Give the gift of life

“Excuse me, sir. I just want to say thank you,” said the woman lying in the maroon recliner with a plastic tube dangling from her arm. I was headed to the restroom after my 90-minute nap at Mississippi Valley Regional Blood Center. “My grandson is being treated for cancer and he has been receiving a lot of platelets from people like you,” she explained. “Thank you.”

The drops of blood on the pad are unusual, really.

I have been donating blood since I was 18 with a handful of interruptions after tattoos. In 31 years I have never come face to face with a stranger whose life was touched by my “gift.” Sure, I know folks who have have fought cancer, and I know they appreciate blood donors. But it was something special and humbling to receive that thank you.

Let’s get this straight. This is not about me. I don't thrive on kudos and public accolades or recognition. We all like to feel appreciated, but I am not looking for congratulations or plaudits. If you want to pat me on the back, do this: go and give. If you cannot, then recruit someone as your proxy.

Jean and I chatted later at the snack table and she explained that 6-year-old Gabe was diagnosed at age 5 with kidney cancer. The troubled organ and a massive tumor were removed and he's been undergoing chemotherapy and radiation treatment at St. Jude’s Peoria affiliate. She asked about the plateletpheresis process.
 
“So they take it out like whole blood and keep the ‘gold’?” she said, chuckling and drawing sympathetic laughs from me and Donna, the donor coordinator at MVRBC. “Well, it is like liquid gold.”

Indeed. The accumulated platelets are a golden hue.

Plateletpheresis is the process of removing whole blood from a donor, separating the blood into its components, keeping the platelets, and then returning the remaining blood components to the donor. The major components of whole blood are red cells, white cells, platelets and plasma. (www.universityhealthsystem.com) 

Jean’s grandson has been receiving gobs of platelet transfusions over the past four days, she said. “It’s what's keeping him alive,” she said.

Take that in. Blood donors save lives. I don’t know if Gabe has received my platelets from previous donations. But somebody has. And when I have given whole blood, my pints have been pumped into accident victims and surgery patients.

And here’s the deal: It costs you nothing but a little time. Whole blood donations take about 30 minutes start to finish, plateletpheresis takes two to three hours. The first 10 to 15 minutes is spent filling out a medical history questionnaire. A number of factors determine the time required for platelet donation. I typically do a double, which takes 90 minutes or more. I nap or read or watch Food Network TV, interspersing conversation with the staff.

The result: You help save a human life. You give somebody a fighting chance. it truly is the gift of life.

Mouth Organ Blues

I’ve wanted to play harmonica since I was a child. Not enough to actually learn it, mind you, but the desire is buried somewhere in me. 

From the time I started taking piano lessons from Eleanor Oxley in the basement of Flesher House of Music I wanted a harmonica of my own. I would ogle the mouth organs in the display case at the front of the store while I waited my turn under the tutelage of Mrs. Oxley, whose name indicates she was about 108 back in 1974.

I wish I had pictures of that shop to share — it was my candy store. There were horns of every description, drums, pianos, electric organs, sheet music and musical accoutrements galore. But what captured my imagination most was the Hohner harmonica display case, from the tiny Hohner Mini Harp to the classic Hohner Marine Band model all the way up to the double-sided Echo Harp. I wasn’t so interested in the Melodicas in the bottom of the case back then, but I’m rather fascinated now that my memory is jogged.

Anyway, it was around that time that my cousins offered to give me one of their harmonicas. But some sense of pride prevented me accepting the proffered gift — I’ll save and buy my own, I told them. Alas, it never happened. My interest waned.

Years later I came into possession of several of the instruments, all of which linger lonely in a box in the attic, longing to be played. First I was given a couple by my friend Keith Flesher when I helped empty his parents’ music store when they closed up shop in 1996. Then I inherited a couple more when my grandfather died. I have one in G, a couple in C, an Echo Harmonium. I think I passed along a chromatic (the kind with the push-button slide to change the key) to my now ex-father-in-law. 

All this has nothing to do with today’s run, during which I found nothing on the road or in the ditch worth salvaging. But a couple weeks back I did happen upon an inspirational find while biking to work. There in the road lay a record album. The cardboard jacket was face-down on the pavement and at first I ignored it. Curiosity slapped the back of my head and I wheeled around to check it out.

There for future listening pleasure — for the disc is in fine condition — was the Columbia stereo recording of “Peg O’ My Heart” by Jerry Murad’s Harmonicats. The title song was the 1947 hit that catapulted the group to stardom.

“In the late Forties, the Harmonicats created a world-wide sensation with their infectious performance of this beloved old song,” reads the album sleeve. The trio of Jerry Murad, Don Les and Al Fiore must have been a big deal in their day — at least with aficionados of harmonica music: “They were the first harmonica players to be admitted to the American Federation of Musicians.”

Anyway, you can find their music on YouTube and iTunes.

I am pretty sure this resembles the display case at
Flesher House of Music back in my piano days.

Today's Stats (May 27, 2015)
Temp: 79 degrees F
Distance: 2.53 miles
Weekly Total: 2.53 miles
Treasure: Nothing.

iPod Playlist (Melissa’s Mix):
The Grand Illusion - Styx
More Than This - Roxy Music
The Lie - Matthew West
Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own - U2
You’re Only Human (Second Wind) - Billy Joel
Let Your Light Shine - Keb’ Mo’
Against the Grain - Garth Brooks

Nerd Alert: Into the Dungeon

I first killed a man when I was 15. It wasn’t in Reno, and I didn’t do it just to watch him die. He deserved it; he had ill intentions toward the lady I was sworn to protect.

You see, I was engaged to provide safe passage for a duchess. When her coach was waylaid by brigands, I fulfilled my duty and ran the bastards through with my longsword.

If my actions seem unbefitting a middle-teenager, you should know I was a late bloomer.

I didn't start playing Dungeons & Dragons until I was a sophomore in high school. Many gamers began pilfering purses, ransacking castles and slaying marauding monsters and lowlife humans before they had reached puberty.

Recent events have got me reflecting on my D&D days — or nights as was more often the case. The reverie erupted as I read David M. Ewalt’s “Of Dice and Men: The Story of Dungeons & Dragons and the People Who Play It.” I discovered the 2013 tome in the Galesburg Public Library. After checking it out a second time — because I forgot I’d actually read it the first time (I know that doesn’t sound like much of a testimonial, but it really is a wonderful book) — I now own my own copy.

Ewalt covers much ground in relating the history of the game and his experience in it. It is fascinating and makes me a trifle jealous. Besides having an incredibly awesome title, the book is just the sort I once dreamed of writing (did I even come up with the same title?).

Well, a quick search reveals I wrote about all that two years ago. So this is not virgin territory. What new can I say, without simply writing a review of Ewalt’s excellent book? You can check it out for yourself. OK, so I mentioned “recent events.” That implies more than the singular incident of reading a new book.

Which brings us to my newest Facebook habit: saving links. It’s DVR for Fb. No longer must I indulge my interests immediately upon passing over an interesting post by a friend. When it involves a link to an intriguing story I simply click on that little arrow in the upper right corner of the post and “save link” for later entertainment and continue scrolling. 

Illustration from AD&D Players Handbook

Here are a few I’ve stumbled upon recently:

Game on: Nerd nightlife thrives in the Twin Cities

The 20 Most WTF Magical Items in Dungeons & Dragons

12 Nutty Dungeons & Dragons Media Mentions From the 1980s

What's Next For The New Dungeons & Dragons?

Which RPG Class Are You?

The 10 Most Insane Old School Dungeons & Dragons Rules

4 Overlooked Classic TSR Modules You Should Run

That takes us back to February and skips over all the bicycle, food and beer links that demanded I save them.

Some observations:

Nerd Nightlife: I love that so many adults have managed to stick with gaming, whether D&D or some other RPG or similar entertainment. Not all of us have done so. I miss it, and yet attempts to rekindle the thrill of those initial expeditions into fantasyland never matched my memories.

WTF Magical Items: As I wrote the Fb friend who posted this and many of the other links above, cursed magic items are terrific tools for livening up a campaign and injecting a little conflict among the adventure party. Other items, like the Bountiful Spade (Official description: “Characters who use this enchanted farm implement to turn over the earth prior to planting a field receive a +3 bonus on their agriculture proficiency check for that year.” I feel confident in saying that any D&D game that needs its player to perform an agriculture proficiency check for an entire year is the worst D&D game ever.) are  the sort of object a character stumbles upon in a crappy hoard and catalogs for out-of-play use (your magic user wants to establish a keep and the Spade will ensure healthy crops for his little fiefdom).

Media Mentions: The ’80s were rife with paranoid parents: Rock ’n roll music is rotting my kid’s mind; D&D turned my boy into a devil-worshiper. Thankfully my parents didn’t freak out about my gaming habit. Did they understand the game? No. On the rare occasion that I came home before they hit the hay, Dad would ask, “Did you win?” Not really a fitting question; adventures weren’t summed up with wins and losses. Though I suppose surviving our latest encounter with Asmodeus would go in the W column. Anyway, Mum and Dad knew that gaming kept me out of trouble. Hell, I always pointed out that my grades improved second semester of my sophomore year, after I started playing D&D.

Insane Old School Rules: This piece on toplessrobot.com begins, “The First Edition of Advanced Dungeons & Dragons was hugely popular and a kick-ass fun time. It was also known as a numbers-heavy intellectual and imaginative exercise (which was why some parents and educators backed it as a hobby — even sponsored gaming groups in afterschool programs). The nature of the game was both abstract (no gameboard; play happens in your head, for the most part) and concrete (weird dice, many tables to consult, a massive and growing amount of rulesets, books, and supplements); so it's only natural that some parts of the game would be, well, a bit cumbersome. Or, put another way, utterly nuts. (The effects of which could perhaps be rolled on the insanity-type table on page 83 of the DMG.)” 

I love all the tables and charts!

 Of course the abundance of tables and rules were a comfort and attraction, too. David Ewalt covers this in his book. There’s a whole chapter on the latest edition of D&D — version 5 — which seeks to unify and simplify the game for players across generations. Funny thing is, we adjusted the rules to suit our style of play — no need for the company (TSR then, Wizards of the Coast now) to do that for us. We simply discarded or modified the rules as befit our game.

Much of it was common sense. Who needs a table to determine encumbrance? We all know gold is heavy. Even a fighter of 18/00 strength isn’t going to lug around 30,000 gold pieces on his person. Logic, man.

Today’s Stats (Sunday, April 26, 2015)
Temp: 48 degrees F
Distance: 3.15 miles
Weekly Total: 3.15 miles
Treasure: Nothing today.

iPod Playlist (Shuffle):
Clocks - Coldplay
Maria Maria - Santana, feat. The Project G&B
I Won’t Give Up - Jason Mraz
Welcome to the Machine - Pink Floyd
Safe and Sound - Capital Cities
Relax - Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Running Again

I knew it was a good day to be hitting the road again when the first song up on my iPod — at random — was Pink Floyd’s “Run Like Hell.” A bit prophetic?

Which way?

It wasn’t exactly a hell of a run, but I ran “like hell.” It’s been a while. I was hitting the elliptical machine at the Y fairly regularly the first three months of this year along with other exercises, and I’ve been trying to bike more now that the weather is improving. But my feet haven’t pounded pavement in months. My body had forgotten what a difference it is.

But we’re putting the Y membership on standby for a while and we’ll turn our efforts to out-of-doors activity — more biking to work for me and more running. Besides shaping up for a summer wedding — wait’ll you see my legs in a kilt — I need to prepare for my fourth Run Galesburg Run experience and probable appearance in my sixth Railroad Days Run.

After two half marathons at RGR I’ll return to the 5K circuit. If that goes well, maybe I’ll upgrade to the 10K for RR Days. No promises. And I’ve been warned not to let Facebook polling determine how far I run in the future. That’s what landed me on the death race last year. But what a finish!

The Gale Lake lighthouse falls further into disrepair.

Anyway, I’m rambling a bit here. I haven’t blogged since I don’t know when — the redwood run last August? Today seemed a good day to return to the road. It is my 49th birthday. What better way to mark the start of a new year than with the exhilaration of a spring run? Well, there are plenty to be sure, but I thought a run would be a good one.

At least after all the time away it was a productive outing. Those familiar with this venture know the theme is crazy (and mundane) stuff I find on my runs (and sometimes even bike rides). Recent rides have yielded an Alan Jackson CD (all but one song play fine) and a Best of John Holmes DVD (don’t ask). 


Today’s run netted a pair of scrub pants, traditional blue, from Genesis Medical Center (size small). OK, I am guessing they came from a Genesis employee because “Genesis” is stamped across the top of the right back pocket. How they ended up along the side of Mattison Street is anyone’s guess. Naughty Nurses’ Night?

Failing to carry a plastic bag, I was unable to collect the dozen-plus aluminum cans littering the roadsides. Noted for next time, even though it slows me down. Actually, I really need to take a walk this weekend and just pick up trash along State and Main — it is horrible. Yo, Boy Scouts! Who needs a service project?

Today's Stats (April 15, 2015)
Temp: 43 degrees F
Distance: 3.1 miles
Weekly Total: 3.1 miles
Treasure: 1 pair blue scrub pants - Genesis (size small)

iPod Playlist (Shuffle):
Run Like Hell - Pink Floyd
Mr. Bad Example (live) - Warren Zevon
Sarah - Ray LaMontagne
Put Your Hands Up - Matchbox Twenty
All I Need - Matchbox Twenty
Something ‘Bout a Woman - Lady Antebellum
Let Me Be There - Olivia Newton John
Lenny/Man On the Side (live) - John Mayer
Let the Waters Rise - Mikeschair

Running in the redwoods

We arrived at the Redwood Forest Institute around dusk Friday, August 8, 12 miles into the woods off California 20 between Fort Bragg and Willits. My fiancée Susan and I and our friends Cyd and Paul Keser and their son Ethan would spend the weekend in the Garden Cottage, one of three guest houses run by Charles Bello, founder of the Institute. 


The outside of the cottage is unimpressive. And after the bumpy, winding drive from the highway, past half a dozen other homesteads, those of us versed in the horror film genre were certain Charles or others might show up wielding a chainsaw to greet and eat.

Of course that wasn’t the case at all. Charles is the most amazing man, and a charming soul whose outlook is infectious. As he noted, though, most of us, however moved and inspired by his story, will settle for living vicariously through him. 


Charles, an architect and engineer (UC-San Luis Obispo), is 82 and living his dream. He and his late wife bought 400 acres of California redwood forest in 1968 for $75,000. They raised their three children here and built everything around us — road (some was old logging road), trail, four homes, a workshop, a sawmill and an art gallery for Charles’s redwood sculptures. 

While rustic inside, and outwardly unappealing, the cottage is a treat. It was the first home Charles and Vanna built when they pioneered this land. Family helped erect the structure and completed it — barn-raising style — in a week. Later, a three-bedroom house with three decks (the Grove House) was built to accommodate the growing Bello family.

Ironically, everything is built from redwood. It is everywhere. And yet, Charles has dedicated his life to protecting the towering trees. Hundreds are tagged, registered and protected in perpetuity — for the couple thousand years of their natural lifetime. His sculptures and the coffee tables he has discovered in the stumps of redwoods cut by loggers are made from scrap — waste with a story to tell, a history lesson for the living room.

“Redwoods are a phenomenal tree,” he said, explaining how the colossi are born of seed that is but a speck on your fingernail.

After the children left, Charles built the Glass House, an amazing, curved, open space of wood and glass and stone. Of his retirement home he said, “You’re living in a piece of art. … We built this for $8,500.”

Charles’s inspiration is clear. The influence of the natural world on his work is apparent. The flow and form of the Glass House, the sculptures that emerge from within the wood he has harvested are reflective of the trees and rocks that cover the northern California terrain. 


“The magic words were, ‘wouldn’t it be nice.’ ‘Wouldn’t it be nice’ created a lifetime of work from a 20-minute walk,” he recalled of his woodland wanderings with Vanna.

The lack of privacy in the Glass House led him to build a neighboring guest house, which, with the passing of Vanna, is where Charles now lives. He creates art, saves trees and shares his dream.

“There are people who are wondering what they’re going to have for lunch tomorrow, and I’m doing this,” Charles said of his mission to ensure a legacy so much larger than himself or his art. 

Charles led us on a tour of the homes Saturday morning (minus the Grove House, which only Susan visited later on her own) and we finished our breakfast before taking a hike to the King’s Hole for a swim. Cyd stayed behind to relax at the cottage and enjoy a shower in the outdoor shower house, with water heated by solar energy.

After our icy dip, we walked in search of the Mountain Spring Trail. We somehow missed it on our first pass, though the error bestowed the gift of a lovely hike along the road. As we backtracked toward the cottage, we spotted the sign and split, Suze and I taking the Mountain Spring Trail and Paul and Ethan returning to our weekend abode. 

The trail climbed ever upward and we began to wonder if we would reach the spring. Had we missed another sign? Eventually we came upon a concrete culvert with a weathered wooden box in the ground in front of it. Having seen such arrangements before, I told Suze this could be the spring — rather than the burbling gush of water we expected. Unsure, however, we continued onward. We didn’t want to miss it.

We wound around the mountain higher and then began our descent. Again we considered returning along the path we had trod, but decided to venture ahead. It’s a good thing: The trail found the floor and we exited onto the road by King’s Hole. We later confirmed with Charles that the culvert was the spring in question. What an enjoyable afternoon with my beloved.

Suze decided it was time for a shower. I decided it was time for a run. I grabbed a pair of earbuds for my phone and headed back the way we’d gone earlier, across the foot bridge to the road to King’s Hole. I ran shirtless for the first time, protected from the sun by the reigning redwoods. It was invigorating and wonderful. I’ve not run in such a beautiful setting before. The paved trail at Lake Storey back home doesn’t compare. Truly I was surrounded by God’s splendor.

“You know, it’s been an exciting life,” Charles said.

I’m glad we received the opportunity to be a part of it.

Learn more about Charles Bello and the Redwood Forest Institute at savetrees.org.

Today’s Stats (Saturday, Aug. 9, 2014)
Temp: Unknown — comfortable
Distance: 3.5-4 miles (guesstimate based on elapsed time of 40:37 and typical pace of 10-11 minutes per mile)
Treasure: Intangible, yet priceless.

iPhone Playlist (Shuffle)
Everything I Want - Jace Everett 3:33
Tik Tok - Ke$ha 3:19
Something - Jim Sturgess 2:59
Revolution - Jim Sturgess 2:17
Wish You Were Here - Avril Lavigne 3:45
I Can See It In Your Eyes - Men at Work 3:32
4 Real - Avril Lavigne 3:28
Us and Them (Live at the Empire) - Pink Floyd 8:09
Catch My Disease - Ben Lee 4:13
Geraldine - The Avett Brothers 1:37
Black & White People - Matchbox Twenty 3:45

A Running Engagement

Yes. She said yes!

It still feels like a dream. It’s been more than two weeks since I proposed and more than a week since she said yes.

Truth be told, I asked her dozens of times. Sometimes more than once a day. But only once did I present a ring. She knew all along I was serious, but the ring took it to a new level. She wasn’t expecting that yet. “Bewildered” is how she described her feeling at the moment. Then she put off giving me an answer. But when she did, boy, was it memorable!

I had joked with my friend and co-worker Jay about Susan accepting my proposal at the finish of the Run Galesburg Run Half Marathon on June 1. I had no idea she’d do just that. She’s not a public person. So I was stunned when I finally saw the big white sign — held proudly by my smiling daughter Amanda — after I crossed the finish line. It took me a while to see it. As I crossed the line in PR time, I saw Susan smiling at me and I ran straight to her. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. This all started with a run. My second half marathon. That adds up to a full marathon over two years, so I think I’m good on that count — no need to do a full 26.2 miles in one day. Right?

Well, as with last year’s RGR Half Marathon, I did not train properly for the effort. Oh, I did a couple longer runs than my usual 3-5 miles, but I’ve not been building my endurance and stamina nor working on my pace. For at least one stretch in recent memory I didn’t run for a whole month. Most of the rest of the time I would run once, maybe twice a week. Insufficient training for a 13.1-mile run in the heat and humidity of Illinois.

I was, however, determined. Two weeks before the run I did 9 miles one day and 4 the next. Thursday before the race I did 4 miles just to make sure my legs still worked. Oh, and I’ve mostly given up my patellar strap. I think it’s been a crutch and, while necessary at times, I think the more I run without it the stronger my patellar tendon becomes.

Saturday night found me more tense and nervous than usual before a race. In fact, I’m not usually too wound up before race day. I had trouble sleeping. I worried I would have to use the toilet along the route. I fretted about walking part of the distance.

Sunday morning, I couldn’t eat. We gathered our supplies — water, iPod, towel, race bib, sunscreen — and headed to town. As I fiddled with my accoutrements, pinning my bib to the front of my shirt and adjusting my iPod armband, Susan headed over to the volunteer signup to receive her assignment. She returned to the car with a big smile. 

“Guess where I’m gonna be?” she chimed. “I’m at the finish line!”

I was happy because I wanted to see her there at the end. I didn’t want to have to wave to her along the course as I slogged by. I wanted to collapse into her arms, if collapsing were to be my finish. She was happy because it worked right into her plan.

So we made our way back to race central and I hooked up with my teammates from Team Asha for a pre-race photo. I managed to eat half a banana. I contemplated hitting the porta-potties, but decided the line was too long. I’d have to risk a poo on the run. (I want to say “Turd on the Run” because it’s a Rolling Stones song, but that would be unseemly.)

I lined up with D2 and D3 — Amanda and a newly redheaded Molly — who were doing the 5K and we awaited the starting gun. At the crack of the pistol, I was off. Actually, though not the throng of runners crowded into the starting blocks of a huge race like the Bix 7, there were nearly 1,000 crammed into the block of Simmons Street between Kellogg and Prairie, so we started out walking. But as we approached the starting line, I hopped a couple of times and took off on my own. Moll says I elbowed her as I passed. Sorry, baby. It wasn’t personal. 

For me the run was mostly uneventful. In town the course is partially shaded and comfortable. Outside of town the roads open up and the sun beat down. It got hot. It was humid. My water belt was bouncing and became annoying, so I unbuckled it and tossed it aside at Aid Station 3. My too-large Team Asha shirt I had made more comfortable by cutting the sleeves out. That allowed my armband to rub my left side, leaving a nasty sore that is still healing.

I did walk at least half a dozen times for short stretches. It actually felt worse to walk, so I returned to my running pace in short order each time. As I crossed Main Street in mile 13, my right calf knotted like a fist and I thought I was done. Fortunately it cleared in a few steps and I continued. As I rounded the last corner from Seminary to Simmons Street, I turned on my afterburners and finished with a burst of speed, driven first by a girl running neck-and-neck with me, then by the sight of Susan at the finish line — the only ponytail I had an eye for that day (first time ever).

I beat the runner girl and got the finish girl. She was beaming as I approached, and shouting something. I staggered toward her and the words finally registered: “Look at your daughter.” I gazed around in a daze. Suze pointed to her right. There stood a smiling Amanda, holding a white posterboard with “SAYS YES” in big blue letters.

I was stunned. Elated. Incredulous. Overjoyed. I started shouting, “Yes! Yes!” I grabbed Suze and squeezed her tightly. “Really? Yes?” I asked. She assured me it was no joke. I kissed her — in the photo she is noticeably grossed out, given my sweaty condition — and nearly knocked her over as my legs wobbled wearily under me.

She helped me to a shady spot under a nearby tree and plied me with water, Gatorade and bananas. Amanda stood by, proudly displaying the sign, which I finally realized didn’t simply read, “SAYS YES,” but had a subject and an object, though it lacked a preposition. At the top was glued a box of Raisinets (representing Susan) and at the bottom, Goobers (me). Goober, Goob (from “Meet the Robinsons”) is her nickname for me. And as anyone of a certain age will recall, Goobers and Raisinets go together. Of course Raisinets are my favorite movie snack.

Everyone knew what was going on but me. As soon as the runners left the start, Suze spread the word and enlisted the aid of other race volunteers. They tracked my progress on the course. Sue Dickinson rounded up a Sharpie so Suze could write YES on the back of my finisher’s medal, on which she hung the ring I’d given her the week before. Photographers Steve Davis and Kent Kriegshauser and their cronies were informed and they swarmed us afterward, preserving the moment. Moll shot video with Susan’s iPhone. It was amazing.

As I basked in my glory and giddiness, Suze smiled down on me and asked, “Can I have my ring?” I hadn’t noticed it on the medal. And I was too shaky to unclasp the medal from the ribbon to extract the ring — she did that. I was able to slip it on her finger and she leaned down for another kiss, less grossed-out this time because my sweaty torso wasn’t pressed against her.

After a brutal but beneficial stretching on the trainer table by one Melissa Engebretson, I joined Suze for a few free brews at the beer tent. We were congratulated repeatedly. I called family to share the news. Facebook was blowing up with photos, comments and likes. Suze updated her profile with a life event: “Got engaged to Rob Buck.” That opened up the floodgates. And this is the woman who doesn’t post much on Facebook because, “I don’t want people to know my s***”?

Stunned indeed. 

Today's Stats (June 1, 2014)

Temp: 87 degrees F

Distance: 13.1 miles

Weekly Total: 16.95 miles

Treasure: Santa Claus decoration.

Race Results

Time: 2:29:38 (2013 time: 2:33:48)

Pace: 11:26

Split: 1:09:45

Split Pace: 10:39

Overall: 134

Men 40-49: 19/21

Sex: 69/81

iPod Playlist (Shuffle):

Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen

The Ghost Song - The Doors

18 Wheeler - Pink

Put Your Lights On - Santana (Feat. Everlast)

Clarity - John Mayer

Bitch - Meredith Brooks

Drop Dead Legs - Van Halen

Trip Through Your Wires - U2

Just The Way You Are - Billy Joel

And It Stoned Me - Van Morrison

Wine Snacks (live banter) - Ryan Adams

Wouldn’t It Be Good - Nik Kershaw

Waitin’ On A Sunny Day - Bruce Springsteen

Push - Matchbox Twenty

The Woods - The Call

Happiness - The Fray

Valley Road - James McMurtry

Clarity - John Mayer

Here, There and Everywhere - The Beatles

Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Tears for Fears

Push (Acoustic Version) Avril Lavigne

I Just Want To See His Face - The Rolling Stones

Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own - U2

Bad Woman Blues - Trampled Under Foot

We Will Not Be Lovers - The Waterboys

Back To You - John Mayer

First Cut Is The Deepest  (Country Version) - Sheryl Crow

Saint Mary Of The Woods - James McMurtry

The Stranger - Billy Joel

Stars Tonight - Lady Antebellum

God Trying To Get Your Attention - Keb’ Mo’

The Star Spangled Banner - U2

Rhinestone Cowboy - Glen Campbell

Empty Sky - Bruce Springsteen

Who Needs Sleep? - Barenaked Ladies

Wishing It Was - Santana (Feat. Eagle Eye Cherry)

Roll With The Changes - REO Speedwagon

The Shot Heard 'Round the Room

You’d think we would have known better. I’m not sure how old we were, but we were a couple of bright, but curious, boys. We really should have seen, er, heard what was coming.

My best friend, Chris Farrar, and I must have been in eighth grade, maybe ninth, when we found the 12-gauge shotgun shell. Maybe it was in the gutter along a street on our way home from Churchill Junior High — I don’t recall. But, unlike the spent shell I found on my run two weeks ago, this one was live ammo.

Lacking a shotgun to put the round to proper misuse, we decided to dismantle the shell to see just how it was made. We knew the basics, though I’m not sure if we’d already been through the hunter safety course taught by Vern Coates, one of our venerable Boy Scout leaders. But we wanted to see all the elements — powder, shot, wad, primer.

In the back room of my dad’s garage we used a sharp knife to slice through the plastic casing near the brass base of the shell. We dumped the shot — I don’t recall what size it was — extracted the wad and dumped the powder. I can’t imagine we didn’t burn the powder, but I have no recollection of doing so. Maybe we were chicken, fearful it would flash or flare and burn us or something. I don’t recall. But the primer seemed innocent enough…

Somehow we extracted the primer from the base of the shell and clamped it firmly in a pair of vice grips. One of us then held the vice grips and the other grabbed a punch and a hammer. Well, we had no idea that tiny primer would be so loud. I’m sure it was compounded by the confined space, and poor Chris managed to take the brunt in his left ear. I’m pretty sure his hearing was permanently, though not seriously, damaged.

Let that be a lesson to you, kids. Wear hearing protection when you do stupid stuff.

Today’s Stats (April 24, 2014)

Temp: 52 degrees F

Distance: 4.01 miles

Weekly Total: 8.92 miles

Treasure: 2 pennies, 1976 and 1981, both heads up (double good luck?)

iPhone Playlist (Matchbox Twenty Mix)

All Your Reasons

Black & White People

Angry

If You’re Gone

Someday

Snowblind

Bright Lights

Hand Me Down

Bent

Disease

Problem Girl

Streetcorner Symphony

Today’s Stats (April 22, 2014)

Temp: 55 degrees F

Distance: 4.82 miles

Weekly Total: 4.82 miles

Treasure: Nada. Didn’t look.

iPod Playlist (Shuffle)

Come Sail Away - Styx

Bed of Lies - Matchbox Twenty

Everybody Plays the Fool - The Main Ingredient

Bad Woman Blues - Trampled Under Foot

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing - Leo Sayer

I Was In The House When The House Burned Down - Warren Zevon

Bron-Yr-Aur - Led Zeppelin

Too Many Tears - The Call

When I Get Home  - The Beatles

Hung Up On You - Cake

Glad Tidings - Van Morrison

Radio - Matchbox Twenty

More Than A Feeling - Boston

Something 'Bout A Woman - Lady Antebellum

American Honey - Lady Antebellum

Today's Stats (April 9, 2014)

Temp: 39 degrees F (41 at end)

Distance: 4.2 miles

Weekly Total: 8.9 miles

Treasure: Nada. Didn’t look.

iPod Playlist (Shuffle):

Bigger Than My Body - John Mayer

Drop Dead Legs - Van Halen

The Bird & The Worm - Owl City

Brick (Live) - Ben Folds

Catch My Disease - Ben Lee

Play That Funky Music - Wild Cherry

Best of Times - Styx

Dig A Pony - The Beatles

She’s A Beauty - The Tubes

I Should Have Known Better - The Beatles

I’m Only Sleeping - The Beatles

Today's Stats (April 7, 2014)

Temp: 46 degrees F (55 at end)

Distance: 4.7 miles

Weekly Total: 4.7 miles

Treasure: 51 cans; 1 spent 12-gauge shotgun shell

iPod Playlist (Yourself Or Someone Like You):

Real World

Long Day

3 AM

Push

Girl Like That

Back 2 Good

Damn

Argue

Kody

Busted

Shame

Hang

(Mad Season)

Angry

Black and White People

Crutch