Rambling Guy


So about 2 weeks ago, I went back to Weight Watchers. My weight was climbing upward, because I rebel against the idea of managing what I eat. So I’ve been toying around with program. My first weigh-in showed I lost about 3 lbs and my second weigh-in had me gain back about 1.5 lbs. That was yesterday. 

I finally admitted to myself I wasn’t being rigorous enough. I know what I can and should eat to have a sustained weight loss over time. I’ve purged a lot of crap from the pantry, freezer, and fridge.  This morning I went to Richmond’s best produce store, Tom Leonard’s Farmer’s Market and the fruits and vegetables practically jumped into the cart. Leading the way was a quarter of a watermelon. Seriously yummy,

I came home started dinner, a slow-cooker prepared chicken rosemary and mushroom stew-like concoction with tomatoes. I found these great canned tomatoes at Tom Leonard’s, Sclafani’s from Norwalk CT. Sclafani imports these tomatoes from Italy. They are delicious.

Next I started some red beans, Cajun style. With Cajun spicing in beef stock, slow cooked. Added only garlic and shallots.

I went to the Y w D, my stepmom. My swim of 2500 meters was three minutes faster than yesterday. And the weight gain I showed yesterday was gone today.  Go figure. Weight varies daily, that’s about the first thing one learns at WW, so it’s the trend that matters.

My stepmom wanted me to take her by KFC to pick up some dinner. I just offered to bring some of my chicken stuff over. She said yes. Nothing like a good deed done to make one’s day,

Now It Feels Like Monday Afternoon.


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I took that nap. It was a pretty good nap, only about an hour or so, but felt like eight hours.  When I awoke I did some minimal chores, read some blogs,  looked at some people looking at houses on HGTV  (Thank The Good Lord, His blessed Mother and all the Angels and Saints we own the house free and clear!) .  Then I decided to go swimming and swam 2500 meters. After the swim, I went to BJ’s, bought a few perishables, and spent less than $40.  Back home, I decided an update was in order.

The Bachelorette starts tonight. I think I will read, whilst my beloved watches that show.   I shall read Gary Chapman’s The Five Love Languages on recommendation of a fellow blogger.

Stay tuned.

Feels Like Monday

Saturday we went to 5:30 Vigil Mass. This created a Sunday with unlimited late sleeping. Yesterday was brunch and nap and swimming and AA and softball/baseball on TV.  MrsCorC? was doing something with one of her friends and said I was free to enjoy my time on my own.  I last saw her when I left to go to the Y.  She was going to meet up with her friend L and wouldn’t be home when I returned from the pool.  I decide to go to AA. About 8:00, there is a text from her on my phone “I haven’t heard from you in four hours I’m worried.  Are you OK?”. 

“I’m fine. Was at AA. Coming home.”  I text back.  I had made the critical error that my free time would be free from any obligation to “check in”. Big mistake.  So last night was the mix of nice words but icy demeanor.

Now it is Monday. I have been up since about 6:00 AM. And it feels like Monday.  My eyeballs are burning. I want to sleep some more.  I can take a nap if I want to.  I am re-fucking-tired, after all.  I lie down.  But sleep doesn’t happen.  I’m back up.  I need to write.  But I have nothing to say except that it’s Monday and I need a nap.

More will be revealed.

Memory Chain Reaction




1953 Nash Ambassador

It is the 1950’s, a Friday night, and we need to go grocery shopping.  We have one car, a 1953 Nash Ambassador Super, black body with a red top, Continental wheel, straight 6 engine, three on the tree, and overdrive. A righteous car. We all pile in the car, Dad, me, my elder brother in the front, Mama, my sister, my younger brother in the back.  That’s the we way we did riding in the car. Mother did not drive. We had just one car anyway.

We went to the A&P. Some people went to the Safeway; some people shopped at the Colonial Store; some went to Siegel’s (run by brothers Hip and Charlie). There were other local independent supermarkets and superettes (so asserted Richfood, the local buyers’ co-op).  But we went to the A&P.  To a child’s mind, this was almost like our religious affiliation. We were Presbyterians on Sunday who shopped at the A&P on Friday and we all rode in the same car to go to both church and store.  “God’s in His Heaven, all’s right with the world.” 

We would shop.  Dad preferred Bokar Coffee, available only at A&P.  That’s probably why we went. Dad was as serious about his coffee as he was about this country, the Marine Corps, the Presbyterian Church and the Republican Party.  Coffee was serious business in his family. His father (Pop) called it “Arbuckles”. The first coffee I ever tasted was what Pop gave to me from a spoon, with cream.  Still the best coffee I ever tasted.

The A&P was on Meadowbridge Road in Highland Park, near a fire station.  The neighborhood was transitioning from all-white to all-black.   Next to the A&P was a High’s Ice Cream Store. It was a local chain, that had chrome steel swivel stools at the counters.  They sold ice cream at five cents a scoop. The single scoop cone had a pointy end. Sometimes we would be mean to my sister and bite the tip off her cone. (I think she forgave us for this. At least I hope so.)  The High’s Stores were staffed by these little old ladies who wore pale pastel-green dresses (like the old fashioned nurses’ uniforms) and hairnets, white hairnets.  As drug addiction grew in the Richmond area, the junkies would rob the High’s Stores to get the money for a fix..  Eventually the High’s Stores went out of business and the junkies moved on to the 7-Elevens.

Ice cream was a big deal. On a hot summer night, we would get in the car, ride to High’s, Dairy Queen, Tastee Freez, or the Curles’ Neck Dairy Bar.  When we went to Curles’ Neck, we could get an awesome maple nut ice cream.  Then we would ride down to Byrd Park and watch the illuminated fountain in the Fountain Lake.  It was fun.  It was free. My Dad, who worked between his civilian job and his Marine Reserve duty almost constantly, loved this time with his children.  We loved this time with him.

In retrospect, all of these simple pleasures were living on borrowed time.  What destroyed them was affluence and the advertisers who promoted bigger and better versions of fun.  So now we go to Disney World or Busch Gardens or Kings Dominion, for better or worse.

Remembrance Of Things Past


Two years ago, my elder son decided to take on clearing out my late brother’s house.  My brother was a hoarder. We found many artifacts from the not too distant American past. 

Does anyone remember seeing this on a can at the grocery store?  It brings back the whole shopping experience before the advent of the barcode reader. The clerk would key-in the prices manually into  

the cash register. It would makes this noise from all the little gears and wheels turning.  It was a different time.



We all need reminders that life on this Earth is worth living.  For example, at Mass, I’ll frequently get a better idea of what Love is by watching the children with their parents than by listening to the homily.  Any priest worth his salt would probably agree.

The best reminders are usually commonplace,  A beautiful sunset, singing birds, a well-played baseball game, dessert.  In the Reminders Class is sex.   It is how I connect and relate.  If or when that physical relationship with our Lovers diminishes or disappears,  the loss is agonizing.  I caressed Mrs CorC?’s thigh the other night as we lay together in bed.   She rebuffed the gesture, but emphatically stated “I love you!”  I have been living with the sting since that moment.   Truth be told, she doesn’t “do” love “that way”, through expressions of physical affection.  In the wake of each rejection, a quest for validation, joy, and fun begins.  I’m a master at sublimation; a long swim, a good meal, a beautiful novel.   A Rosary, quietly prayed, opens another channel for Love to come in.   So deep night finds me alone with the beads.

I read of husbands and wives who keep the flame of sexual love alive. You give hope to me.