At swimming this morning I caught a glimpse of how rumors get started. Luckily there was a male presence to nip the story in the bud. People think we go out to Diane’s Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings to swim for the healthy workout. Not so! We really go to sit around afterwards and chit-chat with a little swim thrown in so we have an excuse to be there. During that chit-chat session, I was getting my swim bag together when Jean, Judy and Kim got all excited because Diane had put a motor on her road bike. I know that Diane will be riding that bike this weekend at the Muncie Endurathon and, although I have a lot of respect for her as a doctor, a mechanic she ain’t. I went out and looked and, apparently, Mike was charging a boat battery that was sitting on the floor by the bike and the cord went into an electric receptacle behind the bike. The cord went right through the area where the bike’s crank is. I’m not sure how the girls’ logic made that leap, but it did. Rumor squashed!!! Diane will not be cheating at Muncie!

We missed Bill at the swim today. Nancy was having some pretty significant medical tests at 7 this morning (our thoughts and prayers are with you, Nancy and Bill) and as they left the cottage yesterday, Bill said he would either drop her off at Pennock at 5:30 or she could ride the transit bus ‘cuz he had to be at the lake at 6 to swim. I’m guessing they had a discussion about that when they got home and he decided, without any pressure, that he would much rather take her to the hospital and wait right there for the tests to be done.

Speaking of the cottage, we had the Sunday run out there yesterday. The temperature was 70 at 6:30 when I went out and dropped off the water and it must have been close to 80 by the time the run was in full swing. The humidity was high so it was a miserable day to run but we did it anyway. Most of the runners cut their run short, but a few die hards did the “hilly” 8.6 miles around the lake. Most of them wished they hadn’t, but not Pat. He had a ball out there stopping at the store in Prairieville for water, stopping at someone’s house for water, pouring water from the drinking jug over his head, and then missing the turn onto the South end of Sprague Road and adding .8 miles by turning back at the North end. While everyone else was whining about 8.6, he went 9.4. What a man!!!

I’ve gotten a few comments about some of my recent e-mails where I whined about my frustrations. If you wonder if I’m in some downhill slide, don’t worry. You all know by now that these e-mails are my therapy. You also probably know by now that I am a tad bit on the thrifty side (some people would say cheap) and it saves me the high cost of therapy sessions with a “shrink”. I’ll write an e-mail and send it out to all of you, but then on my copy, after each paragraph I’ll insert the standard comments like:

     How does that make you feel?

     You can’t be serious?

     How’s that working for you?

     Do you think that was the best choice?

     If you had it to do over again, would you do the same thing?

     What in the world were you thinking?

     What does your family think about that?

     What in blue-blazes is wrong with you?

I could have gotten the whole list from the psychology textbooks, but that would have cost money too, so I just watched Dr. Phil a few times and took notes. I’m much, much better now.

Just (Mentally Fit As A Fiddle But Physically Shot) Jack

I’m frustrated with lots of things so I’m in one of those funky moods.

I’m frustrated that one or both of these houses don’t sell. It’s not that we have to sell them or we’ll end up in the foreclosure mess that many others are, but it’s the cost of property taxes, insurance and utilities that are going to waste. If I thought that my property taxes were being used for the good of humanity, I’d feel a little better, but when I read the paper and see what our local officials are doing, I think my hard earned money is swirling down the toilet.

I don’t want to stop now and only offend local politicians. I think on a state and national level, things are much worse. It’s hard for me to believe that all Republicans feel that they have the only legitimate answer to what ails us and all Democrats think the Republicans are full of it and only they have the solution. No matter what you think about Iraq, immigration or the state budget, I don’t understand how the two sides can be so far apart that they can’t agree on anything and there is no chance for compromise. Well over 50% of Americans think that government is broken and there doesn’t seem to be any way to fix it. We can go back to the “throw the bums out” philosophy of many years ago, but when we vote in new people with great ideas, they somehow morph on their trip from Michigan to Washington and turn into clones of the people we just voted out of office.

Enough of politics. If I keep thinking about it I get angrier by the minute and it’s not good for my blood pressure. That brings me to another problem. I’m frustrated that my left hip is not better. Not any worse, but not any better either. My mid-week runs have been in the 3.6 mile range, so I’m not in any pain until the very end. On Sundays I’m trying to run around 6 miles and the discomfort usually starts around 4 miles. Today, being such a beautiful day to run, my hip mess decided it wanted to get out early so it appeared in the first mile. I toughed it out but it wasn’t pretty. To make it feel better, this afternoon I went out to the cottage and weeded the flowers. The bending over and stretching made the joints creak and both hips were begging for Aleve.

If that wasn’t enough, I’m frustrated that my latest health issue, prostatitis, is taking a long time to resolve. We know what the problem is, but my doctor says that it often takes weeks before things are back to normal. In the meantime, I’m sidelined off the bike. I feel left out when everyone else is able to go out for a nice bike ride during the week or on Saturday, so I try to keep myself busy by doing outside work around the cottage. Since I’m a man, and we can’t always help ourselves, I dive into jobs that always take a bit more strength or endurance than I have, so I overdo. Not a lot, but just enough to wake up muscles I didn’t know I had and to increase sales of Tylenol by 30%.

When I’m not swimming (I can do that without much problem, at least until we have to go back in the pool), or hobbling through a run, or beating myself up doing yard work and chores at the cottage, I relax by playing golf. That’s my next frustration and it’s a dandy. Parts of my game are getting better and I feel like I’m getting closer to where I left off a few years back, but then my lack of coordination rears its ugly head and I revert to a real hacker. This past Friday I played with “the guys” who meet at the first tee at noon. I had seven pars, so you would think I had a good score. Wrong!!! I had two bogeys and the rest were doubles or triples with a cool 10 thrown in for good measure, and I hit all ten shots…no penalties…no lost balls. What a mess, but I only lost $4 and I had a good time just being out there.

Just (Looking Up From A Deep Valley) Jack

I put off playing golf long enough, so Friday noon I met the “boys” at the first tee. One guy puts all the players’ balls in a hat, tosses them in the air, and the teams are decided based on where the balls end up. Five of the balls stayed near the center and five of the balls scattered out, so it was the insies versus the outsies. I was one of the insies, so I apologized to them before we started predicting I would be more of a hindrance than a help to my team, and I was right. Now I know why I quit playing golf for a few years.

We played a $2 Nassau, so the most our team could lose was $6 and we did. I would have a couple of decent shots followed by a really crappy one that would get me in trouble and cost me strokes. I did help the team from time to time, but not as much as I should have. My golf glove was several years old and a total rag, so the time we played 9 holes earlier this year, I threw it away thinking I would get another one before I played again. As we were ready to tee off, I realized I hadn’t bought a new one and, by then, it was too late. I played without a glove (I never do that) on a day that it got to around 90 degrees. On at least three shots, my hands were sweaty enough that the club slipped when I swung and I went from a nice tee shot in the center of the fairway to a second shot “shank” into the pucker brush. I decided to give the guys a break yesterday and today and not show up. I’ll play a couple of times by myself and practice my short game so I don’t embarrass myself as much before I subject them to being dragged down by me.

Of course I have a crappy golf day and get home just in time to watch Tiger Woods hit that ball 300 plus yards dead center in the fairway. In my prime, I used to be an average hitter. Not the longest drive but not the shortest either. Now if I really connect I can hit the ball 190 yards. I used to hit a 7 iron from 150 yards. Now I hit a 4 or 5 iron and I don’t always get there. Tiger hits his 7 iron 195 yards. It’s just not fair. I’ve always said I’m a mediocre everything. Mediocre swimmer; mediocre biker; mediocre runner; mediocre triathlete. Now I’m not even a mediocre golfer. I’m a true hacker. Maybe if I play more than once every three years I’ll get better??

I’m still off the bike for a while, so my training has gone into the pits. I signed up early for two Half Ironman races this season. On one, I can pay fifty dollars to roll it forward to next year. On the other one I can get a medical rollover to next year if my doctor signs a medical statement. I guess that’s my best bet and I don’t think I’ll sign up for Ironman Lake Placid. I’ll sit on the sidelines until I can get this hip problem cured.

Today is Father’s Day and Jean’s and my 18th Anniversary. We’ll celebrate both by going out to the cottage and pulling weeds out of the lake. Happy Father’s Day to you fathers out there. Some of our fathers are gone, but definitely not forgotten.

Just (Falling Apart And Still Happy To Be Alive) Jack

I’m starting to think that when I turned 60, my body decided I hadn’t been that good to it through the years so it would rebel. It’s not that I think I’m falling apart, and maybe I’m blaming normal aches and pains on a number, but things aren’t like they used to be. And I’m not even talking about what 90% of you think I’m talking about.   Power washing the deck last week was like opening a big can of worms. The deck was clean and ready to seal, but the old paint job on the railing has seen better days and, of course, the loose paint was smathered by the power-stream of water. So that means painting the railing and trim. I thought it might be a three hour job, but I spent two or three hours yesterday priming the bare spots. After running 6.63 miles this morning (hooray, I got past four miles after taking a couple of weeks off for an “illness” and my sore hip didn’t stop me) I went out to the cottage and painted from 11:30 until 4:15 and only got a third of it done. After all that, every muscle in my body aches. I wonder if I would feel the same if I were 45?

Friday night was entertaining as usual. Becky stopped by as she often does and Bill and Nancy came by for the free entertainment. When they came in, Becky was talking about how good an idea it would be to rent a husband for a while. She has no intention of getting married, and she wouldn’t want to take the guy away from his wife, but it might be nice to have someone every once in a while with no strings attached. We asked her what her requirements were and she said he needed to be young (apparently I don’t qualify), good looking (again I’m out of the running), a good listener (I pretend well but don’t always remember what Jean says), and had to smell good (no comment). We asked about any other attributes she was looking for but she declined to list them. It sounded to me like the “rental activities” that happen on Division Street in Grand Rapids but she insists it’s different.

I wasn’t the best host in the world, although I did mute the television so the noise wouldn’t drown out the girls’ conversation. When Bill and Nancy came in they brought a bottle of cherry wine from Traverse City. Nancy offered Bill a glass and he declined. I got myself a glass of wine a couple of hours later and Jean asked Bill if he wanted something. Apparently he did, but it wasn’t a glass of cherry wine. A bottle of Just Jack’s Kolsch hit the spot. I should have picked up on that, but didn’t. I guess I get mesmerized by the direction the conversation goes sometimes.

I need to get 10 rounds of golf in before the member-guest tournament so I’m looking for volunteers to be the official scorekeeper. Jean wanted me to play nine holes with her on Friday. She’s been working more hours and she penciled me in when the wind was blowing 30 m.p.h. and tree limbs were dropping like flies. I told her “heck no” so I’m sure my husband of the year scores have dropped farther into negative territory. I’m not worried. In 18 years I haven’t placed on the podium, so there’s nowhere to go but up.

Just (Sore And Can’t Afford a Massage ‘Til A House Sells) Jack

Mom and brother Bob (a.k.a. Bobbie Butane) were up this past weekend for brother Bill’s memorial service in Grand Rapids. We sat out on the deck at the cottage a good share of the time and watched the world go by. On the warm, sunny days, the bluegills were on their beds, getting ready to spawn. On each bed, and there were a jillion of them, there were the male and female that were about to culminate their dating experience. All around there were a hundred of the nerd bluegills that didn’t have the nerve to ask out one of the females and looked like the guys that stand around the room at the prom with no date.

Cruising in the wings were several bass, some large and some small, and about twenty five carp. The carp would cruise back and forth for hours until “that magic moment” happened, then rush in and eat all of the just spawned, fertilized eggs. The “would be” bluegill babies were gone before their lives even started. If you think about it, the life of a fish isn’t just wandering around the lake eating worms. It’s eat or be eaten and the danger never goes away. The bigger the fish are, the more they can act like bullies and decimate the smaller, weaker fish. It’s almost like what we are doing in Iraq these days but don’t get me started down that road.

Bob and I took turns running the power washer to clean the siding, sidewalks and the deck at the cottage. We worked on Saturday from about 10:30 until 4:30, nearly non-stop. I would keep going until I ran out of gas, then Bob would take over. When he ran out of gas, I would take over, and we did that all day long. I still think that Bob was adding gas while I was running the power washer with my head turned the other way, but Mom says he didn’t. When it was my turn it seemed like it would never end and when it was Bob’s turn, the time went really fast. Also on Saturday, I caught my first mole of the season, so the day started off well. One down and  ninety nine to go.

The website I wrote about a little while ago isn’t quite finished, but you are welcome to look if you want. It contains slightly edited copies of all the “e-mail to friends” I’ve sent through the years along with copies of eulogies I’ve written and a section I call “ramblings”. The ramblings section contains TriStory, the historical record of how the Trilanders got their name and the stories we read at the next couple of Trilander dinners. There is also a section of “reader favorites” that is really writer favorites. I repeat, the purpose isn’t to show off my writing skills or the lack thereof, but it gives some of the people who haven’t been on the list since the start a way to go back and read about things I refer to in current writings like “my buddy at the YMCA in Florida”.

Visit if you want and I won’t be offended if you don’t. The website is http://www.jackswriting.com/ . Not very original, is it? There are 166 separate posts and they are in date order with the latest post (this one) first. I’m still missing a couple of obits and I plan to add some pictures to them so people will know what they looked like.

Just (My Prostate Is On Prayer Lists Around The Country) Jack

Last week I wrote about Jean punishing me, at least in my opinion, for what I consider minor transgressions. This week the process continues. Each year, when I close up the cottage for the season, I lock up my file cabinets and hide the keys. There’s nothing particularly valuable in there, but they contain copies of tax returns and other personal items I would rather not see distributed on the streets. When I locked them up last year, Jean was with me and I asked her to help me remember where I put the keys.

When Rona and Barry moved out of the cottage a couple of weeks ago, I went in and the place was cleaner than when I left it. I looked in what I considered my usual spots and no keys. I went through every drawer in my desk and every wicker basket and still no keys. I went through all my dresser drawers and, you guessed it, still no keys. I went through all the drawers and hiding places in the condo and also came up empty. I went through the dresser drawers on Green Street and nothing. I asked Jean where I put them and she said she conveniently (my word) didn’t remember.

We talked last weekend about it and she asked if I looked on the side of the pantry at the Green Street house where she hung her keys. I said no but that could be where I put them. On Monday she went down to the house to do some yard work and I waited for her to return to ride bike. She called in a little while and said she wasn’t going to ride, so I decided to go out to Pierce Cedar Creek Institute to do a little work. We passed on the street as I was leaving and I told her where I was going. On the way, I stopped at the house and looked on the side of the pantry but, alas, no keys.

After I left Pierce I went out to the cottage and looked in the liquor storage box (it’s liquor we don’t drink so you are all welcome to look it over and see what you want) where I hadn’t looked before. No blankety blank key there either. I went through every drawer again and even shook out my underwear, socks, and anything else that could hold a key. I did find a key that slid into one of the locks but it didn’t open. I came back to the condo and was telling Jean that I looked for the key at Green Street, couldn’t find it, and then turned the cottage upside down. She got up, ran to the bedroom, and came back with the keys. She said she found them down at the Green Street house, put them in her pocket, and forgot to tell me. I still can’t understand how she could keep a straight face telling me that tall tale.

I’m a day or so late with this week’s rambling ‘cuz I’m a little under the weather. I felt kind of dragged out at time trials on Wednesday, was a little sluggish on Thursday and, as Friday wore on, I got worse. I figured I knew what it was and it wasn’t going away on its own, so Friday evening I headed for the Walk In Clinic. Being on the hospital board, I thought it would be good to see how things were going down there. I was in and out and on my way to the drug store within an hour. The service was great, everyone was very nice, and they confirmed what I thought I had. After three days of drugs, I’m feeling a little better, but not quite back to normal. I’ll do a follow-up with my doctor tomorrow and get this whole issue put to bed.

Last evening Becky and Judy were over and they were on the deck with Jean. I think they wanted to get away from me so they didn’t catch what I have, but that’s 99.9% improbable. After a while I walked to the screen door and thought I might go out and sit with them for a couple of minutes. They must have known I was coming ‘cuz, as I got there, they were talking about panty hose and girdles and what kinds of things got pushed around and hung out when you put them on. I did an about face and decided maybe the fresh air wouldn’t do me any good.

Just (Getting A Kick Out Of Orange Pee) Jack

For some of us it takes longer to learn those things that make life go along smoothly. I’m not out of the “husband of the year” running yet, but I’m probably not in the top third of the contenders either. I thought things were going fine, but the other day Jean tried to hide my running pants and running hat. I was looking all over for them so I could go out and run, and I saw the very end of one of the pantlegs sticking out from under the covers. I opened up the bedding and found my hat that was also in the bed when Jean made it. I’m guessing Jean is trying to teach me to either get my clothes off the bed so she can make it or to make the bed at least 1/2 the time myself.

On the other hand, Wednesday I ran out of Crystal Light, so my drink container wasn’t on the top shelf in the fridge. That’s the shelf where all the tall things go. Before I could get anything back in there Jean had moved eight short things into tall stuff territory. A day or two before that, I took out the Crystal Light to pour myself a drink and, before I could return it to the fridge, Jean had put something in its spot. In one week she broke condo rules 15 and 37. It’s chaos, simply chaos.

I went to the gym to workout this past Friday morning before I went out to the cottage to mow the yard. On my way out Pat Purgiel was standing at the counter and told me he was there to freeze his thing. I told him it’s his thing and he can do whatever he wants to with it which made a couple of the girls behind the counter giggle. He said that he isn’t getting much use out of it lately so he wanted to freeze it for just a couple of months. He is 60 years old so that’s not unusual. He thought I had misunderstood what he was saying so he tried to explain that he was freezing his Health and Wellness membership but I’m not buying that one.

I’m really getting tired of riding the bike in the wind the past two Saturdays. Although I did do a couple of short rides during the week in almost perfect weather. I went out Thursday afternoon in between meetings and it was fantastic. The temp was around 75, the air was fairly dry, and the wind was light under 10 mph. I caught myself daydreaming a couple of times, but was still sailing along at a pretty good clip. I rode out Coats Grove Road and got chased by two dogs. Actually it was three, but two of them were together so that just counts as one, doesn’t it? The first one was a Black Lab mix and didn’t really come that close or give me much of a scare. The second was a Dalmatian followed by a mutt. If the Dalmatian had taken a slightly better angle, he would have had a just jack sandwich for supper. I kicked it up and outpaced him, but my heart was pumping a mile a minute.

The friends have moved out of the cottage so I’m getting it back to where I like it and I can find what I’m looking for. The moles have taken over the yard again, so I’m declaring war, also again. It doesn’t matter what I do. They will win. I know it, but I keep trying to cut down the population a little. I dug up the flower beds by the driveway. They had several perennials planted there, but I didn’t know which ones were flowers and which ones were weeds. I’m sure the previous owners would have me arrested if they knew, so please don’t tell them. As a peace offering, I delivered a letter to them that was in my mailbox at the lake, from one of their really close friends who didn’t know they moved three years ago.

Judy came over yesterday afternoon, couldn’t get her foot out of her bike pedals, and fell in our driveway. She said she did it slow motion and her feet ended up straight toward the heavens with the bike still attached. We spent the next half hour out in front watching Judy ride around in circles in the cul de sac taking her feet out and putting them back in. Becky and Judy came over last night for pizza and we watched “A Night In The Museum”. I’ve learned that you don’t want to watch one of those mysteries where the plot is laid out in the first 15 minutes. All three of them have practiced talking most of their lives so they’re good at it. It takes them 15 minutes to get it out of their system, so whatever is said in the movie during that time I can’t hear. I usually say something sarcastic like, “Do you want me to hit the mute button so the TV doesn’t interfere with your conversation?”, but It doesn’t do any good so I’ve quit that ploy.

Jean and I ran together this morning (surprise) and Becky stopped by after her mountain bike ride. I was watching a dog show and we all know Becky loves dogs. The dogs were going through an agility course that included sticks pounded into the ground at one foot intervals that the dogs had to weave through. Becky said that looked like it would be fun. Jean thought Becky meant it would be fun to weave in and out of the sticks. Becky said that she meant it would be fun to teach a dog to do it. Listening to them is like being with Lucy and Ethel on the I Love Lucy Show.

Just (Surrounded By Free Entertainment) Jack

This week’s title has a couple of meanings. First of all, on Friday I signed an agreement to sell the cottage to the same people that wanted to buy it last year. The agreement is again subject to them selling their place at Gull Lake, so here we go again, waiting for the call that may never come. It does double our chances of a sale, but that may take it from 10% to 20% or 1% to 2%. At any rate it’s at least something.

The other meaning has to do with this pesky old hip injury. The last couple of weeks it hasn’t hurt at all, so I thought things were on the mend. On today’s run, I went six miles and visibly limped when we got back. It took several blocks of walking to stop the gimp, and it came back as I got up from the brunch table after sitting for a few minutes. Pat and I talked constantly during the run (imagine that) so maybe it took my mind off the pain.

The web site is nearly ready for human eyes. I’ve uploaded 160 separate posts so far and I have just a couple more to go. Then Matt and I will talk about (e-mail) the format of the site. So far I’ve broken it down between e-mails, eulogies and ramblings. I’ve also set up a category of stories with pictures. I’m going to try to add pictures to the eulogies so readers know what they looked like. The expectation is that most of you would be interested in the e-mails and wouldn’t care much about the eulogies or ramblings. It’s coming soon.

It’s been interesting going back and posting all of those old e-mails. Through the years I’ve copied almost all of them to a word document called e-mails to friends. The “Word Press” website allows me to copy them from word to the post screen, then edit them and add pictures if I want. I look back to the e-mails I sent while I was recovering from the bike wreck and I’ve edited some of the sentences. I know what I was trying to say, but you had to read so much in between the lines or guess what was going on in my brain that they only made sense to me.

I had forgotten what some of them said and I was entertained when I went through them. It’s funny (not to me) that, through the years, I’ve whined about a lot of injuries. The hip has been a problem for quite some time so maybe it’s more than just a sore tendon.

Our golf game last Sunday was entertaining. We all (Jean, Becky, Jan Kietzmann and I) had some good shots and some awful shots. We had just enough good shots to bring us back again. Even when I play a lot, I’m still just mediocre which fits in well with my swimming, biking and running. We had fun and finished up with drinks on the deck of the 19th hole.

Bill, Larry and I went on a 38 mile bike ride yesterday in the wind. We did the northern part of the 24 hour challenge route. Riding East across Sisson Road, then Brown Road was brutal. I’ve had a slight bug the last couple of days so I was lethargic and my legs were burning from the time we started until the time we finished. Of course I whined about that. What else could you expect? Once we turned onto Velte Road, the riding got a little easier and when we went straight West, we were pushed along nicely.

Congratulations to the girls who did the Indianapolis Half Marathon yesterday. Jean says all had a decent race and everybody had fun. How long do you think it will take for all the real stories to come out? “What happens in Indianapolis, stays in Indianapolis” will be difficult with 11 women keeping the secrets, and I say that with the utmost respect of the opposite sex.

Just (Sitting Here With My Foot In My Mouth) Jack 

Several of you have asked if I sent out an e-mail last Sunday and I answer that I didn’t. By now, you all know that I write for therapy. I enjoy writing the stories as much as at least a couple of you enjoy reading them. But I’m not a writer. Writers can get an assignment, take out a piece of paper (nowadays a computer) and write a story. I’ve never been very good at that. I write from inspiration, and if it’s not there, I don’t write.  

Last weekend I was in one of those blue funk moods. I know it will take time to sell these two places we have, and it will happen, but I hate being in limbo until something gives. So a realtor called and asked if she could show the place at Crooked Lake to some cash buyers. I set it up to be shown at 10 last Saturday morning. I know it’s an inconvenience to Barry and Rona who are living there, but Rona called back and said that would be fine. The realtor called the next day and said that they would have to reschedule to Monday. I was a little miffed, but I talked with Rona and she said fine but it would be best if it were three. I called the realtor and she said three would be fine. Rona called us Monday at 4:30 and they still hadn’t come and she wanted to get over to the house they are rebuilding to pick out counter top material. I felt like crap for the inconvenience to her and her family.

I’ve not been a great fan of the war, although I admire the men and women who are over there fighting. When I see the President and Congress posturing politically over the current funding bill, I assume the worst. I believe that it will be politics as usual. The Democrats will insist that it will be a showdown, and what I expect to happen is that, after a veto, a spending bill will be passed that has no teeth and the next two years will be like the last two years. Then there’s the State of Michigan and its current budget crisis. The same political posturing seems to be going on there and, ultimately, our kids will suffer from education cuts.

It’s not that I’ve been short on ammunition either. Last night, at our Friday “drop in”, the conversation started out G rated and quickly turned to a discussion of breast reduction surgery (men are lobbying to have that become illegal) and one of our school teachers talked about being asked by one of her eighth grade students why there are flavored condoms.

One of the guys this morning at coffee asked if I had been sending out e-mails the last few weeks. Since I changed my e-mail address, his have been bounced back since I’m not on his list. I told him and the others at the table that I’ve been working on setting up a website (with my son, Matt’s help) to post the e-mails each week. It’s under construction and not really ready for viewing, but I’ve been busy filling the archives with all the old e-mails. I’m back to January, 2004, and have entered a combination of e-mails, eulogies and a section I call ramblings. Currently in the ramblings is TriStory, the original story about how the Trilanders group was formed, Trilanders 2001 and Trilanders 2003 among a few other things.

I’m not setting it up to show off my writing, but rather to provide a place to read the e-mails if you haven’t received them. I get a few kicked back from spam blockers from time to time when I use words that are common in many of the spam e-mails you receive (if I tell you which ones, I’ll get this epistle blocked). Also, if you have dial up, some of the ones I send with pictures take forever to download so I have a section called stories with pictures. A few of you have been added to the rolls recently, and when I make a comment about “my buddy from the Y in Florida” you have no idea what I’m talking about. So I have a section called “Reader Favorites”, which for the time being are “Writer Favorites”. In all, I have 132 posts and, once I get them all in, I’ll let you know how to get on line. No fees. No Advertising. No pop-ups. Rated PG.

Speaking of pictures, along with the e-mail I sent on June 6, 2004 “Week 10 Back In The Groove”, I attached a picture of a half eaten doughnut twist. I’m sure you have deleted them all, but if anyone saved that one, could you e-mail it back to me?

Better go. I rode 47 miles today with Diane. My legs are tired so I’ll probably take Larry and Jon’s advice and stand in a tub of ice cold water for recovery. Either that or it’s nap time.

Just (Back Up And Running) Jack

I have become a huge test strip to determine if a pool contains chlorine or not. As I said in my last e-mail, Tuesday I went to the Hastings High School pool and swam. I had been told that they don’t use chlorine so I was confident that things would be different and I would find a place to swim until the lakes are warm, which may take a while with the weather we’ve been having.

I lasted until about 4 PM before the first welts started to appear. I swam one lap (50 meters) without my nose clip and that’s all it took. My nose stuffed completely and I thrashed around all night trying to breathe. Jean must have had just enough wine because she never heard me. I can tell you without question that the high school does use chlorine. I’ll spare you the gruesome pictures. I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to take pictures of a naked 60 year old man with a rash.

I’m down to three options. Swim in it anyway and endure the reactions…not a good choice…insanity may win out. Buy a $15,000 to $20,000 endless pool that  disinfects with baquacil…expensive and I don’t have a place to put it. Or offer to pay the difference in cost if one of the pools switches to something other than chlorine or bromine…probably won’t happen. I guess there is a fourth and that’s to quit swimming. That’s probably the one I’ll choose. I can still swim in the lakes when it gets warm enough and continue with a crappy swim time in the triathlons. With my recent hip problems that should complement my crappy run times nicely.

I’m showing the cottage today at 2 PM. I’m not getting my hopes up, but I did have two calls yesterday so people are out looking. This will be the best time of the year, but the next door neighbor just listed her place for significantly less. That kept me awake one night until 2 AM, worrying that no one would want to pay that much more, but I’m guessing it’s less for a reason and I know our place isn’t overpriced. If it doesn’t sell, it’s still a nice place…bigger than we need and more than I want to take care of, but nice.

I used to play golf a lot and belonged to Hastings Country Club for years. It sounds like a high prestige place but it’s still only a golf course. A great course in prime condition, but the membership’s down and there aren’t nearly the social activities that there were years ago. Buying the condo, we get a free membership for a year. I was telling Jean that with her maintaining the house on Green Street until it sells and me maintaining the cottage until it sells, riding bike with our group on Saturdays and running with the running group on Sundays, we probably won’t play enough to make it worthwhile.

We’ve never been big on decorative pillows or stuffed animals on the bed. Many people are and they really look nice, but we haven’t done that. If it was up to me, the bed would only be made in the morning if company was coming or we had just laundered the sheets. Friday night we stayed up until midnight watching a movie and talking with Becky.

I had a couple of glasses of wine and so did Jean. I got into bed and there were pillows all over the place. When Jean came in I said something like “What’s with all the pillows?” For some reason it set us both off and we started laughing. We laughed for a good five minutes and I had to sit up once just to catch my breath. We either had more wine than I thought or we were releasing stress from having the two places for sale with nothing happening.

The hip still continues to cause problems and I’ll soon do what I should have done long ago and see my doctor. I’ve been putting it off hoping the injury would heal and not wanting to get a cortisone shot, but that’s probably what it needs. I’ve never had a problem with shots. But since the bike wreck, I’ve been poked and prodded so many times that visiting my doctor, who is also a friend, stresses me out. I don’t know what happened but I would be physically shaking the many times I saw him during that first year. Add it to my long “weirdness list”.

Just (About To Cave In And Ask For Help) Jack