editing my manuscript again. In the meantime, I do have a bit of interest from a couple other agents...but those relationships aren't nearly as far along yet. We'll see.

Anyhow, the fact that I have no real news means that "no gnus is good gnus!" Which is why I mentioned The Great Space Coaster.

Oh the Great Space Coaster!
We'll Explore!
On the Great Space Coaster...

Let the Therapy Begin!

2006-09-19T09:42:00.000-04:00

Based on the title of this entry, I bet you figured this would be about how I finally faced the realization that I'm totally messed up, and there is no hope for me without professional help, and so now I'm finally giving in and going to see a therapist.

But, I'm afraid you'd be figuring wrong. Because frankly, I haven't faced the realization that I'm totally messed up.

No, instead, I'm talking about physical therapy. Which, in my mind, might very well be a worse realization, because I don't need physical therapy for an injury I obtained while sliding into third, or diving across the sand court and landing on my shoulder while making a save on the volley. No, I'm having physical therapy for a pain in my hip that seems to have happened without any significant event happening whatsoever.

And that, of course, means I'm getting old. At least, my body is. My mind is fine. No problems there. I'm as sharp as...

Sharp as...

Uh...what was I talking about?

Oh, right. Physical therapy.

I don't know what happened, seriously. Near the beginning of the summer, I started feeling pain in my hip (well, the joint between the hip and my leg, in the front). Walking is fine, but various motions where I rotate my leg, such as sitting cross-legged on the floor, have been increasingly painful. I figured it was minor, and so ignored it for most of the summer. But ignoring it didn't seem to actually help, since the pain was getting worse, not better.

I bit the bullet, saw a doctor, who then did an X-ray to rule out arthritis. (Arthritis! I mean, if you want to make a guy feel old, threaten him with arthritis!) But I'm arthritis-free. Instead, I have some tendon problem with a name I can't even tell you because I can't read the doctor's handwriting.

Next stop? Physical therapy. Starts today.

I've never been to physical therapy, and suddenly I realize I have no idea what in the world the protocol is going to be. Do I strip, don a white towel in a steamy room while "Hans" massages my back? I'm pretty sure that's a spa, not therapy.

Do I dress up in sweats, lining up with twenty other folks and go, "Uh-1, uh-2, and lift, and stretch, that's right uh-1, uh-2..."

No, I'm pretty sure that's an aerobics class.

I do know I have my own personal "therapist". I think her name is Cassie, or Carrie, or Callie. I just remember it starts with a C and ends in an -ie. Oh, and I found out yesterday that my first appointment will run 45 minutes to an hour. Not exactly sure what I'm going to be doing for that long. But am I going to have to strip and don a white towel? I hope not.

And the weirdest part of all this is that for the past few months, I've been trying to avoid moving my leg...and now I'm going to pay some girl big bucks to purposely cause pain. I don't think they realize that I'm a wimp. A full-fledged, self-diagnosed wimp. I don't like pain. My wife laughs at me when I hurt myself, because I'm the kind of guy who yells, and jumps around howling for five minutes when I stub my toe. Me no like pain!

But, I suppose it is all for the best. Hopefully, after my scheduled six sessions, I'll be able to sit cross-legged again normally. So, let the therapy begin.

The Dish Washer

2006-09-15T09:08:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a house far, far away (well, actually, about thirty miles north of here), I had to do the dishes. Actually, not just once, but regularly.

Now, for whatever reason, my mother has always insisted on washing dishes by hand. Oh, we had a dishwasher, but apparently she found the ritualistic dip, scrub, rinse, and dry for each plate, pan, or cup soothing. Uh, yeah. Right.

Me, on the other hand...I was a dishwasher man. And I became a dishwasher-loading expert. Today, I'm one of those people who can't stand it if you don't have the bowls in just the right spot, facing just the right direction. And don't even get me started on how you load the silverware basket!

But never can I say that I actually enjoyed doing the dishes. I suppose I didn't mind it, but soothing? Uh, yeah. Right.

So I was quite pleased when my oldest son was finally old enough to instruct on the ways of doing the dishes. Seven years old is the magic age in our house. You turn seven, and you can scrape and load. So, for an entire year, my boy had the chore of loading dishes.

Then, my second boy turned seven, and so the baton was passed. But, you see, my second son has some issues. He sort of lives in his own little world at times, and you can see, everyday, that his mind isn't on the dishes.

So almost everyday for the past six months I've had to remind him.

"You cannot put dishes in the dishwasher that have food stuck to them."

So, he scrapes off the food. Of course, then he feels the need to rinse off every spec of residue there is before placing the plate in, probably using up about 100 gallons of water in the process. So, I have to remind him.

"You don't have to rinse the dishes that much. Just so there aren't pieces of food."

So, he stops rinsing, and we're back to having food stuck to the plates.

And then there is the fact that he seems in too much of a hurry to actually finish loading. He kind of spreads the dishes around so that it looks like there is no more room, ignoring the fact that we can't see our counters, dumps in the detergent, and rushes off. I check on him and have to remind him.

"You have to fill the dishwaster! If you don't, you'll just end up having to load it twice."

So, he goes back and finishes loading. Well, at least he adds a few more dishes. I think he has a vision problem, though...because he seems incapable of seeing the glasses and silverware strewn across the counter. Once, he even loaded all the bowls (because I reminded him he would need them for breakfast the next morning). But come next morning, there were no spoons.

"Yes, well...in order to have spoons, you have to actually put them in the dishwasher. Now you're gonna have to wash them by hand."

He stares at me blankly, as though I had just asked him to fly.

Of course, when I started my son on the path to responsibility by assigning him dishwasher duty, I expected it to mean I wouldn't have to think about it. But now, I'm beginning to realize that perhaps I should go back to doing it myself. I don't know...I just think it would be more...more...soothing.

Uh, yeah. Right.