Wait Loss

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Weight loss - something that most of us need to do. But this isn't a post about what "we" need to do. It's about what "I" need to do (and am trying to do).

For a few years now, I have been waxing whimsical about my thirtieth year on Planet Earth. That was the year I made a serious effort to get into shape. My regimen began with dieting, jogging, eventually gym membership and weight training. All the things you're supposed to do to get in shape.

And, in shape I was! Over the course of several months, I dropped about 40 lbs (hitting a "peak" low of 206), had a cholesterol of somewhere in the 140's, a pulse rate in the high 50's, blood pressure of something darn low - my doctor said I was in the shape of a 19 year-old. Yeah!

I played volleyball, basketball and softball on our insurance-league teams and other rec leagues. One of my friends, who hadn't seen me for a few months, thought I was ill, I had lost so much weight! I felt GREAT!

Alas, the gym membership ceased and the daily regimen changed. My job within the company changed, and I moved away from the peer-support within the office. I went vegetarian for a while, trying to keep the weight under control without the regular exercise program, but ultimately I regained my taste for fat-laden delicacies. Oh, and I started a new hobby - homebrewing.

Needless to say, the weight came back on, besting my former max by about 25 lbs.

After procrastinating (for what, sixteen years?), I decided to do something about it - with some thanks to my current employer and their wellness program. We started a team walking challenge on June 1 (we did it last year, too, but I didn't take it all that serious). As of my June 4 physical, I weighed in at 267 (and that was even down a few lbs from a mid-May doctor visit), blood pressure was 117:70, pulse at 70 (without caffeine), and cholesterol at 228.

Over the past 5 weeks, my walking regimen has gradually increased from 1.5- 2 miles daily to 3.5-4 miles and is a walk/jog at a 50:50 ratio. I visited the doctor on July 6, and my blood pressure was 104:70, pulse at 62, and I'm really starting to feel good. I swam with the boys yesterday at the local pool, and managed to get a good 45+ minutes of aerobic-type exercise (lap swimming, treading water, etc.) - something I wasn't able to do when we did a mid-winter swim at the Y in January.

The weight loss hasn't been as rapid as I had hoped - as of today, I'm 10 lbs lighter five weeks into this. Perhaps that is just fine - I wish I knew what my weight loss rate was when I was 30, it just seemed more rapid. Who knows?

What else motivates me? There are several hangers with dress pants the next size down in my closet beckoning me - my current pants are getting a little baggy, a little worn, and need to be replaced soon. I'm just not quite able to slip comfortably into the "new" old ones. Yet.

My goal is 220. Not as low as when I was 30, but I really feel I can hit this if I persevere. According to the weight loss experts, 2 lbs a week is healthy, so I'm looking at hitting my goal by Thanksgiving. Just in time for the holiday feeding frenzy! Ugh.

Summer has arrived! If only for a week...

Summer 2009 in the great Inland Northwest officially came with a sub-60's day. We had some nice days in the 70's during the week, but June 21 came in with a ppphhhhffftt (as Bill the Cat might have said).

I really thought Hoopfest the following week would have brought us 90's, since Hoopfest always seems to mark the Official Heatstroke Weekend for Spokane (I intend to play in 2010, so it will probably be in the 100's. Mark my words). It, too, was comfortable in the low-80's.

However, Old Man Summer finally showed up on the extended 4th of July weekend - the week was solidly in the mid 80's and by Friday, hello 95! For tomatoes and summer squash, mid-90's is the equivalent of heaven. We could almost hear them grow!

Yet, in the tradition of the Inland Northwest, 95 on Saturday become 75 on Sunday!

Our local Climatologist Cliff Harris has predicted a short summer. Hopefully, it won't be this short...

I will say that everything is looking great so far!

Loss of a Loved One

The last week of June 2009 was a difficult one for many of us. The world lost several icons. Farrah Fawcett. Michael Jackson. Ed McMahon.

On June 29, we lost Peachie the Cat.

Peachie adopted us in 1998. Our son Kent (shown with Peachie in the photo), then two years old, toddled up to the back door, crying out "Mo-mo! Mo-mo!" In his arms, he clutched this limp, purring ball of fluff, with wispy orange-yellow and white fur and soft brown eyes. Kent's cry of Mo-mo! was his way of telling us he had a cat like Morris, our orange-and-white tabby. And now, we had two cats.

Peachie was named after our favorite video-game heroine, Princess Peach, of Super Mario fame. We (Clark, Emma, and Dad) were hooked on saving the Princess in Mario 64 (which is my all-time favorite video game!), and the cat had the good fortune of having Peach's "peach" coloring. I don't think she minded.

Peachie was two years old when she came to us, according to our vet. For some odd reason, orange-yellow cats were the rage in our neighborhood. We brought Morris with us when we moved to Reedley. Peachie came, and there also was a short-term family member named Corduroy (Emma's favorite bear, and favorite story), who looked suspiciously like one of Peachie's siblings. Later on, we were adopted by another cat, appropriately named Peanut Butter, who was white with orange patches. In fact, orange-yellow pets were the rage at our home for a time - we even had a Golden Retriever named Chester (who needed more than an in-town backyard, and eventually went on to live with Emma's friend Ruthie and her family out in the country). One day, near our garden, I saw yet another orange-yellow and white cat that looked like Peachie and Corduroy. I thought I was going mad! Fortunately, our next cat Hunter was a gray tabby, breaking the trend.

Peachie (and Hunter) were the world-traveler pets in our family, having lived in California, Idaho, and Washington. Neither one really liked the snow, however.

Peachie had a caretaker's heart. Whenever someone was ill, Peachie would snuggle up to them, warming their lap, and often sleeping with them at night. She preferred that we keep our bedroom doors open, as she would venture from bed to bed - when the door was shut, she would claw at the base of the door to be let in (or let out). In our old house, with door handles (not knobs), she learned the art of opening doors, so no unlocked door was safe. She groomed our cat Morris II (our current cat), and began to groom us too. She had this amusing habit of climbing on the back of the couch and licking your hair, and would do it for as long as you would let her. I smirked every time I saw Peachie nonchalantly sneak up on one of our unsuspecting friends as they sat on the couch, as I fully knew what was in store!

Her purr was unique, one that I won't forget. She purred loud, with a bit of a squeaky recoil as she inhaled - kind of like a squeaking fan belt. She didn't meow that often, but would occasionally have this "Mmmmrrroooww" whenever she was trying to get our attention.

Peachie loved to join us in the garden. She came out often during our Spring preparation, walking along the edge of the planters, supervising and approving our work.

Over the last month, I noticed that Peachie was slowing down quite a bit. She loved to look out the windows and the glass sliding doors, and would sit at an open door, but wouldn't venture out, even during Spring and Summer (Peachie didn't like Winter here, unlike Morris, who loves frolicking in the snow. We have nicknamed Morris "Snow-Cat"). Her gait was slow, and the roughhousing with Morris was fewer and further between. She was sleeping more and more, a bit unusual even for a cat. And, her purr changed. The squeak was gone.

Reid, our son of hole-digging fame, was also the designated cat feeder. He developed this cat-call that would bring Peachie and Morris to the kitchen, no matter if they were dead asleep. Since Morris was banned to the garage at night (because he has this irritating habit of waking up between 3am and 4am, and crying mercilessly until someone - usually me - gets out of bed and lets him out the front door), Reid corralled Peachie every night, tucking her under his covers.

The last week was the toughest - and the most telling. The cat-call didn't work anymore. Peachie spent a lot of time hidden in dark places - the closets, behind furniture, and her gait was very slow. She didn't cry as if she was in pain - she just was slow. She ate and drank very little. Dorris and I had agreed that it was about "time". Reid continued to bring her to bed, and he and I spent a lot of nights talking about it being Peachie's "time".

The weekend came, and Peachie was not able to move well from room to room, and she would lay for hours in one place on her journey. I put a couple of towels in a berry-flat cardboard box, gently lifted her into it, and placed her within reach of water and food. A while later, I found Reid next to her, petting her while tears streamed down his face. I told him that it was Peachie's time to go, that she had a great life with us, she cared for us and loved us, and that she would want to be here at home when she passed. My voice broke as the tears streamed down my face.

Later that night (it was Saturday), I sat by Peachie, petting her, and telling her it was okay to go. Again, more tears.

I think she heard, and understood.

The next day, off we went to church, and when we came back, Peachie was gone. We made preparations - the boys helped with her final resting place, and I fashioned a cross out of redwood - and we held a simple service for her.

The loss of a loved one is hard. God gave us His Word for instruction and comfort, and through the life of our cat Peachie, He provided a great instrument for teaching our children unconditional love and loss. If God grants us pets in heaven, Reid and I have decided that we want Peachie there with us.

R.I.P Peachie. We miss you!