Author: Dave

When we moved to Florida and settled after our year on the road, I decided that I wanted to become a regular blood donor as a way to honor my parents. Both mom and dad both died of blood cancer (MDS), and both received regular transfusions in the years prior to passing, so I saw firsthand how important blood can be to someone’s quality of life.

I donated every eight weeks, which is as often as allowed, for several years.

A little less than a year ago, my regular labs from a routine doctor’s appointment came back showing a little anemia. When I told my physician I had donated blood the day before my labs, she said that it was probably just bad timing and that my iron was depleted from the donation the day before. We decided to check it again in a few months.

At the next bloodwork, the anemia was more pronounced – iron, hemoglobin, and hematocrit all notably low. I had a moment of panic, not having heard those last two words since the days of monitoring dad and mom’s status as their MDS progressed. My doctor referred me to a hematologist, asked me to not donate blood anymore, and put me on oral iron supplements.

Two weeks later I went to the oncology center to give more blood and had a small emotional breakdown in the lobby, recalling my visits with dad. Seeing the sick people packed into this cancer Costco really brought back those memories. The oncologist said my numbers had improved in the two weeks since I’d started supplemental iron, but were still too low. They asked me to schedule a colonoscopy to check for internal bleeding and told me to continue taking iron.

Months later (the American healthcare system is anything but swift) I got a clean bill of health from gastroenterology and went back to oncology for more bloodwork. All numbers back in-range, no internal bleeding.

The verdict? Too frequent blood donation had depleted my iron. My body needed time and supplemental help to rebound. Stop donating blood so frequently, they said. Maybe honor your folks by doing it on their birthdays twice a year instead.

An anxious several months and I’m disappointed because donating really did make me feel like I was doing something good for the world.

The week before Christmas, a conversation with Cohen:

Dripping with glee and restless anticipation, “Dad, I am so excited about Christmas. Every year Keaton let’s me sleep in her room and we stay up and talk and snuggle and we’re so excited we can’t go to sleep and and…” trailing-off into exuberant gibberish with the biggest smile.

Then with a visible pause, smile fading, head cocked in that something-just-came-to-me thoughtful posture, he looks at me and says, “Dad, will Keaton even be hear next Christmas?”

Oh, I see where we’re going. “Well buddy, regardless of what Keaton chooses to do after highschool, most kids come home to spend Christmas with their families, so I would say ‘yes’ she’ll be here.”

“But, it won’t be her room anymore really…” a little sad.

Seeing he’s still processing, I don’t offer a response… just waiting…

With a slowly spreading smile, “Well, I will invite her to spend the night in my room.”

Awesome.

I like to say I “don’t really do new year resolutions,” but in truth I effectively do.

In the typically slower couple of weeks around the time when you take one calendar down and put up another, I tend to think about habits. Habits I formed in the elapsing year and habits I’d like to form in the coming one.

Looking back (and not having to turn my head all that much) to 2023, I am most proud of my new commuting routine of cycling to work. Come March 2024 I’ll have been riding to work for a full year, missing only a handful of days here and there due to weather or midday commitments requiring a combustion engine. One hour of elevated heart-rate each weekday, twelve miles round-trip.

As accomplished as my new cycling habit makes me feel, it was not a habit I set out to establish at the end of 2022. In fact, I only really consciously took two goals for the now-rearview year, as documented in my January 2023 post here. What’s more, I was 100% successful on both. I managed all our vehicle oil changes as well as last year’s taxes.

So cycling was a bonus. It wasn’t the only one, I also made conscious efforts to cook more, to share our performance-to-budget with the family at least 3x/year, and to have at least one date-night with Sharaun each month. While not grand goals in any sense, I’m happy that I was successful establishing those habits as well.

This year, then, I am aiming similarly low (read: achievable), writing down three smaller habits I hope to develop for the year:

• Stretch for at least 5min at least 3 days/week, focusing on hips/core
• Get back to regularly reading for fun, with a goal to finish minimum 6 books
• Cook dinner for the family at least 3 days/month

I expect the last two bullets to come fairly easily, but the first one will be tough. Tough for all the reasons I’ve written about why exercise/physical habits are hard for me here before.

But, gotta try.

Like they’re pulling back a curtain to allow, and perhaps provide a bit of fanfare for, my passage – lizards rush from one side of the sidewalk to the next just in front of my bike tires as I ride to and from work each day. It’s like they’re revealing the path for me; opening the way.

So bold, too, darting across with a second to spare before getting crushed under me. Not indecisive like squirrels, they never hesitate they just go for it. So many, too. Like tens at a time for miles of ride.

I wonder what it is about an oncoming vehicle that makes them bolt across? Why not just stay put and avoid the risk? Is the side you’re running to “home?” Are you just across the way sunning or looking for food? Am I really that scary?

Yesterday evening Sharaun was gone to bunco, so the kids and I went out for Mexican. When we got home, Keaton suggested we play the multiplayer Mario Bros. that came out for the Wii in 2009. I’d never played it before, but I’ve watched the kids play.

I so love all Mario games. I’ve certainly not played all the games that have been released since I stopped keeping up back in the late 80s, but every time I see one I get excited. Same with Zelda, those classic NES anchor brands remind me of 5th grade and all the excitement of playing them for the first time.

Anyway we all played for over an hour and not only was the game fantastic but we had the best time. I haven’t played a video game in forever, but doing it with the kids instead of watching TV or all being separately scrolling devices was really great.

We laughed, made fun of each other, coordinated as a team, celebrated joint victory… it was awesome. And, unlike a lot of the newest games, like the amazing open world ones on the Switch, I didn’t think it was too complicated to control or play. Old-person approved.

So I guess this is all about Mario. Maybe I should throw something random in to make it not all about Mario…

Social media is actually a cancer, rotting away our humanity and intelligence and curiosity. I used to think we could never go back, never unopen that box. But now I think that the one thing that might slow or reverse the addiction is the industry’s own greed. With Facebook and Instagram and X all now looking to charge users monthly, they might actually help fight the very cancer they created. Let’s hope.

Mario.

I wonder how big public safety campaigns of the past would’ve fared in today’s post-truth, social media as news, opinions are facts society? I think about things like the push for seatbelts as a standard or “smoking kills” or get this shot to not get polio.

I guess some, or maybe all, of these things did experience pushback – with seatbelts in particular I can remember the news about legislating them in the 1980s. But I feel like the commitment of today’s do-your-own-research crowd seems much stronger than the resistance of the past.

If the smoking-causes-cancer education campaigns would’ve happened today, would people doubt the science, or motivation, or find/create “alternate facts” to refute it? You’d think that maybe the undeniable specter of actually dying would be persuasive enough, but apparently not to the anti-mask anti-cupcake crowd of these past few years.

I can just see the image macros saying smoking is fine as long as you eat manuka honey and colloidal silver and rub lavender behind your knees at night. You can even soak the filters in breast milk for an immune-boosting smoke! You didn’t know that?! Yeah that’s because they don’t want us to know that.

Anyway, I don’t even wear a seatbelt. I just mix a little MMS & ACV into my homeopathic kombucha (made with alkaline water) each morning and wear my magnet bracelets and crystals so I’m good.

Humans. Doing everything we can to just barely stumble through it.

I enjoy cooking. I don’t think I’m particularly good at it, but I do definitely enjoy it, and most of the time what I turn out ends up decent. It’s a fun activity that allows creativity & personalization, and it’s a service in that I’m doing a job that’s helpful to my family.

Lately I’ve been trying to be intentional about handling the family evening meal at least once a week. It makes me feel helpful & I like the praise I get when family and guests enjoy a meal. Plus, Sharaun takes dishwashing duty on evenings when in charge of the meal, and getting a break from that normal chore of mine is also nice.

The point of this writing, though, is this next sentence. Sometimes I just wish I could invite my parents over for a meal I’ve cooked. It’s a thought that’s hit me a few times lately, most recently when I tried (and motherfucking succeeded) smoking a tri-tip. It turned out incredible and served it with salsa and pinquitos and garlic bread, just like grandpa used to do.

I know they would’ve gushed about it, and I would’ve loved that. My dad would’ve asked how long I smoked it, what I rubbed it with, what wood I used, what temperature. He’d have geeked out over the fancy thermometer that connects to my phone and all the nerdy statistics it shows about a cook. Mom would’ve probably offered to make the garlic bread – a simple specialty of hers, where she’d melt the better and rough-chopped garlic together first then paint it liberally on the bread – I do the same but it’s never quite as good as hers.

At least I have good memories of meals like that, I just wasn’t as good as cooking then as I am now.