Fitbit friends


I hope I don’t sound obsessive about my fitbit tracking device, because I’m not, but I do happen to think about it a lot. I mean so much that I always have it on my body, especially when I run. I have rarely forgotten to bring it along. In fact, before I go out for a run, I make sure my running shoes are tied properly, I have my house key, and I have my fitbit.

I’ve had it for a year now. My wife Beata gave it to me for my birthday last year and I’ve been using it ever since. At first, I did it to appease Beata, but then I gradually wore it out of habit. I am, after all, a creature of habit.

In order to use fitbit, you need to set it up on your computer so it can keep track of your activities. Since I love computers, that was an added incentive to use it even though I never felt the need bring along any device on a run. But I’m not obsessed by this fitbit tracker. Really, I’m not. Soon, I discovered that you could have fitbit friends, similar to Facebook friends. I thought that was a great idea because running is much easier when you have running friends even if you don’t actually run with them in person. The camaraderie of runners is always inspirational. Sometimes just talking about running with another runner makes you a better runner.

Of course, my first fitbit friend was my wife Beata. I found her first. I always told her that I was pretty sure that walked and/or ran the 10,000 steps recommended by fitbit, but she didn’t believe me. Even before she first gave me the fitbit, my running was gradually improving and I was slowly increasing my miles from the 4.5 miles I thought should be my minimum daily requirement. I was exceeding 10,000 steps on a daily basis and Beata was surprised. She became competitive and upped her mileage. I also gradually increased my mileage, not to surpass her, but to compete against myself. I wanted to return to my former running form.

I didn’t expect to make new friends on fitbit, but soon I discovered that my cousin Sandy was on fitbit. And she is occasionally at the top of the leader board. Then my cousins Nancy and Jane became my fitbit friends. I think we all feel encouraged to have this sort of camaraderie.

And then one day, I became friends with Lianne whom I know from my old neighborhood, the Back of the Yards. I didn’t actually know her when we lived in the old neighborhood, but we are now friends on Facebook and on fitbit. However, I did meet her once at our Back of the Yards reunion party three years ago. I always enjoy meeting people from my past unexpectedly.

I enjoy seeing everyone’s name in the fitbit rankings. I find it inspirational. Let’s see how many more fitbit friends I will make.

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Driving


My sons are now driving. They now have their driver’s license at age seventeen because they took driver’s ed. At first, they were enthusiastic about driving, but now that they have been driving awhile, the excitement has worn off. Especially since the car wouldn’t start up twice and I had to help them get it running again. I told them that part of driving also involves having car problems and getting stranded far away from home. They told me that driving wasn’t much fun anymore.

I remember when I first learned to drive. I took driver’s ed in high school Indiana, but I couldn’t get my license mailed to me because I had moved back home to Chicago, Illinois. So, I didn’t drive until I was eighteen and I had bought my own car. Not that I’m complaining. I always enjoyed walking and taking public transportation when I was in high school.

After high school, my friends and I all had our own cars. Whenever we went anywhere, we all drove to our destination separately, in our own cars. If we had to car pool, Each one of us wanted to be the driver. The driver would drive his own car. There was an unwritten rule that no one was allowed to drive someone else’s car. Unless, they were in no condition to drive.

Now that we’re older, my friends and I don’t see much of each other. When we do, we still argue over who will drive. However, the dialogue goes like this: “You drive.” “No, you drive. I drove the last time!” “If you drive, I’ll let you drive my car!”

Guadalupe


On the door of St. Petronille Church, Glen Ellyn, Illinois

Guadalupe is a common first name in Mexico. In Chicago, I have met both males and females who have this name. My sister’s middle name is Guadalupe. The adult nickname for Guadalupe is Lupe for both genders. Small children are called Lupito or Lupita, depending n their gender.

In Chicago, I knew a male Lupe who hated his name because non-Mexicans had trouble accepting his non-American name. They also mispronounced Lupe as “Loopy.” He hated this. But his name was Guadalupe Gonzalez, so he remained Lupe because he wanted to honor the name his parents had given him. He learned to not only accept his name, but also flaunt it, much to the annoyance of all non-Mexicans within earshot.

When I bought my house in Bridgeport, one of my tenants was named Guadalupe. she was a single mother with three children. As I later learned, only her youngest son was a U.S. citizen. I bought a four-flat because Derby foods was about to close down and move to Sylvester, Georgia. My plan was to rent out three apartments that would pay the mortgage while I was unemployed. All the tenants came with the building. Guadalupe lived in the second floor rear apartment.

Guadalupe spoke hardly any English, but she understood most everything that was said. Her daughters were seven and six years old. Her son César was one. César, coincidentally, was also the name of the previous owner of my house. In fact, I bought my house from him. Well, it turns out that the previous owner was in fact César’s father, but he didn’t even worry about his son’s wellbeing at all. Guadalupe had to go to the welfare office to fill out some paperwork for her son, but she needed a ride and an interpreter. I offered to help her because she was struggling to get by. At the welfare office, I translated the social worker’s questions, which Guadalupe answered. Finally, we get to the question, “Who is César’s father?” Guadalupe has a hard time answering. The social worker turns to me and asks, “Are you César’s father?” “No,” I said. “I’m just her landlord and I was trying to help her.”

One day, she told me she couldn’t pay the rent. She was already about six months behind, but I didn’t have the heart to evict her. Eventually, I told her that I would have to evict her. I just couldn’t afford the mortgage unless all my tenants paid their rent. She was packing up one day when a nun stopped by her apartment to ask for donations. Guadalupe told the nun that she was moving out because she wasn’t working and couldn’t afford the rent. The nun said that her church could help her with the rent and find her a job. The nun talked to me and asked me not to evict Guadalupe and her children. She promised that she would pay all the back rent and find Guadalupe a job.

Well, this was a very agreeable arrangement for all of us. When Guadalupe needed repairs or rooms painted, she would make dinner for me afterwards. She didn’t like that I was always in a hurry to leave, but I was always so busy back then. Once she told me that she wanted her living room painted again even though I had just painted it about three months earlier. I wanted to know why her living room needed to be repainted so soon. She told me that her son had written on the walls with a magic marker and she couldn’t wash the walls clean. I refused to paint again. She told me that if I didn’t paint she would move out. I didn’t paint and she moved out.

I saw her about a year later. she had moved about two blocks away. She wasn’t feeling well. She had another baby a few months earlier and she never fully recovered from the delivery. I asked her if she had gotten married, but she said no. The father of the baby was her present landlord. She was sorry she had moved out from my building. That was the last time I saw her.

Mount Baldy


Mount Baldy, Michigan City, Indiana

I went to Mount Baldy last Sunday just for old times’ sake. Jim, Vito, and I went to Mount Baldy regularly when we were younger. Jim was very familiar with this part of Indiana since he grew up in Hammond. Whenever he was bored, he would stop by my house unannounced and say, “Let’s go for a ride!” There was no need to ask where because we always ended up in Indiana somewhere. I always loved Indiana ever since I attended Divine Heart Seminary in Donaldson. For a while there, I seriously considered moving to Indiana. So, I didn’t mind too much whenever we took a road trip to Indiana. We often went to Mount Baldy and its beach just for the fun of it. We never actually went in the water, though.

When I went last Sunday with Beata, we had a hard time finding a parking space at Mount Baldy. Jim, Vito, and I never had trouble finding parking before. I couldn’t figure out why. Then, I remembered! Jim, Vito, and I never went to Mount Baldy during the summer, during the tourist, beach-going, sun-tanning season. We never kept a regular schedule like normal people.  We always went late at night or long after beach weather had passed. Now that I think of it, we were often the only ones on the beach!

We would cruise along Lake Michigan with no particular destination or agenda. We just loved driving! Occasionally, when we were old enough to drink, we would stop for a beer at a bar that Jim discovered near Mount Baldy. Jim loved discovering new places of interest and then taking us there. I don’t know about Vito, but I wasn’t so excited about these places. But I liked to humor Jim because we did have fun on our road trips!

We often went to the beach long after the beaches were closed. We even went in the winter. One extremely cold winter, we went to the beach at Beverly Shores.  Danger signs were posted to warn everyone to keep off the ice. Those warning signs only work for normal, moderately sane people. To us, they were an open invitation to go on the ice as far as we could go. The smooth sheets of ice were broken up by warm waves of water and then frozen so they looked like waves that froze as they approached the shore. They looked dangerous and inviting all at once. As I recall, Jim and I went out on the frozen waves, but Vito urged us not to go so far. Despite Vito’s cautious approach, he was right behind us. I suppose he did this as a precaution, If the ice cracked and swallowed up Jim or me, Vito could safely go back to shore. Since the weather had been so cold, we went out pretty far out on the ice, far from the shore. We kept going until we could hear the ice cracking under our feet. So, we turned back and headed to the beach. Hey, we weren’t totally insane!

Dr. D. carrying his son up Mount Baldy way back in 1990.

We really had fun on our last road trip to Mount Baldy. I was home alone with my son at home in Bridgeport. Jim and Vito unexpectedly showed up early one Saturday morning. They wanted to go to Mount Baldy! But I had to go to work later that day! What about my son? They insisted that I take my son with me and that we would be back in time for me to go to work. I resisted with all my might. Finally, after deep determination and exertion of my strong will, I gave in. I was able to resist a whole minute before I agreed to go with Jim and Vito to Mount Baldy for old times’ sake. Little did we realize that this would be our last trip together to Mount Baldy.

Vito, as usual, brought his camera. He brought his camera everywhere, or so it seemed. I don’t know about Jim, but I found Vito’s camera very annoying back then. Now that I look back, I’m thankful that he took so many pictures to document our past good times!

Friends


Dr. D. in Michigan City, Indiana

When you reach a certain age (Yes, my age!), you tend to look back to the past more often than you look forward to the future. I always recall my friends and some of our adventures.

I was going through my old pictures when I saw this picture of me. My friend Vito took this picture of me. Vito, the photographer who claims he doesn’t like posed pictures, asked me to pose for this picture. So I did.

Back then, Vito took his camera everywhere and I always found it annoying. Now when I look through my old pictures I realize that I have many pictures of me with my friends and family that Vito took and later gave to me  unexpectedly. Of course, I now truly believe the annoyance was worth it. I can’t thank Vito enough for all the pictures he gave me. If you see an old picture of me in this blog, chances are that Vito took it.

I vividly remember taking the trip in this picture. My friends, Jim and Vito, stopped by my house unexpectedly one day, without even calling me first. We used to do that to each other back then. Just stop by someone’s house unexpectedly. Actually, I always enjoyed those surprise visits. Nowadays, no one has time for such frivolous visits. We also had more fun because these visit were a bonus no one expected.

So, anyway, one day, Jim and Vito stopped by my house and demanded that I go for a ride with them. Jim enjoyed going out for a ride ever since he got his driver’s license and his own car and he would drag along anyone who couldn’t come with a good excuse not to go with him. Since I had no plans for that day, or the next week for that matter, I went along for the ride. All three of us have always been drawn to Indiana for some strange reason, so we usually went to that strange, foreign land of Indiana. Generally, we stayed near the coast of Lake Michigan, much like the Portuguese sailors who never lost sight of the African coast lest they fall off the edge of the earth.

We enjoyed the sand dunes, so we usually went to the beach at Mount Baldy. When we were old enough to drink, we went to bar that was right across the street. After that, we usually just wandered around aimlessly for the rest of day. That explains why we ended up in Michigan City in front of Jaymar, the Sans-a-belt pants outlet! And just to commemorate this momentous occasion, Vito took my picture for the sake of posterity. And a great picture such as this deserves a great dedication. So, with much fanfare a few weeks later, Vito presented me with this picture that had the following dedication on the back:

He is the man …
… the superman

AND –yes– he shops at Jaymar!

Jaymar … downtown Michigan City
the duct tape capital of the world!

MAR 87

As I recall, I’m pretty sure I rolled my eyes when Vito first gave me this picture. I’m sure I even laughed when I read the inscription on the back. I recalled how we used boast about how we had wasted our time that day. However, when I saw this picture in my photographic archives (actually, it’s just a cardboard box), I was in awe of that oh so awesome trip we took. I wish I could take trips like that once again. All my friends are now grown up and don’t have time for such nonsense. My sons refuse to take too many of those trips with me because they are more grown up than me.

Now I long for those useless, pointless trips!

End of the line


My antique telephones.

Sometimes milestones become tombstones. And so I say good riddance to my home phone! We have reached the end of an era!

Would you like to call me at home? Well, you can’t! At least, not on my land-line. You see, I finally cancelled my home phone service now that I totally rely on my iPhone for all of my telephone communications–not that I make or receive that many phone calls in the first place. This archaic device is slowly disappearing from homes across America. I reluctantly surrendered my land-line, but I knew I must. I have cut my umbilical cord. I am no longer tethered to my home. I am now free to roam about the world!

I’ve been paying for my home phone service for years now even though the only people who call me are telemarketers and collection agencies. And they are persistent! I still don’t understand why the telemarketers called if I never answered their survey or bought their products. Equally annoying were the collection agencies calling for Calvin Thomas or Thomas Calvin. Apparently he gave my home phone number as his and everyone believed he lived with me. I always told the caller that he didn’t live here, but they always called back.

I must admit that I never was much of a phone person in the first place. I hate talking on the phone and I hate being on the listening end of a long diatribe even more. The best way to contact me is via e-mail or Facebook. I dread the sound of a ringing telephone. Usually, it rings at the most inconvenient time, like when I’m in the shower or otherwise busy. When I had my apartment in Marquette Park, I went for about a year without a phone. I really enjoyed the privacy. If someone wanted to talk to me, they would have to physically visit me at my apartment. The advantage of this arrangement was that I got to see who my true friends were.

Unfortunately, everyone demanded that I have a home telephone in order to conduct business with me. My job, my bank, my credit cards, the utility companies, and even my newspaper. No phone number, no service. So I caved in and got a phone with minimal service. Yes, it killed me to pay five bucks per month to Illinois Bell for a service I didn’t even want in the first place. When the federal government broke up the Baby Bell monopoly, my phone bill immediately doubled for the same service I didn’t want in the first place. So how was the monopoly bad? I still don’t get it.

Well, I’m not exactly happy with my cell phone service either. It’s more expensive than a comparable land-line, where all incoming calls were free. Now I’m charged for all outgoing and incoming calls! And I pay much, much more just for the basic service. How is this progress? Thank goodness for the vibrant competition among the phone carriers! Who knows how much more I’d be paying otherwise!

So, everyone seems to be accepting this shift from land-lines to cell phones. When I conduct business, everyone asks for my cell phone number. They don’t even care if I have a land-line or not. So, I now only have a cell phone. But please don’t call me. E-mail me!

Will you be my friend?


En un lugar de México, de cuyo nombre no puedo acordarme

I don’t really need any new friends. So don’t get your hopes up.

I was just reminiscing. I’m surprised at how many times I heard “Will you be my friend?” when I was little. Making friends was so much easier and uncomplicated back then. Religion or politics didn’t complicate things back then. Basically, if you offered me candy, we would become lifelong friends. Until the candy was gone.

But where have all those prospective friends gone now that I’m older and wiser? Not that I’m looking for new friends, but I sure do miss getting free candy. So if you’re considering me as a friend, keep in mind that I may not be a very good friend. Be forewarned that I’m very defensive when meeting strangers. And I don’t take compliments well. They’ll make me suspicious of your motives. If you’re nice to me, you must want something in return. If you’re smoker, I will not go outside with you while you smoke. I don’t smoke because I never made friends with smokers. I made friends with candy eaters. And don’t talk to me about your problems. I’ll just pretend to listen to you and occasionally say, “Really!” and “You’re kidding, right?” just to let you think that I’m really concerned about your insignificant life. When we say good-bye, I’ll insist that we have to get together real soon. And I will be persistent because the more persistent I am, the less likely you will be to call me.

Will you be my friend?