A Ketchup Tale

Last time I ate at Five Guys, something in the taste of the food irritated me. Sharp, chemical attack on my palate. Sickeningly sweet.

My guess was that this was a reaction to Heinz ketchup saturated with high fructose corn syrup as a sweetener. I’ve just about eliminated corn syrup sweetener from my diet.

My guess was probably correct. I bought a bottle of “Simply” Heinz ketchup, which is sweetened with cane sugar. Used it at home today. That sharp, chemical taste was not evident. The pic at the top lists the “Simple” ingredients. 

Yeah, I eat some cane sugar. Need it. My body was partially built on it, and I like the energy boost. I eat, most likely, 8 to 10 teaspoons of cane sugar every day… jam on my toast in the morning, and dark chocolate from Krause’s after lunch. 

Now, how do I take the “Simply” ketchup with me to Five Guys?

Fortunately, Amazon has everything, including the tiny 25mL squeeze bottles above. A medium sized bottle of ketchup contains about 30 ounces, or about 900mL. So, I think that these little squeeze bottles can be smuggled into Five Guys without attracting a lot of notice.

Next time I return to the restaurant, I’ll take my “Simple” ketchup along in a couple of these little squeeze bottles. Will be interesting to see if I can taste the difference (or whether I think I can).

Stationary Meditation

Back in the gym on the stationary bike for the duration of the winter. Won’t get back on the road until mid-March. So, what to do with that 2 to 3 hours a week sitting and going nowhere?

I don’t need to spend more time on media. Most riders shove in their ear buds and listen to something. Every one of the bikes in the gym features a TV set mounted in front. No, that’s not how I want to spend my time.

Today, I invented a ritual for my hour long bike session… something that encompasses both prayer and meditation. It goes like this:

I combine prayer and yogic breathing. You know those videos of Indian yogis, with hairy bellies and chests, who breathe by violently contracting their abdominals? Looks kinda gross… belly flapping in and out. Focusing on breathing, that is deliberately contracting the abdominals and counting breaths, is a form of meditation.

This is the 60 minute meditation and breathing exercise I devised:

Recite the Lord’s Prayer, then breathe normally 15 times. Hail Mary, breathe normally 15 times. Next cycle the same, Lord’s Prayer, then Hail Mary, but each followed by 15 of those exaggerated yogic abdominal breaths. 

That’s the full exercise.

For 60 minutes today, I repeated this exercise. Excellent meditation. Excellent method of driving all extraneous thought out of my mind. Total release from media.

Empty head. Quiet.

Probably took 40 repetitions of this cycle to fill out an entire 60 minute ride. That’s a lot of repetitious prayer and counting breaths. Also a lot of those strong abdominal contractions. I ran out of gas. Over time, I think my abdominal endurance will improve.

Now that I have a ritual format for my stationary bike riding, I feel better about facing the winter in the gym.

AI generated image at top. Search string: “Cartoon Buddhist monk meditating on stationary bicycle at gym.”

My Life of Self-Discipline

I practice self-discipline all day every day. My definition of discipline: controlling my body, mind and emotions. This takes constant, repetitive practice. How can I use my time to better myself and be happier?

First, I admit that this was much more difficult to do when I was working full time. Retirement has blessed me with the time I need to attend to my four principle disciplines: exercise, diet, prayer and music. My days are full.

My morning begins with making my bed and reciting morning prayers. Napping in an unmade bed undoes the benefit of daily yoga sessions. Correct posture and spinal alignment are the central focus of yoga. My morning prayers express gratitude for being allowed another day of life, and thankfulness to my parents for doing the best they could do in raising me.

Facial yoga is a new addition to my self-discipline routines. Did not expect to be alive so long, and it looks as though I could be here for another decade or more. So, taking care of what I have is paramount. Just as with ankle, foot and toe yoga, the first goal of facial yoga is encouraging blood flow to the extremities, always a problem for seniors.

Ankle, foot and toe yoga is next on the schedule. Again, a primary goal is encouraging blood flow to my extremities, along with improving the flexibility, strength and balance of my feet. 

By 7:30 a.m., I’ve finished my main morning exercises and I’m ready to face the grandkids, get down on the floor and rough house and put them on the school bus.

After a second and third cup of coffee, I embark on my daily music practices. These vary from day to day, depending on need. Over the course of the week, I have to decide on hymns for services, transcribe them into my iPad, and get a handle on the words and music so that I can lead my congregations. Hour long practices every morning and afternoon. 

Monday morning’s practice is given over to maintaining my classical piano repertoire. Throughout the week, I devote sessions to maintaining my skills on piano, organ and guitar.

By the time the kids arrive home on the school bus, I’ve completed most of my self-disciplinary chores for the day and it’s time to play outside.

Focusing on self-discipline fills my day with purpose and meaning. And, I haven’t even gotten around, in this post, to discussing my dietary and overall exercise disciplines.

AI generated image at top. Text search: “Cartoon style old man kneeling to pray beside bed.”

How to Prevent Alzheimer’s?

For men, age 75 is a major threshold. I’m not far from that threshold, when aging accelerates and the threat of Alzheimer’s creeps up. What can I do to prevent myself from falling into dementia?

Yesterday, I decided to dig into my DNA profile on 23andMe. I submitted to the test a few years ago, but focused mainly on the tests for ethnicity. A few surprises, but I’m almost 95% Northern European. What I was looking for was the test of my APOE gene, what you might call the Alzheimer’s gene. Two copies of the APOE e4 variant would be serious bad news, signaling a strong predilection for dementia.

Yay! I have two APOE e2 gene variants. Lowest risk, and, some say, even indicative of resistance to Alzheimer’s.  That’s a big relief. I’ve got good genetic material to work with.

The factors that I can control to forestall Alzheimer’s, or any other type of dementia, are having a good, fulfilling social life, eating right, exercising daily and correctly, and continuing to find daily intellectual challenges. Purpose and meaning in life are key.

Working hard in each of these areas. 

My social life is built around music, church and grandkids. These are all positive emotional environments. Conflict is part of the deal, for sure, but even that is good for me. I’m out four or five days a week playing music and singing in various groups. Church is great for the after service coffee klatches and pot lucks. BS-ing with the boys at choral and Joes Band rehearsals provides me with positive fellowship.

Of course, I’ve written at length about my personalized Keto diet. I seldom stray from it. Allow myself a couple of indulgences every week, but I count my calories religiously.

I’ve expanded my exercise routine to include facial yoga. Maintaining pride in personal appearance and grooming is an important part of my anti-Alzheimer’s regimen. My dad sliced off his index and middle fingers with a bandsaw in his late 60s, and that made it almost impossible to groom himself. His descent into dementia accelerated dramatically. 

My ankle, foot and toe yoga have become part of my daily routine. I’m very happy with the results. Better balance when I walk. Pain free.

The grandkids are very helpful here. As we age, we become fearful of explosive movement and percussive impact to our bodies. We need both. Chasing and playing with the grandkids motivates me to overcome these fears. Getting down on the floor with them for roughhouse play is great exercise and emotional sustenance. 

Music is also my primary area for constant intellectual challenge. Over the past 5 years, I’ve studied organ, bringing an entirely new stack of sacred and classical music into my repertoire. Monday is my classical piano day. This is a uniquely positive type of intellectual challenge, free from the emotional conflict and anger of political and literary argument. 

So, I’m working on all fronts to defeat the Alzheimer’s Monster.

Six dBases to Rule the World!

Time for another personal transformation. How to get my music and songwriting in gear? I’m going to use the same approach I used for weight loss, dBase tracking. Below, a pic of my calorie counting, weight tracking dBase.

I didn’t set this up to create a schedule, just a daily reporting system. Being conscious of the calories in every meal and noting my daily weigh-in changed my eating and exercise habits.

My life is ruled by these six dBases:

• Calorie Counter
• Workout Log
• Music Practice
• Writing
• Catholic Hymns
• Methodist Hymns

Although I’ve written several dozens songs, I’ve never approached songwriting systematically. That’s about to change. I’m going to create a system of markers to record every day to my writing dBase.

First task is a surprising one… read a poem the first thing every morning. What better place for that than the Daily Poem website of the Poetry Foundation? Second task is writing some poetry every day.

What are the various tasks in song writing? There are two basic components to every song, that is lyrics and music. Either can come first in the writing process. I’m going to start tracking my daily attempts to write lyrics and music, which means allotting time.

Only have one unaccounted time slot left in my day, that is evenings when I’m not out rehearsing or performing. So, that’s going to be lyric and music writing time. This will take the place of my random clicking through oddball documentaries on YouTube.

Hoping to instill discipline through will power doesn’t work. Too vague. Having a dBase at hand with a daily record of what I’ve done works much better.

Haven’t entirely designed my writing dBase. It might have two different types of sheets, one type to track the date and time I spend writing lyrics, melody, weblog entries and poetry, and another to track the specific chores related to writing and recording each song.

I’m going to create a songwriting system and start cranking out the hits. Waiting for inspiration is just too slow.

Without Love…

Absence of a love life is the most difficult health problem I face, and it seems insurmountable. I’m not the only one. In my church work, I’m surrounded by old women who are aching for physical contact. (Mostly women, too, since men die off earlier.)

One of the great moments in the Methodist service is the “Peace be with you” segment. Everybody mills around in the center aisle hugging one another. The old women thank me for hugging them and plead with me to give a second round. Nothing similar in the Catholic service. 

The grandkids are growing up and aren’t as interested in hugging grandpa as they were when they were toddlers. They’re growing away from me.

This lack of a love life encompasses much more than not getting laid. I don’t have a confidant, Nobody to share meals. Nobody to sit with me and watch junk on TV.

Affects my hygiene, too. Why take a shower and get dressed? Why worry about whether I stink? My church gigs on Saturday night and Sunday morning give me some motivation to make sure my hair is cut, to put on some decent clothes and shoes and take some pride in my appearance.

I don’t see a solution to living without love in sight. 

If I am to have a woman in my life again, what would she do while I play music for hours a day, practice yoga and ride bicycle? Unless she’s equally committed to these routines, I doubt that things will work out. Myrna and I were interested in all the same things and we always did them together. 

I can’t ditch my Keto diet and calorie counting or I’ll be in pain and risk losing my ability to walk, so any potential partner would have to observe the same diet.

The biggest impediment, however, is that I don’t want to take the risk of having to nurse another woman through illness to her death. I’ve already done that twice.

Most of the time, I’m happy and at peace with my lot in life. Maybe that’s the best I can do.

Image at top was created in the Dall-E AI image generator. My request: “Lonely old man sitting in chair dreaming of love cartoon style.”

Cornered at the Gym

Pulling on my briefs in the locker room. A guy still wearing his jacket started fiddling with a locker near mine.

“Hey, did you have a good workout?” he asked me.

I was startled. Throughout the COVID hysteria, people avoided getting close to one another and nobody conversed. I have become accustomed to total isolation in the midst of a crowd.

“Nah,” I answered. “I just came tonight to take a shower. Did my yoga at home earlier.”

“What’s that all about?” he asked. “I mean, how does it work?”

So, I tried to give him a brief summary of the practice and benefits of yoga. 

Sickly looking guy. Pock marked face and an unhealthy skin pallor. He heard me out, particularly the part about how yoga classes aren’t a particularly welcoming environment to old fashioned macho guys.

We even introduced ourselves and shook hands. Randall was determined to talk. He stood there as I dressed, almost in my face. Talk about yoga led inevitably to talk about diet, so I gave him my standard spiel about Keto, losing 50 pounds and regaining my ability to walk.

“I had cholesterol problems, so I stopped eating red meat,” Randall said. “So, I’ve been eating this powdered protein supplement instead.”

“One of the benefits of eating so much meat doing Keto,” I told him, “is that I have these glorious hard poops every day.”

“I have diarrhea all the time,” he admitted.

One of the peculiar things I’ve learned from my daily social media reading is how often people get things ass backward. Many folks are trying to make it through this world on minimal brain power. The contradictory diet advice of the past few decades had, obviously, confused Randall beyond help. He had somehow conflated all the crazy diet advice about fat and cholesterol into a conviction that eating processed protein powder was healthier than eating meat.

I’m not an evangelist. So, I finished dressing and tried to leave the locker room. Randall walked backward in front of me like a cornerback guarding a wide receiver. A lonely guy. Everybody is incredibly lonely, victimized by the shutdowns and paranoia.

He told me about his evangelical church, one that I know about, that features a band and Faith and Worship hymns. I told him that I’m a church musician for denominations that have been decimated by fag hag feminism.

“How can anybody be gay and call themselves a Christian?” Randall asked.

I finally untangled myself from him and exited the gym. This encounter is, I’m convinced, a harbinger of what is coming. After two years of isolation, people are desperate for conversation and closeness. Any kind of human interaction beats silence and loneliness.

Normal, church going people are especially frustrated and angry as the social world has been twisted to give precedence to perverts and malcontents. I’m going to be targeted by people seeking some sort of social engagement because most people simply find me attractive, like me and want my attention. That’s always been the case.

I foresee anger over the isolation and the triumph of the perverts breaking out of social media containment. Violent confrontation will likely become common in the public social sphere. 

I fear for my grandkids. I don’t think the violence can be contained.

Circling Vultures

Walking one of my favorite paths beside the Hudson River a few days ago. I stopped, and sat down on a driftwood log to contemplate the Roundout Lighthouse.

“Are you OK?” somebody asked and tapped me on the shoulder.

She surprised me. I turned around. An old woman in a yellow rain coat peered down at me.

“Oh, I’m fine,” I said. “My back just tightens up when I walk. Stopping for a rest.”

“Do you have a phone with you?” she asked.

Once again, I assured her I was OK, and she finally walked off.

Do I look like a weak old man? I wondered. Thought my exercise and diet regimen  cured my awkward gait, but apparently not entirely. People can see my weakness.

Couple of weeks ago, backed out of a parking space at Sam’s Club right into the path of an oncoming Honda Civic. Very soft contact as I jammed on the brakes. Wasn’t really the result of momentary inattention. In cold weather, idle in my 2011 Ford Ranger pickup revs on start up. I had shifted the truck in reverse before I put my foot on the brake.

Damned thing drifted back a couple of feet. By the time I hit the brake, too late. Soft crunch of metal on metal.

A frail old man exited the Honda, shaking his finger at me and yelling. For the next 45 minutes, this scene escalated from trading licenses and insurance information, to calling out the cops, to calling an ambulance to take his equally frail old wife away.

Now, I’m in the shit. When I sold my house five years ago and moved in with my daughter and grandkids, I tried to divest myself of everything that could be taken from me by lawyers, con artists, do-gooders and sundry vultures. Other than my clothing, furnishings and musical instruments, I own nothing. 

Within a week, a threat letter arrived from a lawyer. My phone started ringing as the old couple’s insurance company tried to interview me. My peace in retirement pierced by what appears to be insurance fraud. The lawyer is one of those ambulance chasers who advertise on TV. Sue somebody! You might net a payoff!

I was pissed off and on edge for a week or so, and then I thought:  “Fuck it! There’s nothing for the vultures to take.” Did a little online search and discovered that NY law doesn’t allow the seizure of Social Security income, pensions or IRAs, and really that’s all I’ve got.

But, the vultures are starting to circle around this old body, looking to strip the meat from the carcass. Knew this was coming. In the not too distant future, the state and the medical bureaucracy will take control of my body and, in the guise of helping me, torture me for a few years until I kick the bucket.

If you’re ever in my area, several huge, dead trees stand sentry over the Woodstock town dump (now upgraded to a “transfer station”). Dozens of turkey vultures sit sullenly on the bare branches and keep an eye out for something edible in the trash. Huge, brooding birds.

A new phase of old age. The vultures are circling and closing in.

Yes, I Do Yoga

Big Joe called to tell me rehearsal is off for Thursday night. Apparently, he’d been trying to reach me for a while.

“What are doing?” he asked. “Didn’t you get the messages I sent you?”

“I’m doing my yoga,” I answered.

“Why are you doing that?”

“So that I can walk.”

Yes, I do yoga. Have been for 30 years or more, a legacy of my time with Myrna. During the years when we were making big money in NYC, we patronized a posh gym on the Hudson River. We took weekly classes together for several years.

I can understand why men are suspicious of yoga. That’s a heavily female dominated arena. Female yoga instructors tend to be Woke airheads. Listening to their philosophical and political rants can be painful. They often don’t have the sense to shut up and stick to their jobs.

Nonetheless, yoga has served me well. It’s part of my daily regimen to defeat chronic pain and to maintain my ability to walk.

I’d love to recommend good yoga classes to men, but I don’t know of any. By that, I mean any that don’t plunge you into a female purgatory. When I did classes in NYC, the women were at least young and lithe and beautiful. 

Not the case in classes I’ve taken in Upstate NY. No, the women are old, tubby and homely at the YMCA. I’m usually the only man. Class serves a very limited purpose for me, mainly setting a quicker pace. I know my poses. 

I struggle daily to maintain my ability to walk. Before I lost 50 pounds, I could only walk a few blocks before my feet and ankles became numb. A combination of weight loss, physical therapy and yoga has rejuvenated me. I can walk a mile up and down hill, keeping up a normal pace.

Not just doing this for myself. Trying to keep myself in shape for playing in the yard and rough housing in the front room with my grandkids.

I recommend yoga to everybody. Try to find a class where you’re comfortable and you don’t have to listen to stupid Woke prattling. Focus on what yoga can do for you… appetite control, maintaining flexibility, relieving chronic pain and improving your disposition. 

Yoga works. Don’t let the BS get in your way.

Making Home Made Ice Cream!

Don’t want to give the commies at Ben & Jerry’s my money any more. So, I bought myself an ice cream machine from Cuisinart, and I’m learning to make home made ice cream. Below, a pic of today’s batch.

Tougher than I expected. I’m trying for that super premium level of fat and texture. My first batch was good, but short on that dark chocolate flavor and heavy, creamy texture.

I’ve banished almost all prepared foods from my diet. Last to go was the Raisin Bran. That stuff, I discovered by ridding myself of it, is junk. Switched to a couple of slices of Bread Alone 9 grain whole wheat toast, with butter and jelly.

What can I say? I’m a retired old fart. Going on 9 years. I retired to take care of my health, to try to fully realize my ambitions as an artist, and to meditate on my mortality and relationship to God. 

I’m a sinner… a damned whore, in fact, when I was younger. Living the clean life and paying close attention to my health and diet is no longer optional. I’d like to really raise hell and live like a 20 year old, but I can’t. Not without suffering a lot of pain and losing my ability to walk.

Anyway, I lost 3 pounds just from dumping the Raisin Bran. Full of crap additives. So is commercial ice cream. Full of gum additives so that it will hold together on the drive from the store to your house. I understand why this has to be done, but home made doesn’t have to make that concession.

The grandkids love to help me cook and bake. Chocolate chip cookies has been our mainstay. Ice cream is a fun group activity. There’s plenty to do, what with 8 eggs to break and separate. That’s a challenging skill for a 6 or 8 year old.

I flipped the recipe on my second batch, because the first recipe produced a batch more toward ice than cream texture. First recipe: 1/2 cup heavy cream, 1 cup milk. Second recipe: 2 cups heavy cream, 1 cup milk. I used four times as much powdered cocoa the second time around.

Grandkids pronounce the end product satisfactory, but that was from tasting the output before it sat in the freezer. The real test will be tomorrow night after the batch has had a chance to really hardened.