the rest of this month

Ken is now married for the third time. He's got five girls. The new wife has five boys. His previous wife had 8 children. Seven of them did not approve of the marriage.

Tuesday, August 3, 1999

Thirty minutes, zero seconds was today's time. That extra three plus minutes was spent chopping down weeds that have been encroaching on my running path. So every now and then I take the pruning shears for a run and put them to work. There's been a bit of hip and waist pain the last day or two. Sometimes I'll feel a twinge of something from inside my body and start imagining that its cancer. Hasn't turned out that way so far.

August 4, 1999, Wednesday

A pleasant surprise while running this morning. An attractive young woman with a blonde ponytail is out powerwalking/race walking while I'm doing my laps. It started out like one of those days where I have to talk myself into doing it. Then, very quickly, I find myself having adjusted to doing it. Today was one of those very good days even before I saw her the first time. Ok, so its possible that my pace may have picked up right after passing her the first time. Certainly some more primitive parts of my nervous system noticed things speeding up after that. To produce a final time of 25 minutes and 35 seconds. That's nearly a minute better than previous times. The things women will do to a guy!

On our way home from running, we encounter, on Orchard Street, a two-inch long green catepillar. Looks like its made from a series of tiny-tiny balloons. Its perambulating along. Look at this, I tell Cassady. Suddenly she is totally alert and fascinated. She's a floppy eared dog and can't control their pointing or shape like a Doberman, for example. But she's got them aimed at the bug and almost rigid, pointing forward. And with her nose 2 to 3 inches away, she's breathing rapidly in and out, raising a small dust cloud around the critter, trying to decipher the smell of the look of something she seems not to have seen before. This goes on along with reaching out with a paw and scraping the sidewalk--but always 2-3 inches away from the thing. And she wants to move in a big circle and get around behind it--except that the front and behind are not obvious. The bug stops, forms a C shape with its body. Lies still, then, sudeenly, reverses the C so its pointing in the opposite direction. Cassady jumps back each time this happens. Well, enough of that fun. We can't stay outside all day.

August 5, 1999, Thursday

25 minutes 35 seconds. This time doesn't seem like it could be correct.

There has been a lot of news in the press about the First Penis (the First Couple, as some people prefer). Social and cultural explanations for why boys who are really good have gone bad. To paraphrase James Carville, its the penis, stupid. Its not ideas about monogamy and fidelity that are in vogue in our culture at this time and place. Biology rules. Hugh Heffner got married some years ago. Decided it was time to settle down--as though it were some sort of immutable law of nature. He's given that up and dumped a gal that 99+ percent of the guys on the planet would die for, in favor of a set of twins and miscellaneous. To paraphrase Deep Throat, follow the penis. It knows where it wants to go. And Hugh has followed, just like the Prez. Just like all the big time politicos who have gotten divorced and married younger more sexual women. They got divorced so they could have more sex and more opportunities to reproduce. Nature's command. Even Hugh has given up his silly ideas in favor of nature's. And the Prez appears to be up to his old tricks with whatever is available. Whatever the current social rule is about sexual behavior, claim you are in favor then make sure you get that penis into as many appropriate spots as possible.

I have found myself having fantasies about sex with prostitutes. That's a new twist for me. It probably has to do with the Salon Magazine series about Nancy Quan, a "working girl". I look forward to each chapter.

August 6, 1999, Friday

26 minutes 8 seconds. I've cut my time still further. It remains easy to run once I've done about one lap. My breathing is barely more than walking rate.

Dave is out for his evening constitutional as Cassady and I are headed home on Mass Av. We chat for a few minutes. He also lives in a condo, not too far up the street. He enjoyed the cat web site I sent him a few days ago.

A dream about Lotti. I'm walking somewhere when she comes up behind me, passes, and then moves directly in front of me, back to me, and slows down so that I almost bump into her. No words from her for three years, since that famous letter.

August 7, 1999, Saturday

25 minutes 27 seconds. This is a new record for me. Didn't seem like today would be that kind of day. At the start there's this pain somewhere inside my body, right side, just below the ribs. In the old days, my youth, I'd have called that a stitch. And how long does a stitch last you ask. If you don't do anything it can last a minute and a half. If you rub the area and breath deeply it can go away in as little as 90 seconds. Now my immediate assume is that its cancer. Not this time. It goes away. No sign of the wealth of babes of the last few days. No sign of Sinister Guy today.

On the way back there's a squashed possum near Dolly's Restaurant. It is REALLY flat. Cassady wants to linger and smell it. No.

Cassady was at the groomers today. A couple of baths and lots of brushing. She seems almost like another dog. Smaller and lighter. But she will be a lot cooler. This was also a very expensive visit for her parents as she's not allowed to handle money, have a checking account or credit card. Maybe later when she's older.

August 8, 1999, Sunday

28 minutes 44 seconds. And it seemed like a much faster day. I was dressed lighter than usual, lighter sweatshirt, shorts. A cool day, but humid. There was the pause where Willow Street divides the bike path. One of Cassady's petting pals pulled up just as we were at the intersection. He's a man about my age who delivers newspapers in the neighborhood. He likes to stop and chat for a moment and pet Cassady. She knows him now because he's always friendly and scratches her back. But we don't see him except maybe once a week. A young woman I've never seen was out running this morning. Late start: 4:56am. And that's not the right time. The stopwatch I use is some minutes behind the actual time. Whatever that means.

Four young people, with punk-like looks walked down the path this morning. Probably going home from a late night party. Headed for the subway. Two galls, two guys. One of the gals says hello to me. They want to pet Cassady. She shies away from them.

I walk by the spot with yesterday's squashed possum and see that its... gone. But at the side of the street, on the sidewalk, at the bottom of a tree, by the back of Dolly's Restaurant, is a dazed squirrell who seems to have the hiccups. Or some sort of nervous condition. It has difficulty moving. Hit by a car? Maybe. Certainly not run over or it would be in the same condition as the possum. Fell from a tree or overhead wires? Poisoned? Electrical shock from touching the wrong combination of wires? Don't know. Cassady doesn't notice it till it moves. But only a few inches at a time. Everything seems to work. The limbs all move. The tail lies flat on the ground. It tries to get away from us, Cassady really. But is only able to move a couple of inches, then stops. It tries to reach up the tree and escape that way but doesn't have the ability to do that. I'm feeling sorry for the critter and pick it up by the tail and move it out of the street, into the alley way by the restaurant, behind a tree, and a woodpile. It lies there. We go on our way. I notice myself having some sympathy for this creature but then realize that the best thing might have been to put it out of its misery. Well, if it can't move a cat will find it and that will be that.

August 9, 1999, Monday

For the last two weeks I've gotten little more than 2-4 hours sleep a night. Twitching. My legs twitch when I'm lying down. Its ok for a few minutes. Then the first twitch. Completely involuntary. It feels like an electric shock--mild, slightly pleasant, then the leg relaxes. Then, at regular intervals, another twitch. The electric-like shock comes from inside. Its gotten worse the last two weeks as my running time and speed has increased. That is, my physical conditioning is improving. I can run farther and faster. But the twitching, also known as restless legs, has increased. So today I had some coffee, for the first time in 8 months, before going to bed. The results? Not a single twitch. BUT, I did get a cramp in the toes of my right foot. I've not had that for weeks. How do you explain that? Perhaps the reclinging position drains blood from my legs and the muscles do some sort of contraction to get it moving again.

Another skunk encounter on the bike path. Cassady wants to chase it. Yelling at her stops the chase almost instantly this time. A small one again, with the tail straight up and flying like a flag. 26 minutes 10 seconds.

August 11, 1999, Wednesday

25 minutes 12 seconds. A new record. But that was my goal. Lately I've had no accurate sense of my time. Sinister Guy passed by at one point. A guy with two dogs, some kind of spaniel, I think, has been on the path around my time the last few mornings. Two young people have whizzed by on bikes this morning and yesterday.

It was eclipse morning here. And obvious even though it was completely overcast. The sun was definitely late. Then, in just a few minutes, it went from dark to light.

Yesterday, on Willow Street, about halfway to the bike path, we have a skunk encounter. Its behind some garbage. There was almost a close encounter of the very smelly kind. It was after the garbage. A small skunk. Tail erect. I toss a small bag of garbage in its direction to get it to go away. Out path is blocked unless we want to risk a blast of eau de skunk. No retreat. I tos part of a brick found nearby. Now its hiding. We go out into the street by a wide berth. It does its thing to the air. I see it run around a corner and into a driveway. Doesn't seem to be hurt. But I felt guilty about tossing that brick. Could have broken one of its legs. A small stone would likely have gotten the same results.

A Cambridge traffic officer is walking down the middle of our street. I ask if he's checking for parking permits. Yes. It seems we are getting a lot of out-of-area parkers on our street who visit the Power Yoga center. What a concept: drive your car to an exercise place!