2020: The year of lemonade

2020: The virus, the 'rona, COVID, the quarantine, the shutdown. And a layoff for me, and temporary work stoppage for Dawn.

I've always been a glass-half-full guy, but this year has definitely challenged me. I cried, I questioned, I second-guessed, and I worried.

But along the way I had some amazing friends who offered me some small odd jobs, and somehow I darn near turned myself into a handyman of sorts.

Life gave me lemons. But friends gave me some sugar, and I made a big ol' batch of lemonade while the world argued about masks.

This is my life update, and a two-fold nudge: One of encouragement if you're going through a difficult season, and one of being that friend when someone else is struggling.

It was April, and I had just finished a week of furlough. I learned that my 3 weeks of unpaid time off was changing to an elimination of my position. The years of struggles in the newspaper industry finally knocked on my door, and within a few days I was cleaning out my work desk and turning in my laptop and building key, just like I had seen so many friends and co-workers do. 

After a couple weeks of being butt-hurt, I picked up a couple of small mowing jobs, helped a friend lay some pavers at the back of his house, and then decided to let the Facebook world know that I might be interested in doing some landscape / yard work if anyone was interested. That led to one small job, and some more mowing work. Next thing I know I'm sanding a 1,000-square foot deck, hauling and spreading mulch and loading up field stones from a friend's pile of unwanted rock and delivering it to a customer to line their flower beds. These jobs, mostly, were that sugar I was talking about friends providing. Don't ever underestimate the importance in helping a friend. I will forever remember how these friends reached out and hired me as a show of kindness and God's love, when they didn't have to.

I also had the opportunity to work with my son two days a week for most of the summer, and what a treat that was to see what he had learned, and to watch him command his work. Drew's trailer-backing skills? Impressive!!! And it put us in a truck together for a few hours a week to have some meaningful conversations, and some fun conversations.

Along the way I got a shout-out for doing good work, and someone I haven't seen in decades heard about that and suggested me to a friend, which led to some part-time work basically all summer long, cleaning up their many, many flower beds, delivering and spreading mulch, trimming trees, and transplanting plants (my over-aggressiveness removing a rose bush put me on the DL for a while, but that's a story for another day). 

I even took on a job inside a new home, hanging some custom-ordered blinds and installing hardware on cabinets. You know, super basic tasks for lots of people, but jobs that forced me to lean on YouTube for tips. 

I was thoroughly enjoying the work. It felt good to be busy, to sweat and to be outside in the 90-degree days of June and July. I actually had a moment where I wondered if I could start my own business and sustain this. But winter scared me, and there was a need for a job that provided health insurance.

During all of this, applications were filled out and resumes submitted, including for 2-3 jobs that on paper looked like a very good fit for my skills. Because you know, when your skills are writing, editing, website management and social media, good fits aren't all over the place.

On a couple of occasions, a good friend had mentioned to me the idea of changing industries and trying my hand in the world of insurance, where he has built a respected company.

And that is where I have landed. I'm joining the team at Unified Group Services, and I'm beyond excited to go to work at a business where management cares about the employees, where they empower people to learn and grow, and where they place a priority on the health of the employees. I'm ready to dig in and learn new skills and see where things go in a new future.

There's some uncertainty about such a big change, but I believe this is where God wants me, and if you were part of my support system the past few months, you're appreciated more than you know.

The writings that were never published

I'm a part-time blogger. VERY part-time, like sometimes I go months without adding anything to my blog. (looks like my personal record for longest dry spell is 18 months).

Blogging, for me, can be kind of like exercise has been at various times in my life. Sometimes hard to commit to staying with it. I need to make a New Year's resolution to blog consistently!

And sometimes I start an entry because I come up with a topic or issue that I want to write about, and then I get into it and decide I don't like the direction I'm going, and I pull the plug on myself. It's always a great idea, of course, and I frequently come up with a couple of super witty lines, but as I get into it, I just can't convince myself that the finished product is going to be worth sharing with you.

Professionally, I'm an editor, and sometimes I have to tell a reporter to not pursue a certain story. Personally, I edit myself, too, and sometimes I tell myself to push the brakes on an idea. Sort of like having a conversation with my wife. Sometimes I tell myself, "No, Phil. Don't go there. Just stop. Move on."

So here, for your amusement, are some left-on-the-keyboard comments from unpublished blog entries. Deep thoughtful remarks that likely mean much less when isolated from the full thoughts they were intended to be surrounded by:

--- Nov. 11, 2019, SAY WHAT? But here I am, at the age of 52. I've had three surgeries in my life, all in the last 10 years, and all three occasions involving the doctor accessing my insides through my mid-section. As a result, my stomach now has so many markings that it resembles a map of the state of Texas. A couple of larger scars on the left side look like the metro areas of Houston and Dallas. In the center is a scar that winds around my belly button. Maybe that's a section of the Colorado River, or one of those large reservoirs that draw the fishermen to the Lone Star State. I think I'll call it my Toledo Bend Reservoir. On the other side of my stomach is another larger spot. That's San Antonio, and in between there are several smaller marks that could be the Texas towns with populations of less than a million. I have a Waco, a Galveston, an El Paso, a Midland and a Lubbock.

--- April 11, 2018, I DON'T CUSS. OK, SOMETIMES I DO: The decision to put these thoughts in writing happened shortly after I went skydiving in July 2016, something I had always wanted to do. As I was stepping out of an airplane from 12,000 feet in the air the thought occurred to me, "I should make a bucket list." No, I'm kidding. I was definitely not thinking that when I stepped out of the plane. My thought was more along the lines of, "What the &%$#! am I doing?"

--- May 29, 2017, NO MORE HIGH SCHOOLERS: But the event DOES serve as sort of closing the book. And I'm feeling a bit nostalgic thinking back to those 13 years for Drew at Blue River Valley. He's been blessed with some awesome friends and great teachers that have created lots of memories.

--- Sept. 1, 2016, CONCERT AND CAMPING: What does Building 429 mean, you ask? It's based on Ephesians 4:29 ("Let no unwholesome words come out of your mouth, but only words used in the building up of others"). Turns out that the band members knew of a church youth group that had a "429 challenge," where youth group members, if they heard another member say something inappropriate or hurtful to someone, were to respond with a "429" reminder. ..... Also, Dawn went camping. Actually slept all night in a tent!!

How big is your mountain, and who is helping you climb it?

I had an "aha" moment the other day while rock climbing, shortly after hitting the ground after my last try on a top rope course.

You need to understand that I'm not an experienced rock climber. I had done it once before, in this same safe, controlled inside facility. So even making it part of the way up the wall was a bit of an accomplishment for me.

And so there I was, about halfway up a 40-foot wall trying to follow a specific route so that my daughter wouldn't call me a wuss, like she had a few minutes earlier. And at that midpoint, I decided I was done. I lost my confidence when I looked for a next foot placement, and I hollered down, "I give up. Ready to come down." I had convinced myself that halfway up was an accomplishment, and that I should be satisfied.

My friends and family -- notably Natalie, who was my belayer -- responded in a way that froze me in my tracks, clinging to the wall. "NOOO! You can't give up now! Just lift that left foot up to the next spot, it's right there. You can do it!"

The encouragement from my group was enough to give me pause, and reconsider my decision. I just held on for a few seconds, catching my breath and letting their words build me up. And then I told them I was going on.

One step, then another. A short pause while eyeing what was left of the wall and the route that could get me there.

And after just a few more minutes, I was at the top, making contact with the very top in a celebratory way. I did it!

So .... that "aha" moment: Somewhere during the process of taking off my harness and turning in my rental equipment, gathering my belongings and walking to the van, I realized the similarities between my journey up the wall, and our journeys through life.

Sometimes in life you feel all alone. Maybe you're not literally hanging on a wall, but you might be stuck in a situation that feels like the mountain of all mountains. Just remember, there's always someone holding that rope for you. There's someone out there who wants to cheer you on. There's family, and there's friends. And even if you feel like you're without friends, or even family, God is with you. Every step of the way.

No matter how skinny that ledge of the mountain is, there's room for God to be right beside you. Even when you feel like you're in the middle of the ocean with no boat, Jesus is your life vest.

Find those friends who can help you reach the highest of heights. Lean on those family members who want to guide you on your journey. And trust that God will be with you every step.

"There's no shadow you won't light up, mountain you won't climb up, coming after me." Reckless Love, by Cory Asbury

Be as brave as this guy

This little guy could be labeled a rules-breaker, or a villain.

But I see him different. I see him as bold enough to chart his own path, as so creative that he's willing to pop up in a spot where he doesn't know if he'll be wanted. He's a risk-taker.

You see, we didn't plant any marigolds this year. We planted geraniums, and pansies, and impatiens, and petunias, all to complement our hostas and a mini rose bush. But this little marigold, currently with just a single orange flower and no other blooms in sight, he punched his way through our mulch on his own. It was several weeks ago, and several weeks after we planted our annuals, that he showed his face and let us know he was going to take up residence near a couple of our artificial frogs. He was going to shoot his roots far into the soil and show off his green leaves against the backdrop of our black mulch and try his best to be a friendly face in our front yard.

And he has made my summer. I have been regularly weeding my landscape area this year -- a task I admittedly don't always stay current on -- and I have plucked many weeds from the ground in the area of this rebel marigold. But I've kept him around, happily watching him grow until he was strong enough to sprout a bud and, eventually, let his full colors show.

Take this marigold's style and apply it to your life. Go plant yourself somewhere where you aren't sure if you're wanted. Be so beautiful that your presence makes the people there happier because of you. Be such a pleasant surprise that no one thinks of you as a weed and wants to uproot you.

The Masters: An experience unlike any other

The bright azaleas, the beautiful flowering trees, and the towering Georgia Pines.

The immaculate fairways, the perfectly raked and groomed bunkers, and the iconic images of the bridges crossing Rae's Creek at Amen Corner.

The polite acknowledgment from the golfers as fans address them, and the up-close-and-personal views of their swings as they tackle the challenges of Augusta National Golf Club.

The sounds of the golfers' drives from those tee boxes tucked into an intimate notch in the course, the patrons' collective moans when a shot just misses and the thunderous roars from 2-3 holes away as a player makes a Sunday charge.

You can see and hear much of that while watching the television coverage from the comfort of your couch. Trust me when I tell you that TV absolutely does not do it justice.

Taking my first steps onto the historic golf club Sunday morning with Natalie, I thought I was prepared for the beauty of it all. The biggest surprises, perhaps, were observing the massive size of the facility, and of the crowd. Standing near the clubhouse allows you to see so much of the grounds to fully appreciate the size.

But my most memorable part of this trip is not anything visual. No, those roars in the distance are what will stick with me more than anything else. For an hour or so, we were perched in the grandstands overlooking the No. 13 green -- the conclusion to Amen Corner -- and the No. 14 tee, watching the final groups come through. And twice while sitting there watching the likes of Rickie Fowler, Rory McIlroy and Patrick Reed, we heard crowd explosions off in the distance.

After the first roar, another patron -- that's what Augusta National officials call their guests at this prestigious tournament, not fans -- smiled and said, "Spieth must have birdied." Sure enough, in the next minute or so, the leaderboard updated to show that Jordan Spieth's score had improved by one stroke.

The sound is just so different than the cheers you hear at other sporting events. It does not compare to the celebration of a game-winning home run, a last-second touchdown pass or a daring pass into a turn as cars race to the checkered flag. The sound at Augusta is calm and quiet, with some mild polite claps mixed in. And then suddenly, unexpectedly, the cheers electrify the course in a booming way, rattling their way up through the glorious pines.

That's my No. 1 takeaway from a day I'll never forget. A day made possible by my brother was full of all the things we thought we were supposed to do. While we were inside the gates of August National, we got good looks at Amen Corner. We ate pimento cheese sandwiches. We latched onto some spots right up against the ropes to get within 10 feet of some of the world's best golfers. We drank a beer out of the plastic green Masters cups. We sat greenside for a few holes to watch golfers' approach shots land on the green, or find a bunker, and then to watch them chip and putt. We waited in line for a course-provided photo with the clubhouse and iconic flower bed in the background. And we bought souvenirs.

A day that happened because attending the Masters was a bucket-list item for me ended up being so much more. It ended up being a fun weekend road trip with my girl three weeks before she graduates from college and has to start adulting for real.

We took the time to explore Asheville, N.C., on the way, we tried for a little bit of good health by using the hotel fitness room, we ate bagels, pizza and chicken and drank coffee and milkshakes, we laughed, and we sang (Nat takes great pride in her Spotify playlist). We drove 1,400 miles and were gone exactly 48 hours.

Step out of your comfort zone .... I dare you!

When I rang in the year 2016, I fully expected it to be sort of the status quo for the next 12 months. I mean I knew there would be bumps in the road, and maybe some new excitement. I jumped out of an airplane in 2015, so there was always the possibility of a big thrill in 2016, too. A new family vehicle was going to be a necessity, and I was hopeful that I could continue a mostly healthy lifestyle.

But when you are 48 going on 49, the box you live in has pretty well been determined, right?

And then I decided to try my friend's exercise class at the Yorktown YMCA, because I had heard that it was so popular she had a waiting list. I was curious. What could Molly possibly be doing to make exercise THAT much fun?

So I hustled off to Yorktown after work one day to give cardio boxing, as she called it, a try. And I loved it. It was so much fun that I said to Molly, "I wish the New Castle Y offered this class. Maybe I'll suggest to them that they look into it."

And then Molly opened her big mouth. "Why don't YOU just teach it?"

My daughter Natalie loves my class!

I probably rolled my eyes.

I'm not an exercise class instructor! They have people to do that. You have to be trained to do that. I don't have time for that. And that's not me, anyway. In every personality test I've ever taken, I've been labeled as more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy.

But inside, I listened to Molly's half-joking, crazy, out-of-the-box idea. And I wondered. Could I really do that?

In the weeks that followed, I mentioned the idea to the decision-makers at the Henry County YMCA. They were energetic in their response, and not just that the class was a good idea but that me teaching it was a good idea. They, and Molly, assured me that I didn't need any certification or long-term education. I COULD be one of those exercise class instructors.

I really felt like this was God tugging on me and telling me to take this opportunity, with three possible benefits: 1) Make a few extra dollars, 2) Force myself into the gym for regular exercise every week, and 3) Use my abilities to help others be healthy.

And so the plans were put in place. I got some equipment lined up, I got some training and coaching from Molly on how to do this, we found two evening time slots where it would fit in the Y's schedule, and when July rolled around I led my first class. I think there was one, or maybe two, people in it. In the weeks that followed, some people came and tried it once and then I never saw them again. Some came a few times, and some are in the "occasional" category. And 6-7 people are what I would call hardcore regulars.

And now fast-forward 6 months to the end of the year, and I'm getting ready to start teaching the same class outside of the Y once a week, at a church where some good friends pastor and asked me about starting a program to help them utilize some new space. It will be an exercise class with a little spiritual twist to go with it, an offering for church members but also a community outreach, where hopefully we can use their facilities to grow God's kingdom, all while punching away some fat.

If you are still with me after 10 paragraphs, you might be wondering about that "dare" in the headline. And so my point is this: Don't confine yourself to the box in which you are currently comfortable. Just because you have lived one way for many years, or a few decades, doesn't mean you can't mix things up.

Be determined to prove that you CAN teach an old dog new tricks. Don't let past experiences limit new opportunities.

New Year's resolutions are sometimes stale and quickly forgotten. And you can commit to being a better you at any time of the year, not just on January 1. But we're in that time period where we're throwing out calendars and hanging new ones, so go ahead and grab hold of something new now.

How are you going to be better in 2017 than you were in 2016?

Sometimes, there's no replacing a momma

I like stories with happy endings. But sometimes, the end isn't what you want, and you're left grasping what it all means. Join me as I try to wrap my mind around a short-lived effort to save a life.

Last spring, a bird decided to build a nest in the tongue of my boat trailer, while it sat
in our driveway. We would see it fly in and out, and eventually we heard baby chirps. And if we shined a flashlight just right through the very narrow opening, we could see the little beaks, and the necks stretching toward the light, waiting for their next meal. Eventually the sound of chirping was gone. Momma bird had done her job raising the babies and releasing them into this big world.

This spring, it happened again. I saw an adult sparrow flying in and out of the trailer. But it was a little later in the year, and we didn't hear chirping until about a week before our Minnesota vacation. The vacation where our van would pull that trailer with the boat on it. I looked in on the birds, and could see some feathers. They weren't BRAND new, and I was hopeful they would fly before we left for our 900-mile journey with the trailer.

The day of us leaving was very busy, and I felt like I didn't have time to try and dismantle the trailer to see if I could reach the nest and somehow relocate it. I had resigned myself to the fact that they were going with us, and would certainly die during the bumps, swerves and curves that 900 miles of travel would include.

Natalie's big heart for animals wasn't any too happy about that, but she understood. Sort of.

And off we went. Four Beebes and a guest in the van, plus an unknown number of birds in the trailer. And 400-500 miles into the trip, while pumping gas, I heard a chirp. And again. And it wasn't coming from any nearby bushes, but the trailer tongue. Something was still alive in there!

At each ensuing stop, I heard it again, and at one point I finally shared the news with Natalie. Her smile filled the van, and she jumped out to listen with me.

When we pulled into the resort, we began unloading the van and the contents of the boat to get settled in. When Natalie could see we were almost done unloading, she knew what was next. Back the trailer toward the lake, submerge it into the water and launch the boat. And she came to me with her heart heavy.

"Dad, before you put the boat in the water, will you please ask Alan for some tools and try to get the birds out?"

I was eager to get on the water, and wasn't really interested in a delay. But this was one of those times I absolutely could not tell Nat no.

So I went to Alan, the resort owner.

"I have a rather unusual request for help," I said. "Do you have some tools I could borrow to try and take apart the tongue of my trailer?"

I then proceeded to tell Alan my dilemma, and he was intrigued, and happy to help. He removed the front piece of the trailer tongue for me to open up the area. With that clearer view, we could see at least one live bird. But we still couldn't reach the nest.

Alan and his son found a couple of long items that would slide through the back opening in the tongue and reach the nest to push it forward. With Alan doing the pushing and me directing him based on where the stick emerged on the other end, we finally got the nest to move forward and fall out the front opening. With it came one bird that had already died. It looked like it had died a while ago, maybe during the drive or even before.

But the live one danced around Alan's stick to try and hold on to his safe location. Alan's son then used a "grabber" tool to try and pull the bird out, and after several attempts he got hold of a wing and slid him right out. Natalie was standing there beaming, and she picked it up. She immediately started brainstorming about how to care for him -- and what to name him -- while Alan put my trailer back together so vacation could officially begin.

Natalie searched online for a fitting name and settled on Bea, which she found to mean, "Bringer of joy. Traveler. Voyager through life."

Perfect, considering the voyage Bea had just traveled, and the joy he brought Natalie.

Natalie then took charge of a box and filled it with some natural elements to create a home for Bea, and she then borrowed a worm from our bait box and cut it up to feed the young bird, which was fully feathered but apparently not yet ready to fly. With just a little encouraging, Bea opened his mouth and gobbled up the pieces of the worm. He seemed to be thriving, and Natalie was very proud, very satisfied.

Evening fell, and Natalie went to check on Bea one last time before we hit the sack. He seemed content.

And then morning came. I was the first to rise, and after starting a pot of coffee I decided to check on  Bea. My heart immediatley sank. He didn't make it through the night. It was a chilly night, and our only thought was that he couldn't stay warm enough. Natalie had provided some bedding, and a box for shelter, and he was in the screened-in porch, protected by a solid lower half to limit any breeze. But he didn't have the warmth of his momma through the night.

I was very sad, and gave the news to Natalie when she woke up. She cried, and didn't want to believe it. She felt she had failed, and she sobbed on my shoulder. She wanted so bad to be this baby's momma and see it to a safe first flight.

So that's the sad end to this story, and leaves me realizing that not everything is replaceable. Sure, life can go on without our mommas in most cases, and a dad, or a sister, or a friend can fill some of the voids. But there are just some things that no one can do like momma.

Natalie, be proud of your effort. You helped me see the value of pausing my own life to try and help someone else, you gave me yet another example of your caring heart and you gave Bea a few glorious final hours of his life, enjoying a couple of meals and your attention, your love.

Why the Cincinnati Reds will be better than you think

Editor's note: We interrupt this blog that is mostly about good health with a baseball forecast. But really, how can you claim to truly have good health if you don't enjoy a little baseball? But WAIT: Before you read, go grab some fresh fruit or vegetables!)

Fourth place in the National League Central. Or fifth. Out of five teams. That's what most of the "experts" are saying about the Reds and the 2015 season. They definitely can't compete with the Cardinals, or the Pirates, playoff teams from a year ago, or the Cubs, who are loaded with so many talented young players that they are a sure bet to be contenders all year long. The lowly Reds probably can't even keep pace with the Brewers, despite all of Milwaukee's question marks.

But hold on, fellow Reds fans. I'm not buying this doom-and-gloom crap. Here, for your preseason enjoyment, is my glass-half-full outlook:

The Reds WILL be one of the best teams in the National League. They will be in the thick of the playoff race to the very end. Why, you ask? Well, their pitching is better than most people think, they have plenty of reason to be motivated, and they are bound to be healthier than last year. Let's take a look at each position:

1B: Joey Votto missed 100 games last season because of injury, and was not at full strength when he DID play. The backup options were Todd Frazier and Brayan Pena, mostly. I like both of those guys, but they were playing out of position, and they are not Votto. The former NL MVP is healthy, and that means first base will be a significant upgrade over 2014.

2B: Again, injuries hurt. Brandon Phillips missed time and then played hurt. DatDude is back, and
while he's probably lost a step from his glory days, he can still cover ground like few others, and I still believe in his bat being productive. I expect the Reds to bat him third behind Votto to give him ample opportunities to prove his value. Offensive numbers from the team's second baseman will be better than a year ago.

3B: Todd Frazier is still developing, and he'll get better. It might be difficult for him to take another big step forward after his breakout season last year, but if he can be close to that level, the Reds should be pleased. I think he'll do that.

SS: Zack Cozart had a terrible year at the plate last year. It's bounce-back time. The numbers HAVE to be better this year. They will be.

C: Todd Mesoraco: See Frazier above. Like the team's third baseman, Mesoraco had a breakout season in 2014, and it will be tough for him to show another big step forward. But this young stud is motivated to show how good he can be, and I don't think there will be a drop-off.

LF: Marlon Byrd: The weakest and least-defined position for the 2014 Reds is now locked and loaded. Byrd was an offseason addition, and while he struck out too much last year with the Phillies, that's not his norm, and the Reds will need him to correct that. But he brings legitimate power and solidifies the biggest question mark the Reds had last year. This is a HUGE upgrade for the team.

CF: Billy Hamilton was better than expected the first half of the year, and worse than expected the second half. Expect him to be more consistent and learn from that second half. He put in the time during the offseason, and the team's offensive production from CF will be better.

RF: This is the easiest of the positions to expect improvement. Of five seasons of everyday play, 2014 was the worst for Jay Bruce, and it wasn't even close. In 2013, he had 30 HR, 109 RBI and a .262 batting average. Last year: 18, 66 and .217. He missed time because of injury and returned too soon, and he was never the Bruce the Reds need. He'll be back this year. He'll still be streaky, but at the end of the year he'll have 35 HRs and 100 RBI.

Starting pitching: This is where the Reds face the most criticism. They traded away two solid starters from a year ago, including No. 2 Mat Latos, as salary moves. They didn't sign any new proven talent. But they did acquire Anthony Desclafani in the Latos trade, and team officials have high hopes for him. I do, too. His spring has been spectacular. They will also start the year with Jason Marquis and Michael Lorenzen or Raisel Iglesias in the rotation, it seems, all question marks of different types. Marquis is a journeyman veteran who didn't pitch at all last year, Iglesias a young prospect from Cuba. And Lorenzen is a rookie who has only been pitching for a couple of seasons. But tell me a MLB team that doesn't have 1-2 question marks in their rotation. One of them will get bumped when Homer Bailey is ready after he's fully recovered, and that will be soon. And I like the chances that Bailey will be better than last year. And at the top of the rotation the team has Johnny Cueto and Mike Leake, two who have proven their abilities and will both be in contract years. This rotation will surprise people.

Bullpen: One of the team's weak spots a year ago, there's nowhere to go but up. New pickup Burke Badenhop will help, as well as an influx of new names to give them options. They appear set on moving strike thrower Tony Cingrani there after deciding he didn't earn a rotation spot. And it's possible Iglesias / Lorenzen will also be moved there when Bailey returns. Lots of options in the bullpen, and it will be better in 2015.

And then there is the motivation from these woeful predictions and other chatter. You don't think Frazier and Mesoraco want to make sure a last-place finish isn't reality? You think Votto likes hearing that he's not an elite player because he doesn't drive in enough runs? You think the entire team -- from new vocal guy Byrd to veterans Votto and Bruce, to emerging leaders Frazier and Mesoraco -- aren't a little miffed that Latos packed his bags and then claimed the team has no leadership? You don't think Desclafani is determined to prove that he can be a capable replacement for Latos?

So, through my rosey Red glasses, I see definite improvements in the bullpen, first base, shortstop, left field and right field, and likely improvements at second base and center field, along with continued development from stars in the making at third and catcher.

Get on board, because this is going to be a fun season.

Hey! She's eating my spinach!

Sometime in the last year, I developed a liking for fresh spinach. A friend convinced me that iceberg lettuce did nothing for my health and that spinach provided some awesome nutrients.

I tried it, and pretty quickly got hooked. Nice texture and fit well with the veggies that I like to include in my salads. And I also found that I liked it on sandwiches or in wraps.

And this was an easy staple to keep in the house, because all of my family members turned up their nose at the sight of it. So I could buy a bag of it and be confident that I would either eat it from the first leaf to the last, or I would throw away the end of the bag if it started rotting before I could get to it.

And then one night, while making Dawn a smoothie she requested, I added a few leafs of spinach to the peaches, strawberries, yogurt and flax seed that she ordered.

BIG MISTAKE.

I blended it up fine, and she .... hated it? Oh no, she enjoyed it just like usual, without noticing the extra ingredient. I told her after the fact. She was impressed with my skills. Or at least satisfied that it didn't affect the taste of her yummy treat.

So fast-forward a few weeks, to the point where Dawn had made the decision to switch to some healthier eating choices in her life. She's using this product to make a daily "shake" (a shake that's not as good as my smoothies, but I digress) and has decided to add some of her own ingredients to help her get in the suggested daily amounts of veggies.

So what veggies is she mixing into her "shake?" Yep, Spinach. MY spinach!! What is going on? The Beebe home now runs out of spinach? Talk about a lifestyle change.

(She is taking it to a new level by blending spinach AND cauliflower into her healthy mix.)

But I'm not the stingy type, especially when it comes to something as healthy as spinach. There's plenty to go around, and I'm happy to buy a second bag of the green stuff halfway through the week. In fact, I'm THRILLED that I have someone to eat spinach with me!!!

Next step: Convincing her how delicious it is when you put salmon and spinach in a wrap.

OK, now I'm crazy. No WAY she'll eat salmon with me.

The miracle of walking, and running, and beating the odds

(Note: If you've read this previously, skip to the bottom for a special addition)

As I sit here reflecting on the last few weekends, I'm wishing I had Dr. Noonan's phone number, or email address. Because if I did, I might reach out to him and give him two things: 1) A heavy dose of the razzberries, and 2) a HUGE thank you.

Because, you see, Dr. Noonan is the doctor who performed surgery on Drew 16 years ago this week. And during the recovery process, he assured us the surgery went well and that Drew would very likely lead a normal life. But he also warned us that because of Drew's condition at birth that required this surgery, he might not be a real good athlete. "Push him toward science, or math," Dr. Noonan said. "He might never be an athletic star."

And so yeah, maybe he's not a star. But he WAS an All-Star in baseball one summer, and he HAS been the best player on the JV basketball team this year (in one mom and dad's admittedly biased eyes). But if there's a reason he's "not a star," it probably has more to do with him inheriting his mom and dad's height than because of any problems with his feet.

Drew was born with clubbed feet. When I held him for the first time on April 21, 1998, his little feet were so severely deformed that the soles of his feet touched one another. There was no stretching his legs out straight and pretending to make him stand up. They were curled inward in a big way.

The first step in this journey ... well the FIRST step was to pray that God would guide us and help us through it. But after that, the first step was to see an orthopedic doctor. From the very first visit, Drew melted the hearts of every worker in that office. This was a doctor's office who dealt mostly with high school athletes who suffered injuries, and the older generation of people with failing body parts. Not precious newborns. Nurses' faces lit up every time we walked through the door with Drew in our arms, and swarmed around us to say hello.

And so we had a long talk with Dr. Thomas Mathews, when he admitted that his pediatric experience was limited. He was happy to try and help, but if it was decided surgery was needed, he would refer us to someone else. His recommendation was that a process of casts and braces was worth a try. We agreed.

For the next 5-6 weeks, Dr. Mathews put a set of plaster casts on Drew's feet. Drew would wear them for a week, and then Dawn and I would soak the casts at home so we could remove them, clean him up and prepare to do it all over again the next day. 

That practice continued once the casting procedure was finished and we moved on to custom-made plastic braces that Dr, Mathews hoped would help make the casting effort more permanent.

And during the braces time period, I was instructed to "stretch his feet, bending them outward into their correct position, or essentially continuing what the casts and braces were trying to do. I laid him on his back on my footstool, his head away from me and his legs toward me. This was not an easy thing for a parent to do. I cried while doing it, as our newborn cried, sometimes screamed, in obvious pain. Most nights Dawn left the room because she couldn't handle it.

But it wasn't working. Drew's feet were slowly, gradually, but definitely moving back to their birth position.

Next step: Riley Hospital for Children. That's where we would meet Dr. Kenneth Noonan, and he was more than ready to operate on Drew. He was confident, and he was experienced. I don't remember if he told us how many little kiddos like Drew he had operated on, but you could tell in the discussions that this was routine for him. He was confident Drew's feet could be corrected, maybe even with just one surgery. We had done enough research -- and Dawn knew of one student in her school who was born with clubbed feet -- to know that multiple surgeries was a possibility.

Dr. Noonan explained the procedure to us, that he would make incisions in both of Drew's feet, cut tendons, insert

pins, etc. And then he would be in casts for a few weeks. A date was set, and on a cold, snowy morning of Feb. 16, 1999, we got up super early and made the trek to Indianapolis with our nine-month-old boy. Two-year-old Natalie stayed with our beloved Maridene, as she did on every normal day, and we were joined at the hospital by Dawn's mom and close friends Jenny, Brandon and Darrin.

We were told it was likely to be a 5-hour procedure, and we gave little Drewman hugs and kisses as we handed him off to the medical team. And then we waited. And waited. And waited.

There were periodic updates letting us know that things were going as planned, and then Dr. Noonan gave us a good report when he was done, confident that the corrections would ensure Drew would be able to walk as he grew up.

Drew was fitted that day with his first set of fiberglass casts, quite an upgrade from the plaster ones he had in the first few weeks of his life. And colorful, too! And after one night at Riley we went home, ready to lug the little guy around with several extra pounds of weight on his legs.

It was in one of those follow-up visits where Dr. Noonan warned us of possible limitations for Drew. He was very pleased with the results and did not expect Drew to have problems walking, or even running. But doing so in a competitive environment? Maybe not. Encourage him in academics, Dr. Noonan said. That stung a little bit, because Dawn and I both enjoyed sports, I was a sports writer who loved attending events and Dawn was a pretty good athlete when she was young. But we didn't dwell on it, focusing instead on the healing efforts and waiting for those first steps.

And those steps came when Drew was about 18 months old, several months behind his big sister but pretty special to us after seeing his feet in casts and braces for much of the first 13 months of his life.

He learned to walk with no problems, and then started running. And then when he was old enough to play in the youth soccer program at the Y, we signed him up. Our first chance to see him shine. In his second or third season, someone referred to him as Dash, the lightning-quick son in the Disney movie The Incredibles, because he was so fast. There were no lingering effects from that surgery several years ago, and just about every time he raced up and down the field after that soccer ball, Dawn and I shed a tear, exchanged a smile or remembered Dr. Noonan's words.

As he grew up, he tried baseball, track and field, cross country and even football. Enjoyed them all. But his biggest love was basketball. Just about every person who coached him, from fourth grade up to high school, praised him for his hustle and effort.

He hasn't always been the quickest kid on the floor, but he's never been the slowest, either. Even when he's defending a faster opponent, he can use his foot speed to stay in position, or to poke a ball loose. When there is a fast break, Drew is often one of the players out front, finding a burst of speed that isn't always apparent.

He doesn't have that "natural athletic ability" that coaches like to see, and I think that has contributed to limited playing time in some seasons. He doesn't "look" like the kind of kid that's going to take over a game and carry your team. But the coaches this year have praised his "basketball IQ," and that has helped keep him on the court, along with other skills that improve the team. In a JV game a couple weeks ago, he played all but 6 seconds of the game, a testament to what the coaches see in him.

And so when I catch myself saying that my son doesn't have "natural athletic ability," I'm reminded of Dr. Noonan's words of caution 16 years ago.

Only thing is, Dr. Noonan didn't take into account Drew's heart, and mind, as it applies to athletics. And when you factor in those things, Drew shines on the basketball floor.

Go get 'em, No. 11!

P.S. -- I found Dr. Noonan's contact information in the process of writing. I might send this to him.

BONUS BLOG-ADD: I DID send a link to my blog to Dr. Noonan, who told us in one of Drew's follow-ups that he was leaving Riley Hospital for Children to take a position in Wisconsin. I found him still there, working in the pediatric orthopedic surgery clinic in the University of Wisconsin Health network. Here's his reply:

Dear Phil:

Old Doctor Noonan here...

I was forwarded your blog on Drew and I am SO HAPPY to have gotten it! As a dad myself of 5 kids now, I know the joy you have in Drew. It's so wonderful raising kids, yet when one of yours overcomes obstacles ... it's really special.

When I met you guys and had the opportunity to care for Drew, I was "Young" Doctor Noonan. If I was overly cautious in my assessment of Drew's athletic chances it stemmed from inexperience and perhaps some insecurity in my own surgical skills at that stage of my career.

As I have gotten more experience I have encountered more stories such as Drew's. One of my buddies here is an Ironman Triathlete after three clubfeet surgeries. Thus, I am a lot more optimistic in my assessment of potential for kids.

Bottom line ... I would gladly eat a ton of razzberries and hear a lifetime of "I told you so's" if all of my patients were as lucky as Drew. But I suspect (as you have written), that it's not the feet that get him down the court or across the soccer field, it's his heart. A little support from loving parents might have had some part, too.... congratulations!!!

Ken Noonan

Fatherhood: Memories of all these years on the lake

The Beebe family is on our way to Minnesota, for an annual fishing trip. Of all my fatherhood mistakes -- and I've made plenty, no doubt -- this, I feel, is one of my shining moments. I managed to succeed in continuing a tradition that my dad started with me and my siblings. Every summer, for one week or two (and one glorious summer for THREE weeks), the Beebes drive 16-18 hours to northern Minnesota. We fish. We play family games. We fish. We enjoy nature. We fish. We spend quality time together. We fish.

And for most of the years that I have taken my family, the trip has coincided with Father's Day. No place I would rather be on Father's Day, than with my kids on Boy Lake, a little corner of the Earth that my dad taught me to love.

And on this Father's Day weekend, here are a few random moments about our Boy Lake trips, remembering my dad, as well as the more recent memories I've created with my own kids, and with my father-in-law. I have a dream to write a book about this tradition, so this is a very small piece of everything I could say about my love for Boy Lake.

Note: This writing is not meant to overlook the awesomeness of my mom, my wife and my mother-in-law, who all totally bought into these trips and love them as much as the dads; it's just that, well, this is a Father's Day piece. But it's worth mentioning that Dawn grew up taking vacations to Florida beaches, so I'm especially appreciative that she has learned to love this tradition with all her heart.

-- Studying the clouds. My dad never really showed me a lot of silly, or imaginative, sides of him. But when sitting in the boat on a sunny day, he would look up in the clouds and ask me what I see. We would find all varieties of animals in the cloud shapes, each challenging the other to see the same things. In the coming days, I know that I'll be sitting in the boat one day and Natalie or Drew will say, "Hey dad. See that? It looks like a dolphin chasing a poodle." And I'll see it too, of course.

-- Teaching fishing skills. I'm forever thankful that my dad taught me how to fish. He taught me how to absolutely love days on the boat even when we weren't catching, but he taught me some great skills to

actually catch them, too. And I've passed on at least a little bit of that. Several years ago both kids wanted to try their hand at fishing for bass with plastic worms. I really wasn't sure they were old enough yet to grasp that method, but we ventured out to a location where the bass frequently are, and I explained the requirement to be patient and fish it slow, and to let them get the worm in their mouth, to WAIT before setting the hook. The joy on their faces when they hooked one and fought it to the boat was priceless.

-- Watching wildlife. This is a fishing trip. But it's so much more. It's watching the bald eagles fly overhead and remembering the freedom that they represent. It's listening to the eerie call of the loons off in the distance, and the up close viewing of them as they swim near the boat. It's the working of the beaver, him swimming along the shore and then out away from it so that he can slap his tail on the water's surface to let us know we're a little too close for his comfort. And one year, while in the boat fishing 40 feet from shore with Natalie, we saw a young muskrat. Natalie started imitating its sound, and he started swimming toward us. I'm not sure if he thought Nat's sound was his momma or what, but he swam all the way to us, swimming literally right beside the boat, along one side before realizing his mistake and turning away.

-- The small-town life. The nearest town is Longville, which hangs its hat on being the "Turtle Racing Capital of the World." Seriously. Turtle racing. Every Wednesday, the main street is closed to traffic so hundreds of vacationers can race turtles, 10 at a time, with the winner of each heat being the turtle that is the first to get from a small inner circle painted on the street to a larger outer circle. Dads -- my dad when I was a kid, and me and my father-in-law for my own kids -- sacrifice an afternoon of fishing to watch the children race turtles.

-- The sunrises, and sunsets. When you're that far north in the summer, the days are long. There's nothing as

breathtaking as watching the sun come up over the lake at 5:30 a.m., unless it's seeing the more vibrant colors of a sunset after 9 p.m., reflecting forever on the water. As a child, I took endless pictures of ducks, especially baby ducks, on these vacations. As an adult, I can't get enough photos of the sun over the lake at various stages of the day. And I fondly remember those early mornings in the boat with dad, struggling to stay awake while fishing, him drinking coffee from the thermos he took out with him, both of us snacking on a Snickerdoodle cookie.

-- The weather. There's something about weather when you're at the lake. I guess it's because you can see so much more of the sky. Watching the storm clouds roll in, and ideally veer away from you so that you can enjoy their appearance without being forced off the water, is a treat. Laying in bed listening to the rain hit the cabin roof. Seeing rainbows arch overhead, with a much more real chance of seeing the pot of gold at the end. One of the best weather memories? Being in the boat with father-in-law Bob one evening and both us looking at each other wondering, "What is that sound?" We quickly realized it was the rain line marching through the woods, getting closer every second, and soon enough dumping buckets on us.

-- Those special catches. Like my dad, I enjoy all varieties of fishing, and catching all kinds of fish. We're bass fishermen first and foremost. But I distinctly remember the smile on my dad's face when we would catch bluegill so big our outstretched hands could barely handle them. The northern pike are rarely as big now as they were when my family fished this same lake in the 1960s and 70s. But no matter the size, one thing is for sure: Bob will not allow his skin to touch a pike. He'll shake it off the hook if he can, or grab it with a rag if he can't get a companion in the boat to give him an assist. I grew up fishing this lake believing it did not have smallmouth bass in it. A few years ago, a guy more familiar with the lake than me assured me that there were some, and then the next year, Natalie made her dad super proud by catching one. And the largemouth bass. The moment a bass breaks the surface of the water and explodes on a topwater lure is a fishing moment that never gets old. I'm convinced my dad didn't fish plastic worms not because he didn't think they were effective, but because he loved the thrill of topwater fishing. And to this day, I think of dad when twitching a popper across the water, waiting for the explosion.

Happy Father's Day, ya'll. I'm going fishing with my kids.

Morning coffee? Yes, please!

I've had stretches in my life where I enjoyed an occasional cup of coffee in the morning. I also have several boxes of different flavors of tea bags in the pantry, since I like a nice mug of hot tea some days. For a couple different periods in my life I habitually stopped for 32 ounces of Dr. Pepper on my way to work.

But my current routine is more than a little different. I wake up and pretty quickly ask myself, "Phil, do you want to brew a pot of coffee before you leave home? Or do you want to stop at Panera or another coffee shop for a special brew? Or do you want to drop a K-cup in the Keurig machine in the office lounge?"

Decisions, decisions. One thing that's certain, though. My mornings don't very often get far into the day without coffee of some type. Now, I'm not so hardcore that I drink it black; give me cream AND sugar, thank you very much. 

But this is a big change for a 46-year-old who has consumed coffee very casually and sporadically for much of his adult life. Now, there is nothing casual -- or sporadic -- about it.

It's a good thing Panera isn't right on my way to work. If it was, their employees would know me by name and would know to have the hazelnut canister full as soon as I walked in. In my still-amateur opinion, the Panera hazelnut is the best offering out there, outclasses anything I've had from Starbucks. So that's more of a special treat. Most days it's using a K-cup to fill up one of two office mugs: my oversized, bright yellow smiley face mug, or my SL,UT mug, courtesy of a friend in Utah. I've dedicated most of one desk drawer to storing K-cups. (Note to self: As of this morning, the drawer is in need of replenishing pretty soon)

When McDonald's recently ran a special where they were giving away small coffees (no purchase necessary) for a two-week period, I took advantage of that freebie for 6 or 7 of those days, most of the time happily walking in and asking for my free coffee without taking the bait and buying food to go with it. And the first few times I just ordered it black and then doctored it up in the office. One morning when they asked if I wanted cream and sugar, I said, "Yes please." They asked how many of each, and I had no clue how to answer that question. At home and work, I just pour the additives out of the containers, never thinking of it as a number of sugars, or a number of creams. I think I said a couple of each, but whatever my answer, the number clearly wasn't big enough for my taste buds. It was not drinkable until my cup received some extra attention once I got to work.

As a child I remember my dad, a black coffee drinker for as long as I ever knew, saying that he started drinking coffee with cream and sugar and backed off over the years until he developed a taste for it black. Honestly, I don't think I'll get to that point.

But he had a big head start on me. Remember, I just started this coffee train rolling at age 46.

Tell me: How do you drink your coffee? And where is your favorite coffee brewed?

Making habits stick

Much of the weight I have lost in 2013 happened in the year's first three months. So now that we're in October, that means I've succeeded in keeping it off for about six months. Which means good habits have stuck with me!

Many people have asked, "What's your secret?" or "How have you done it?" And there hasn't been any special tricks, pills or anything like that to help me lose 35 pounds. Just a change in habits. For example:

-- Instead of always having ice cream in the freezer and eating a bowl just about every night, I try to have it around just occasionally, and eat it for special treats instead of a nightly snack.
-- Exercise. Instead of going at it hard for a couple weeks and then giving up, I've been able to make it to the gym 3-4 times a week pretty consistently. And when a week goes by where I only worked out once, or maybe not at all, I brush it off and convince myself to get back on track.
-- Beverages. Very little pop, and LOTS of water. It's that simple. I've been trying to drink 60-100 ounces of water each day, and I enjoy a pop once or twice a month.
-- Smaller portions. This was probably the hardest change, but I've convinced myself that I was eating too much.  Two burgers for dinner was excessive, for example. I've just learned to stop.
-- Making healthy eating fun. This has been the most enjoyable part of it, finding fun ways to eat good food. Like homemade smoothies instead of ice cream. Enjoying a variety of fruits and veggies, such as asparagus tonight for dinner and taking advantage of apples while they are in season.

So what I've learned is that long-term good health isn't about any one certain thing. It's pulling together a number of changes. And for close to a year now, I've bought into it.

Good health to you!

Birthday lessons: Keep the glasses out of the pool

I celebrated Birthday No. 46 last week, in a very low-key manner. What did I learn? Let's take a look at that.

-- Morning workouts at the Y are good. Rolled out of bed and went straight there, where I saw a friend and let him give me a little strength training coaching. During our conversation, he wished me a happy birthday and asked how I was celebrating. "Just hanging around. Nothing special." His response is lesson No. 2.

-- He said, "I tell (my wife) on my birthday, "Just let me do something I want to do." It's good to make the extra effort to help others and do things for them, and it can bring you a lot of joy, too. But sometimes, you need to pick a day and make it your own.

-- And finally, do not swim with your glasses on. Seems simple enough, and you might be wondering why it

would take me 46 years to learn that one. Before heading over to some friends' house for a swim on the birthday evening, I took my contacts out and put glasses on. When I got to Maridene's house, I took off my shirt and left my glasses on. I don't know why. But I wasn't really swimming. Just standing in the 4 feet of water with Jodi and Jessica, and holding/playing with Paige and Parker. Seemed harmless enough. Until Paige started shooting me with a squirt gun, and I responded by pretending to go down with a direct shot to the skull. When I came back to the surface, Jodi looked at me and said, "Phil, are you missing a lense?" I said "No," and then tried to touch my left lense and watched as my finger poked myself in the eye. What the heck? I just gently fell backward into the water, nothing violent. So then we spent an hour gently walking across the bottom of the pool, hoping one of our six feet would bump into a lense that was impossible to see. No luck. We looked to see if it was floating, we looked to see if it was hiding around the ladder posts, we tried opening our eyes under water to see it, and we tried lining up side by side to better cover the area. Nothing worked. I called off the search and went home frustrated. Jodi called the next day to say she had found it, and all is well now. But you can bet the next time the Adamses invite us over for a swim, I'll leave my glasses in the house.

About my health: I recently hit the 30-pound mark for weight lost in 2013. That put me close to 180 pounds, and I'm excited to see a 7 as the second number in my weight. Exercise has been really good the last couple of weeks, and I really like the elliptical machine now. Last night I had the wife take pictures of me to compare myself to the beginning of this journey toward better health. Definitely can see some changes, so that's exciting.

Who are your FB friends?

She was a former co-worker who turned to the medical field and just happened to be in the operating room when I had surgery to have cancer removed from my body.

He owns and cares for my favorite piece of land that I am privileged to visit once a year.

And the only time I ever saw her in person was when she cut my hair once in college.

Taking a quick inventory of your Facebook friends can be entertaining. For most of us, the vast majority of those people can be lumped into any one of a few basic categories: Family, co-workers, high school or college friends, church friends or other groups where you connect regularly.

But for me, the fun comes in realizing how rarely you see, or have ever seen, some of your FB friends. I have a group of 10-12 women I became friends with through a website I had to manage as part of work responsibilities, and many of them I have never seen in person.

I'm friends with a husband and wife (and their grandson) who own and operate a resort I take my family to each June for a memory-making fishing vacation. It's in Minnesota, and that's the only time I see them each year.

And perhaps the most unusual: One day I saw a woman comment on a mutual friend's status, and thought the name sounded familiar. I sent her a message that went something like this: "This may be weird, but I think you cut my hair once in college. If you are who I think you are, you were high school classmates with my college roommate, and you came to our dorm room once and gave us hair cuts." I remembered correctly (a rarity, my wife will tell you), and now I enjoy seeing Sherry's postings about her life and her kids.

Facebook has a way of bringing to life the old "It's a small world" phrase. When I showed up at Reid Hospital for my surgery after being diagnosed with prostate cancer, I was pleasantly surprised to see the face of Dorothy, a former co-worker whom I hadn't seen in 10-15 years, dressed in scrubs and ready to be part of the team taking care of me.

Many of the friends in your newsfeed you see regularly -- some I sit right next to every day at work, and worship at church with every week, and I'm always thankful for Maridene and her family for the help they provided in raising our children and the good friends they continue to be.

What is the most unusual story you have about how a Facebook friend came to be?

About my health: I kicked this blog off with the intent of having it mostly focused on my new healthy ways. So where do I stand in late May? Weight is still down near my low point, and eating continues to be mostly good. Exercise? What's that? I've fallen off badly. But I did do a lot of yard work over the weekend, and ran a mile yesterday. I want to lose 6 pounds before leaving for vacation to reach a new goal, but that's just three weeks, so I don't know if I can do it.

School nicknames, from Hot Dogs to Penguins (Oh, and about my running)

This is a little off the beaten path from my last two posts about being healthy. You know, there's more to me than just that!

Anyway, I've always been kind of intrigued by school nicknames, whether at the high school or college level. When I went to Frankfort High School a couple years ago, I took a picture of the Hot Dog paintings at Case Arena, primarily for my wife, who loves her dachshund. I love the unique nicknames. A former best friend once bragged that his school was the only school in the nation to use the Argylls. I believe that. And one of my all-time favorites, because I'm a dog lover and because of their clever play on their town's name: A small town in Wayne County named Boston, when it still had a high school, was the Boston Terriers.

So what's my point? Well, it's this poster of all college teams in the nation, from Division I to Division III, categorized by their nickname. I bet I spent 30 minutes pouring over this, and here are some of the things I learned:

-- There are 43 colleges that go by Tigers (and that doesn't count "colorful Tigers" such as the Lincoln Blue Tigers), including two schools both named the Trinity Tigers.

-- There are 60 Eagles, plus 15 more that go by Golden Eagles.

-- There are three schools the poster lists under "Birds," but that category has 20 sub-categories, including Penguins (Youngstown State, and Dominican) and Ducks (Oregon and Stevens Tech)

-- When a school has a one-of-a-kind nickname, the poster creator has grouped them by certain subjects. There is a "Colors" section. Under "Blue" is Illinois College Blueboys, John Carroll Blue Streaks and Millikan Big Blue.

-- There are four unique schools listed under "People," but a whole bunch of sub-categories branching out from that, including Professions, Warriors, Lakers and Quakers.

-- If you didn't know the separation between Division I and Division III and heard that the Cardinals and Wolverines were playing in Monday night's championship game, the matchup could have featured any of 16 Cardinals (including Ball State, of course) and 4 Wolverines.

-- Indiana University is among 8 schools that use their state nickname as their own, along with the Sooners, the Tar Heels, the Buckeyes and more.

What's your favorite school nickname?

Side note: I ran 3 miles outside again today, and I sort of feel like I'm having an affair on the Y, and the road is my mistress. When I'm ready to extend beyond 3 miles, I could pretty easily run right by the Y, and how awkward would that be, running past without stopping to even scan my pass? I felt like I ran a little faster than last time, but the clock said I was on the same pace. Today's strong winds probably played with my mind a bit.

The Exercise Lightbulb

I've never considered myself to be absolutely full of smarts, but recently I had an "Aha moment" while running.

Throughout my 45 years, I've had small stretches where I've tried to run. First competitively, in junior high (I brought home a second-place ribbon in a "B" race once), and then on several different occasions as an adult, when I tried to add some exercise to my life.

But in each of those adult efforts, there were two major problems for me:
     1) I had a very specific goal in front of me, like a scheduled event, and when I achieved that goal, the running stopped. Immediately. Several years ago, I worked pretty hard as part of a team sprint triathlon; I was doing the running leg. Felt pretty good about myself, and I ran the 5K without stopping. But when that Saturday was over, I didn't run again for over a year.

     2) I  hate treadmills. When I started this weight-loss challenge with Jess several weeks ago, I decided to make running part of my routine. But I would get on the treadmill at the Y and would immediately start staring at the screen in front of me that tells me how far I've run. First I would watch the tenths of a mile tick off, and then I would start thinking, "OK, just three more hundredths of a mile and then I've run another tenth!" It was all I could do to run a mile before my mind just couldn't take the distance-watching anymore. Finally, about a month ago, I got to where I could go 1.5 miles. But it was painful to my mind.

And then Ivy, the office marathoner who runs 7-8 miles on her days of rest, convinced me one sunny day to run outside. "You couldn't pay me to be on a treadmill on a day like this," she said. As I got home, I didn't pull in the drive. Instead, I drove away from the house and watched my odometer, taking note of spots 1 mile from the house and 1.5 miles from the house. Then I drove back home, changed my clothes and hit the road, music in my ears. I ran all the way to the 1.5-mile spot without really thinking about it, then turned around and ran home. And on the way back, the lightbulb went on.

This was SOOO much easier than a treadmill, because I wasn't obsessing over those tenths of a mile, and because I couldn't just press the stop button and step off. I was a mile, 1.5 miles, from home. I had to get back, so I might as well keep running. Oh sure, I had my phone with me and could have called Dawn. 'Honey, will you come get me? I'm tired." But that would have been more embarrassing than only running a mile on the treadmill. And anyway, she was enjoying dinner with some friends, so I didn't want to bother her.

So I kept running, finished the full 3 miles without stopping and walked in the house totally satisfied and proud.

And I did it again tonight. Next step: Mark off 2- and 2.5-mile spots away from home, so I can work up to 4- and 5-mile runs.

Where my parents failed me

I love my mom, and loved dad, too, before cancer took him from us. They raised me right, gave me a good church foundation, taught me to love Minnesota fishing vacations, kept me mostly happy and well-behaved.

But in recent weeks, I've learned one area where they failed me. And that's the proper method for eating a grapefruit. I've always halved them and then cut up all those little triangular pieces of the fruit, just like my dad ate them so frequently for breakfast. It's easy enough, and I enjoy drinking the juice out of the peel bowls at the end.

I have, however, officially declared that to be the WRONG way to eat a grapefruit. My new method takes a little more time, and is a little messier, but the reward at the end makes it totally worth it. This video I found online demonstrates it as well as I could, so check it out.

(mobile and tablet users, if you can't see the video player, try this link: Eat a grapefruit this way!)

Basically, you're undressing the flesh of the fruit. Take off the peel and the white pithy stuff, like how most people peel an orange, and then peel back the thin layer of skin off each section to expose the best part. The woman in the video uses her fingernails to peel back the skin; I usually keep a sharp knife by my side to slit the skin for a starting point.

When you're done, you have a pile of grapefruit that's ready to explode its juices in your mouth, without the obstacle of the skin and without leaving part of the fruit in the peel.

I'll never cut a grapefruit in half again. Now, my first post in this new blog mentioned that you won't often get me too opinionated, so just don't consider this opinion. It's a fact that this method is better than the other.

Best part: When you learn a new and exciting way to eat something healthy, it makes keeping bad foods out of your diet that much easier.