My son and I rented a tandem bike from the bike rental guys in the Batavia City Square. The bike was too small for me and too big for Ben, and whenever he pedaled the chain fell off. I did all the biking, and we had fun, but next time I’m riding one of these bikes. I’ll look a little less like the circus bear riding a bike.
Before I left my former school in Canada, I moved from the third floor to the first floor. I did this for two reasons: 1. All of my student leadership activities were on the first floor, and; 2. I hated running up and down flights of stairs just to get from my classroom to the office to the gym and back again.
Then I moved to Jakarta. My school is in a high-rise building. There are something like seven floors of parking before you even get to my school. Once inside, my school has LG (lower ground), G (ground), and UG (upper ground) floors. Then, floors one through eight. Here’s a little math for you: take 400 students; divide by two elevators; multiply by eleven floors…and you get a great number of stairs that must be negotiated every day. It’s easier, and harder, to run the stairs than it is to wait for an elevator. Plus, it’s a good workout. I guess I can eat a little more at dinner tomorrow.
The photo, above, was taken on the sixth floor looking down to the Ground Floor. I guess that makes it nine floors down that you’re seeing. Weirdly abstract.
I’ve been a good boy lately. I’ve been eating right. I’ve been exercising. I’ve been watching my calories, both consumed and expended. But last night I indulged. I haven’t had pizza in quite a while, but we ordered Ricardo’s last night. I ordered my own special: ground beef, ham, and pepperoni. Maybe the least healthy food I’ve eaten in quite some time.
But it was so good. I think it tasted better because I hadn’t had pizza in such a long time. Either way, it was good.
I’ve been eating smarter lately and dropped 10 pounds (still have 30 or more to go). I’ve been eating oatmeal every morning for breakfast with strawberries or honey as my sweetener. I’ve been eating brown rice and more fruit and veggies than I really want.
But Saturday mornings? I get to eat a big, fat, salty scramble. I was going to make a frittata, but I forgot to buy more eggs; I only had two in the fridge. So I made a ham, yellow and red peppers, cheddar and egg scamble with a bit of fresh milled black pepper over the whole mess. This is the scramble before the eggs. It was delicious.
I had parent-teacher interviews tonight, and I’ve not been home all day, but I wanted to post this. It is absolute crap weather outside and at the rate we’re going it should be sunny sometime around October. Also, maybe I can get some solid sleep by then.
Anyway, I’m rambling and need to sleep.
Here’s the photo. Sleep well.
I don’t know what happens around your house when someone gets sick, but when anyone in my house gets the stomach flu (and this time it’s my daughter), we make sure we have plenty of Canada Dry Ginger Ale and saltine crackers on hand. It’s weird, because if I was ever offered ginger ale and saltines at a party I would immediately be transported back in time to the many times I’ve had stomach flu. And what would that look like, you ask? Let me tell you.
Firstly, I make sure that I pull out the sleeping bag and move it to the couch. Preferably the couch in the basement, because it has the creaky springs and grooves where my back fits. Secondly, I make sure there’s plenty of ginger ale (has to be Canada Dry) and saltines around. Thirdly, the sad vomit bucket has to be nearby. Fourthly, the path to the bathroom has to be cleared. And, lastly, the t.v. has to be set to something inane and insipid. I now have satellite t.v. and three hundred channels of insipid to choose from, but when I was younger, I would watch whatever came on.
That meant that I got to catch up on how Bert and Ernie were doing. I got to see if Oscar was still grouchy and whether anyone had seen Snuffleupagus yet. At the same time, and I loathe to admit this, I would catch up on soap operas like General Hospital and One Life to Live. I guess I was a closet soap fan, but only in between bouts of barfing.
A little educational t.v. A little trashy t.v. And a little ginger ale and saltines on the couch. The recipe for getting well.
I never needed an inhaler. My only reference points for asthma were my grandma and Piggy (sorry Grandma) from Lord of the Flies (“Sucks to your ass-mar”). Last May, however, I suddenly needed some assistance breathing. I felt like a fat guy was sitting on my chest. I couldn’t breathe fully. I knew I wasn’t having a heart attack because there was no radiating pain down my left arm. I didn’t know what was happening, but I was not enjoying it. My doctor, later that day, prescribed an inhaler and a whole bunch of tests on my heart.
The inhaler worked almost immediately. I felt a lot better. Until I went for heart tests, that is. Having an EKG test is an interesting mix of electrodes and sticky goo. If I was a little more in touch with my masochistic side, I might have enjoyed it. It turned out that my heart was fine.
Photo Friday‘s challenge this week is “Breathless”. I thought of taking a photo of a set of stairs, which definitely makes me breathless. This seemed less pathetic.