The Landscape

09:11 Saturday, 4 April 2026
Current Wx: Temp: 39.83°F Pressure: 1025hPa Humidity: 87% Wind: 1.59mph
Words: 897

Yesterday I gave a ride to an old gent who was hitchhiking. I'd seen him before, in the rain, but I didn't notice him in time to pull over, and I think Mitzi was in the truck with me. But I felt for him. So when I saw him yesterday afternoon, I pulled over and mentioned that I was only going as far as South Hill Road. He said, "That's two miles closer for me!" and jumped in.

I asked him where he lived and he said Reynoldsville, which is just a couple miles past South Hill Road, so I said I'd go ahead and take him home.

He introduced himself as Spider and said, "That's my real name too." I'd guess he was in his late 70s, maybe 80s. He had a large duffel bag with him, which contained a week's worth of laundry. Apparently he hitchhikes down to Watkins Glen and does his laundry there. He was mentally sharp, very shaggy but he didn't smell or anything. Long hair, longer beard.

We talked as I drove. He'd lived in Ithaca before, with his kids. When they grew up he moved out to the place where he lives now, a kind of small apartment or "accessory dwelling unit," adjacent to a house just off the road. He'd been in a relationship with a woman for many years, but she passed away eight years ago. They didn't live together, but they were a couple. I joked that was probably the secret to their success.

He pointed out his place and I drove up the driveway to keep him from having to walk through the mud in a low spot. He thanked me and got out, I turned around and went home.

As we were driving back from Mom's last Monday, I was enjoying the scenery and I mentioned to Mitzi that I remain somewhat surprised at how much this feels like home, this landscape. Florida never felt like home, though I did start to think of myself as a "Floridian" around 2017, when I started getting more involved with local politics and environmental issues. But the landscape always felt, well, alien.

I loved the beach, I could admire the wetlands, and we lived right next to a swamp. But it never felt like home the way this landscape does.

Only a few of my earliest memories were in New York. My earliest memories are of Navy housing in San Diego. We spent several months with my grandparents in New York when we moved from San Diego to Michigan, where Dad was stationed at the recruiting center in Detroit. All of my elementary school days were spent in Warren, Michigan, walking to school, fairly dense tract housing, lots of neighbors with kids my age to play with. We could even walk to church, though we always took the station wagon. So a suburban landscape shouldn't feel alien to me.

But my middle and high school years were in rural upstate New York. Bussed to school, neighbors were all family, cousins were my nearest playmates. Later, I became close friends with a guy, Randy Craft, in Clockville, a few miles down the hill from us. Our parents would take turns driving us back and forth to each other's houses. Randy's place was semi-rural, there were a lot of houses and some development in the area, so there were other classmates nearby. Our place was very rural.

Randy and I were friends through middle school, and we kind of drifted apart in high school and moved in different circles. Never too far though, there were only 150 kids in our graduating class. Much of my life wasn't especially solitary, mainly because of school; but I did spend a good deal of time alone. I'd wander in the woods, ride my bike down the highway (Something I'd never think to do today. No bike lane, narrow gravel shoulder, trucks blowing by me at 60mph.), climb trees, sit outside and read books.

So I guess in some ways it was the landscape that was my ever-present companion. I don't think I ever realized or appreciated how much I'd internalized it. I think I kind of understand that old saying, "You can take the boy out of the country, but you can never take the country out of the boy," in a different way now. I'd always thought it referred to a kind of mindset or lack of "sophistication," but I don't think it does now. I never thought of it as an especially pejorative statement, just kind of an observation about how urban kids and rural kids are raised.

I think it's about how home, as a place, is internalized, and the role of landscape in shaping it.

Anyway, the birds are singing, the sun is shining, I've got the doors open. I have all kinds of anxiety, about getting old, building this house, helping my Mom, what's happening in the world and what it means for my kids; but beneath all that, I have this profound sense of being home. I know it may all just be an artifact, or an illusion, but it is of great comfort to me. I can look out the window and feel as though I belong here.

And that's what made me pull over and pick up Spider yesterday.

We both belong here.

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And, Just Like That, I'm Fine

09:06 Saturday, 4 April 2026
Current Wx: Temp: 39.83°F Pressure: 1025hPa Humidity: 87% Wind: 1.59mph
Words: 137

I decided to skip this morning's session. I consulted Dr. Google and it seems unlikely that I'm dealing with a torn rotator cuff, though I can't rule it out. Some people have them with no discomfort. Anyway, at this moment, my arm feels fine. I'm reluctant to put any serious strain on it, but all the tests recommended by Dr. Google were negative. I do have family history, both Mom and Dad had shoulder issues as they aged. Both underwent physical therapy. Both thought it didn't do any good.

So, for the time being, I'm going to rest it and see. I'll work lower body and core and whatever else I can do without putting a lot of load on my shoulder. But for today, I'm pretty much leaving it alone.

It's weird, but so's getting old.

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Pain Is Not "Weakness Leaving the Body"

07:17 Saturday, 4 April 2026
Current Wx: Temp: 37.4°F Pressure: 1025hPa Humidity: 86% Wind: 2.62mph
Words: 276

More bullshit.

Back on the 19th of March, I went to the gym and worked out by myself while our trainer was on vacation with his family. I must have done something wrong, because the next morning, I woke up and my right shoulder hurt.

I don't sleep in one position, I toss and turn all night and about the only position I don't sleep in is on my back. I noticed the pain before I got up, as I rolled over from one side to the other, or onto my stomach. It wasn't severe, but it was definitely uncomfortable and disturbing. Recalling some advice from back in the martial arts days, I got up and grabbed a dumbbell, bent over and just let my arm hang as I kind of swung it in a circular motion, first clockwise, then counter-clockwise.

After several seconds of that, my shoulder felt better. Pain-free. I congratulated myself and went on with my day.

A few days later, same drill. A few swings of a suspended dumbbell and all's well. I noted that something must be going on, but it seemed manageable.

Worked out with the trainer last Wednesday, no issues on Thursday or Friday morning.

This morning, my shoulder is screaming at me, and the dumbbell ain't doin' squat. I did front raises and side raises Friday. Why didn't it complain yesterday or the day before?

I suspect that something about sleeping on my shoulder is aggravating what might otherwise be a minor injury.

We have a session this morning. It's mostly legs, so I'll try to avoid doing anything with my shoulders.

But this really sucks.

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More "Learnings" Bullshit

07:06 Saturday, 4 April 2026
Current Wx: Temp: 37.51°F Pressure: 1025hPa Humidity: 86% Wind: 2.62mph
Words: 167

This has definitely become an "old man shouting at clouds" thing, but here's another appearance of the verb "to learn" masquerading as a noun:

Samuelson recorded the experience and its multitude of learnings in a manuscript that was only discovered by his daughter after his death in 1981.

I mean, if you feel as though your literary sophistication can only be articulated by torturing defenseless verbs, why not use one that has already been beaten into submission, like teachings? Though I would say Hemingway himself would demand the sturdy, proven noun, lessons.

Every time I read "learnings" it's like a record scratch. It interrupts the flow, and I wonder "who talks like this?" Is this only a written thing?

And, really, "multitude?" What's wrong with "many"?

In a piece at least marginally about Hemingway.

Jesus, this whole sentence. What the fuck is "only" doing there? What corner of the mystery has that word shed its light on?

Hemingway.

Irony. It's the fifth fundamental force of the universe.

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