Blog entries for mambo

Boot camp for a boomer

mambo — Tue, 13 May 2008 15:36:30 GMT

I get up every morning at 4:15. I hop into the shower, jump into my sweats and then I'm off to Bradford Beach. Typically, all that activity before sunrise would send me straight back to bed; however, I'm on a mission - a mission to get fit.

Don't get me wrong. I'm no couch potato and I do exercise. As a matter of fact, my bicycle and I are inseparable; however, our friendship has become one-sided. I give it all I've got, but the pounds that have crept on since moving back to the land of cheese, brats and frozen custard continue to leave me well-upholstered. Unfortunately, all that biking seems to be no match for age, gravity and the occasional Kopps. And, so ... I've decided to fight the good fight and attempt to head north, the various parts of me that are heading south.

When I first decided to register for Milwaukee Adventure Boot Camp, images of Stripes' Sgt. Hulka and his big toe came to mind. I waffled between, "How hard could this be?" and, "I'll never be able to keep up!"

Well, now I don't have to wonder. Boot camp is tough! It's challenging! It's early! It's empowering!

Never mind that I'm a baby boomer, decades older than many of the women in the program. Never mind that my muscles have been talking back, urging me to find a less strenuous outlet for my energy. For one hour each morning, as the sun comes up over Lake Michigan, I'm a machine!

Goodbye to a woman of valor

mambo — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 23:04:01 GMT

I knew a woman who believed that each of us makes the world a better place; that in the time we are alotted, we will give back more than just a fraction of what we take. The woman believed in goodness and salvation and lived an honorable and noble life - giving back in the name of us all.

Anne Gordon died last week. And, in the moments before her death, she prayed for the soul of the young man who would take her life. She died as she had lived. With valor.

I met Anne when I was just a child and, over the years, cherished her as a source of joy and inspiration. She worked as a housekeeper for my family and I remember telling her how sad I felt that she straightened our house, when she had her own home to care for, as well as a full time job. She would tell me not to worry -- that hers was good, honest work, that she loved me and my family and that the income she received from us was used for important work. While I didn't understand back then, I do today. Anne Gordon was a woman who exemplified the very nature of God and that important work she spoke of, was service to her church.

Twenty years ago, my family left Wisconsin for another part of the country. About the same time, Anne founded a church and became Pastor Anne Gordon, lovingly tending to those who looked to her for spiritual guidance. As often happens when time and distance intervene, at first I saw Anne a handful of times; however, as the years passed, we lost touch. It wasn't until we moved back to Wisconsin, that I found her again. I had planned to surprise my 90-year-old mother with a visit to Pastor Anne's church. Sadly, the opportunity to reconnect with our old friend has passed, and our visit to her church will be to say goodbye at her funeral.

Surely, the violent death of such a beloved woman has shaken a community to its core and nothing could relieve the sense of loss and sadness; however, anyone who was touched by Anne, buoyed and lifted by her strength of spirit might take comfort in these few words from the Old Testament:

"Give her the fruits of her hands and she will be praised at the gates by her very own deeds."

The best house guests

mambo — Mon, 11 Dec 2006 19:10:35 GMT

For the last 6 days, we've had guests - of the four-legged variety. Our kids are on vacation and we've added one dog and two cats to our home - one which, to most observers, would seem to already house more than it's share of animals. Having our own three dogs and two cats, one might assume that bringing in an additional three pets would bring six days of chaos, not just flying hair and a lot more dust.

This has not been the case and I'm struck by how different this experience (as well as prior experience caring for our grandanimals) has been, compared to the experience of having human house guests. First of all, with pet guests, there's no house cleaning involved; no last minute swiffering or elbow polishing of the bathroom mirror. As a matter of fact, chasing dust bunnies and hunting for crumbs between the sofa cushions are games the dogs love to play. And, a new litter box gives the cats an opportunity to see how far outside the box they can scratch the litter. Clearly, for these guys, a spotless house is no fun at all. With the dogs and cats, there are no special meals to prepare and there's no need to worry about wine being spilled on the new tablecloth. Just open a bag and pour; anything spilled on the floor is a welcome snack for later. Last, but not least, there's no carting folks around to see the sights.

For the dogs, a nice walk to sniff around at yellow snow is pure entertainment and the cats are content to stay at home and enjoy the change of scenery. It's not that we don't like having friends stay with us for a few days. We do. We have always tried to be a good hosts and, at the end of their stay, our guests have always been appropriately appreciative (although, I'm happy to report, not one has ever licked our faces or grabbed our sleeves to take us along). As much as we may have enjoyed our human guests, we've never felt really sad when they've left and, certainly, have never wished that they could've stayed for another week or two.

Tonight, with only three dogs and two cats, the house, is sure going to feel empty.

The shelves are stocked

mambo — Sun, 03 Dec 2006 16:34:10 GMT

I drove to the store yesterday. The roads were clear, the shelves were well stocked with the necessities of life: toilet paper, bread and milk. I was inclined to fill my cart; after all, this was the beginning of winter. Surely, there would be many snow storms ahead. Then I remembered; "We're not in Kansas anymore."

Actually, I've never lived in Kansas. I have, however, lived in a Midatlantic state, where even rumor of an impending storm sends hordes dashing to the supermarket for those all important items: toilet paper, bread and milk. Snow shovels make the short list, too, but they're gone within a few hours of the dreaded weather report. Kids know that school will be canceled and ready their sleds and tobbogans, even though there probably won't be enough snow to make a successful run. And, forget leaving the neighborhood, if the white stuff reaches any measurable depth. The coveted snow plows are pressed into service for highways and main thoroughfares only. Otherwise, you're on your own - hence the toilet paper panic. I emailed pictures of this first snowfall of the season to my friends on the east coast and they responded with wonder.

To the person, each asked if I was able to get out to the store. I smiled. Yes, I told them. I made it out. And, on the way back home, I stopped at K-mart and drove across town to the hardware store (where they still had plenty of snow shovels) and then picked up a video and some Chinese takeout. Then I sat by the window and watched the kids next door, sleds dragging behind them, heading off to play.

This being the first real snowfall since our move back to Wisconsin, I figure that we're still in the honeymoon phase and, by winter's end, my husband will tire of his new snow blower and I'll be sick of toweling off wet dogs countless times during the day. However, until then, I'll just sit back and enjoy the snow.

Wisconsin, we've missed you

mambo — Thu, 30 Nov 2006 15:28:11 GMT

Just about this time last year, we started thinking about returning to Wisconsin after twenty years away. A job had taken us far from family, lifelong friends and familiar places; all of which, over the years, served as fodder for countless family stories, told to keep alive memories of living in the midwest. As we considered making the move back to our childhood home, we still had to wonder: would we be as happy to return as we had been reluctant to leave?

I'm pleased to report now, nine months after the moving truck pulled away from our new home, that moving back after years away has been wonderful. Good old fashioned midwestern warmth is alive and well and I see it every day. It's in the old guy at Sears who asked my husband if the new lawnmower was my anniversary gift and it's in the kids behind the counter at Culver's, who make a big deal out of greeting us as we enter and then make just as big a deal out of saying goodbye as we leave.

So, if you've ever held the door for me, waiting patiently as I trudge from the mall parking lot with a shopping bag full of returns, or if you smile and wave as I bike around the neighborhood wearing my silly looking helmet, or if you say hello and ask how I'm doing as I pass you on the street - thanks for the welcome. It's great to be home.