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 by Sam JR
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My second resolution for the new year also comes from my diabetes education session: I resolve to get at least 30 minutes of exercise each day. But first, I thought I should explore all my excuses for why I wasn't already getting that much exercise so that I don't fall back into old habits. Here they are:
- I can't get the exercise early in the morning because I have to go to work early. And I really don't like to get up any earlier than I absolutely must.
- When I get done with work, I am mentally exhausted, so I need a rest - usually in front of the TV.
- The first thing I want to do then is take a shower since I start work so early that I don't get a shower in first. And once I have showered, I don't want to get all sweaty.
- Walking is easiest, but Alex can't walk far or fast so he can't walk with me. And I don't want to walk alone.
- Alex is usually outside the office door as my day ends, waiting for me to join him in some venture outside the house. I don't want to disappoint him.
- In the evening, I have to complete my project.
None of those rise to the level of a reason. They are just excuses. In addition, we have a stationary bike in the garage where there is a stereo for entertainment. And the bike has six programmed routes to vary the experience. I don't even have to leave the house for the exercise. I really have no reason not to exercise.
So the resolution is set.
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 by f2b1610 |
This morning, I headed out for my first 30-minute walk. Alex suggested I take his iPod, but I decided there are good reasons for me not to take any distractions with me, so I declined.
We have been in our house long enough for me to know all the ways the nearby streets intersect around all the curves, but I have only driven them. Today I walked, giving me the time to look at the flowers in all the gardens; to check out all those citrus trees full of lemons, oranges, and grapefruits; to check out who else has gophers in their yards and what solutions others use to keep them away. And I let the music that is always in my head when I am not thinking about something keep time with my steps.
I recall noticing the music in my head for the first time as I walked from the Foggy Bottom Metro stop to State Annex 1 where my office was located when we were still in Arlington and Alex was working outside of the area so he couldn't drop me off at work. I realized that it was there, not all that noticeable, but there whenever I wasn't thinking of something. I remember the first time I realized there were words in my head, back when I was somewhere around 4 and told Mom that I could hear words in my head. She told me that was called thinking and that the words would always be there. And that it was normal.
When there are no words, there is music. As a naive observer, I concluded that music, or at least the beat of the rhythm of music, is likely the most primitive of thoughts of humans. In utero, the sound and feel of the mother's beating heart is a constant for a developing baby. The beat is a form of communication between mother and child. If the beat of either the mother's heart or the baby's heart changes, the other may feel distress. But as I say, these are observations of a naive observer, an observer who has no or little formal education, in this case not even any direct experience, an observer with an attitude something like the attitude of a child for whom everything is possible, not of an adult who has learned to filter the world of possibilities down to what is left after leaving out all those things someone else has said are not possible.
I like to think of myself as a naive observer because I know it means I haven't entirely lost the ability to think like a child.
The music that fills my head when I'm not thinking of something isn't necessarily some tune I have just heard. Sometimes it is a tune I make up, in 4/4 time, with the first two lines having the same melody, the third a variation on that melody, and then the fourth repeating the melody of the first two, a pattern typical of church hymns and 1950's rock and roll songs. Since those sources of music come from my earliest childhood, it isn't surprising that the time signature and pattern of melodies of my made-up songs follow them.
I recall noticing the music in my head for the first time as I walked from the Foggy Bottom Metro stop to State Annex 1 where my office was located when we were still in Arlington and Alex was working outside of the area so he couldn't drop me off at work. I realized that it was there, not all that noticeable, but there whenever I wasn't thinking of something. I remember the first time I realized there were words in my head, back when I was somewhere around 4 and told Mom that I could hear words in my head. She told me that was called thinking and that the words would always be there. And that it was normal.
When there are no words, there is music. As a naive observer, I concluded that music, or at least the beat of the rhythm of music, is likely the most primitive of thoughts of humans. In utero, the sound and feel of the mother's beating heart is a constant for a developing baby. The beat is a form of communication between mother and child. If the beat of either the mother's heart or the baby's heart changes, the other may feel distress. But as I say, these are observations of a naive observer, an observer who has no or little formal education, in this case not even any direct experience, an observer with an attitude something like the attitude of a child for whom everything is possible, not of an adult who has learned to filter the world of possibilities down to what is left after leaving out all those things someone else has said are not possible.
I like to think of myself as a naive observer because I know it means I haven't entirely lost the ability to think like a child.
The music that fills my head when I'm not thinking of something isn't necessarily some tune I have just heard. Sometimes it is a tune I make up, in 4/4 time, with the first two lines having the same melody, the third a variation on that melody, and then the fourth repeating the melody of the first two, a pattern typical of church hymns and 1950's rock and roll songs. Since those sources of music come from my earliest childhood, it isn't surprising that the time signature and pattern of melodies of my made-up songs follow them.
The only way I can crowd out the tunes as I walk is to think, or replace the melody with words, something like a mantra. The words have to be almost meaningless to crowd out the tune. And the words I keep stumbling on are these:
I eat peas with honey.I have done it all my life.It does taste kind of funny,But it keeps them on the knife.
I read that verse years and years ago. I couldn't figure out why anyone would try to eat peas with a knife, so it stuck in my memory. But I don't just repeat the verse. I try to figure out a new way to say it each successive time. I change the word I stress in each line.
I eat peas with honey. vs.
I eat peas with honey. vs.
I eat peas with honey.Or I change the speed of the lines. Sometimes I say the lines to myself as if I am angry, or tired, or happy, or any other emotion I can think of.
Often, after chanting those nonsensical lines as I walk, my mind wanders away from the rhythm and into thoughts, developing possible scenarios for the unfinished stories that sit in the back of my mind. And that fits nicely with my third resolution, to keep writing every day, although perhaps not so publicly as I have been doing with my 365 Project. When I complete my 365 Project - just 30 days left, whoo hoo! - I resolve to post something once a week, either as a continuation of this blog or on my other blog, Better Than The Alternative. I hope you will keep coming with me for the ride.
Again, happy New Year.
Again, happy New Year.
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