November 2009 Archives

My father died 30 years ago today, so some of my siblings and I (along with my daughter) will be marking the occasion later this afternoon at a tiny cemetery in Becker, Minn., where he and my mother are buried - along with a large contingent of the Cox clan (including my grandfather and great-grandfather). There will be much reminiscing about our childhood years, I'm sure, and I expect we'll raise a few glasses of Grain Belt in his honor.

He made his living delivering that golden elixir to bars and restaurants in St. Paul, an occupation that earned him a barrel chest and arms like steel. (I remember returning from Air Force basic training feeling pretty buff and foolishly challenging him to an arm-wrestling match at the dining room table. It was over before I could contemplate the true depths of my delusion.) He was strong, but somehow sickly at the same time.

That barrel chest loomed over an even larger belly (he fought weight issues for much of his adult life), and he suffered from ulcers and other digestive ailments. His love of fried foods and sweets was legendary around our house, and we all learned how to smoke cigarettes and drink beer by observing him.

Of course, back in the '40s and '50s none of us knew the dangers of smoking - much less the insidious threats posed by greasy foods, refined carbs, a sedentary lifestyle and chronic stress (Dad was a hall-of-fame worrier). So, when he landed in the hospital with a heart attack at the age of 52, we were all shocked. And when cancer claimed him eight years later, we all felt he'd been stolen from us.

So I was thinking about Dad this morning while doing my morning zazen. And later while sweating through a half hour of push-ups, planks and kettlebell moves. He really didn't know any better. I don't have that excuse.

It's not often that we're treated to temps in the 60s in November around here, so My Lovely Wife and I were able to spend a good portion of the weekend out and about on foot and on our bicycles (the Crapmobile's right front wheel is making calamitous sounds, as well, so we left it in the driveway).

Saturday morning, we pedaled down to Minnehaha Falls and descended into the creek gorge below the cascade and hiked part of the way to the river. There are points along this trail where you can actually escape all signs of the city. It's a fabulous little urban getaway.

We weren't feeling too ambitious though, as MLW's knee was starting to act up. So, we hiked back to the falls and climbed on our bikes (which always helps our creaky knees) to explore the bluffs between the creek gorge and the river where the state veteran's home is located. I'm guessing that they don't get a lot of bicycle traffic over there, because we got some strange looks from folks as we wound our way among the historic and contemporary buildings that make up this little village above the river. All in all, a lovely morning.

I got in a little indoor workout Sunday morning: pushups and some kettlebell exercises that got my heart pumping pretty good. I'm always a little amazed at what a great cardio workout you can get by spending just a few minutes swinging a kettlebell around. These kettlebell swings are particularly invigorating.

Later in the day, with rain threatening, MLW and I once again climbed aboard our bicycles -- this time for a meeting near downtown Minneapolis, about six miles away. (The whole carless thing makes for a more adventurous life, I think.) The wind was at our back, though, so before long, MLW was shedding her fashionable plaid jacket and we rolled to our destination without breaking a sweat.

Note: Our meeting took place at a neighborhood pub, so I enjoyed a pint of Surly Furious, even though I felt like I hadn't actually earned it.

Then, it was off to the co-op, a mile or so distant, to buy exactly two bags of groceries (another thing about carless shopping: you can't buy more than you can cart home) and a pleasant ride along the river back home. The rain held off.

As I write this, the Crapmobile is sitting in the shop awaiting a diagnosis. And as much as I appreciate the healthy benefits we gain from leaving our cranky old vehicle in the driveway, I'd really miss it when the snow begins to fly.

Just back from my fourth acupuncture session, during which I noticed that the cicadas between my ears had shifted slightly to the right (an ominous sign for the Obama administration?), leaving my left ear mostly quiet. They've since returned to occupy their former space, but I'm holding out hope that eventually this whole needling thing will offer some respite from the incessant ringing in my ears.

Katherine, my acupuncturist, is a little inscrutable -- partly because we have to whisper during the treatment due to the fact that the room is full of people snoozing in Lazy-Boys, and my hearing is such that whispered wisdom often doesn't make it through the flock of cicadas she's attempting to disperse; plus, I really don't have any clue about what questions to ask. This much I've been able to grasp, though: any sign of movement is a good thing.

I'm a patient guy, anyway, and I understand that the healing arts -- unlike the pharmaceutical sciences -- can take time. I wouldn't mind getting a prescription specially formulated to evict the cicadas from between my ears ("Ask your doctor if Silencium is right for you. . . ."), but these sorts of solutions tend to have unintended consequences ("Side effects may include headache, dizziness, dry mouth, aneurysms . . .") and they tend to leave untreated the actual cause of the condition, which in the case of my cicadas probably had something to do with a lack of effective stress management when my newspaper went under four years ago.

I know, there's a pill for that. . . .

Anyway, while I've been waiting for the needles to rout my cicadas, a couple of interesting things have occurred: A painful kink in my shoulder and a more mysterious -- and worrisome -- problem in my hip have both disappeared.

The hip thing actually had me hobbling over the weekend and threatened to derail my Tuesday evening tennis match with M.E. I decided to go for it despite the pain, because . . . well, because I'm a guy, and guys just figure that if something hurts the best way to cure it is to pound on it until it gets better. So, M.E. and I whacked it back and forth for 90 minutes (6-2 in his favor; then 7-7 when my ailing hip finally gave in). Wednesday morning, to nobody's surprise except perhaps my own, I could barely walk.

My shoulder felt pretty good, though.

I was moderately more mobile on Thursday, when I got needled again. And by this morning, the pain in my hip had vanished and my gait was back to its jaunty self. Was this a byproduct of my cicada treatment? Who knows? You start getting your qi rearranged and, before you know it, maybe everything else starts to fall into place (can't wait to see how the brakes on the Crapmobile are working now). Let's just call it unintended consequences.