endurance – S'amusing

What Was The Weather?

In this very evening, December 25, 1776, George Washington led his somewhat ragtag band of soldiers across the Delaware River and surprised the Hessian mercenaries, beating them soundly at the Battle of Trenton for one of the earliest victories in the war for independence.

“The weather when George Washington crossed the Delaware River in 1776 was horrible, with temperatures ranging from the 20s to just above freezing, about 33 degrees, and a strong wind from the northeast making it much colder for the men. A blinding snowstorm and sleet also made the conditions almost impossible.”**

It’s been chronicled that many soldiers of the Continental Army that night were without boots or their feet were wrapped in straw, whatever was available. When I think of them, I’m both awed and grateful for their fortitude, bravery and the leadership of General Washington.

**americanhistorycentral.com

Steve

December 2024

THE VOICE….I Can’t Hear You!!!

For any soldier who put on government issue white boxer shorts or had his head shaved to the skin in the first few days of Basic Training, these words are forever etched in your mind…

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU, TRAINEE!”

Whether inches from your face or in front of the assembled company, be it a Drill Sergeant or Officer, regardless if we were already at the high end of a decibel scale, our replies were never loud enough, hence…

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU, TRAINEE!”

Why? Harassment? No, the military trains young men and women to be soldiers, and soldiers need to respond with certainty, confidence and INTENT.

Following months of training, we became soldiers, found our voices and took on our missions with INTENT

Fast forward decades later, and the drill sergeant has been replaced with a speech pathologist who sends the same message but with a softer tone…

“I can’t hear you, Steve.”

I have Parkinson’s Disease and one mark of many Parkinson’s patients is a softening of the voice associated with an expressionless face. Thankfully, there’s help, speech therapy.

I suspected there was an issue with my voice and it festered until I found the right people to help me. After a month of therapy sessions, I’m happy to report that I’m on the right track to returning my voice to appropriate audible levels. I understand the importance of ‘speaking with INTENT’ and, if I waiver, I have a ‘toolbox’ to correct myself.

Just as I exercised my body in Basic Training to build strength and endurance, now I’m exercising my voice box to strengthen my speech. Instead of daily runs, countless push-ups, jumping jacks and the rest of the army’s ‘daily dozen’, I’m exercising my voice with ‘speak out exercises’ and reaching decibel levels that heretofore were routine and automatic

It’s challenging

And, like the physical military exercise, if I don’t make my vocal exercises a regular routine, the voice will soften, again. The program is ‘SPEAK OUT, Speaking With Intent’ and the local effort is part of a nationwide practice to teach Parkinson patients how to fight back.

The challenge is to be aware of my speech and apply vocal exercises on a daily basis to improve and maintain voice quality.

Parkinson is a slowly progressive neurological disease that afflicts each patient differently. It can impact speech, motor skills and memory over time. Other than a pill, a recommended course of action is to ‘fight back’ with rigorous physical exercise for the body and voice.

Big movements! Big voices! Big rewards!

And there’s no need to yell, “YES, DRILL SERGEANT”, a simple “thank you, Jaime and Heather” will suffice.

Steve

080124

To my two speech pathologists, Heather and Jaime (URMC), who guided me without intimidation, just INTENT.

Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes…

Knee’s & toes, knees & toes…

Remember this old rhyme recited with your young children, or with your parents when you were a youngster? As it was recited, you would touch the mentioned body parts, joyfully reaching, bending and touching with each mention of a part from top to bottom, or head to toes, as it were. What a fun teaching moment and exercise activity.

Try that now, but be careful. You’re not a kid, anymore.

Try gracefully moving those once supple muscles that flowed like melting butter and joints that moved like a well oiled hinge. Not as easy, now, is it.

With a good effort, I find that I can still do it, bend and reach, but at a slower pace, at least initially, and with a slight hesitation, trying my best to remember where those parts are (ala ‘The Macarena dance). Yes, the rhythm and pace is entirely different today.

However, I still try because moving is important. And, with a slight modification, I think I’ve created a new version, one meant strictly for us Seniors which I call the ‘pain game’. Touch the spots where it hurts…

“Head, neck, shoulders and elbows… shoulders and elbows…. Head, neck, shoulders and elbows…. Wrist and fingers, too!”

That’s just the upper torso. A second verse covers hips, knees and feet.

Get the picture? Remember, it’s for fun and exercise, even if it hurts a little…and it will.

While this is all in jest, it does point out a message for those of us of a certain ilk, ‘senior citizens’, it’s important to keep moving.

At my local health club, I see Seniors in the pool, on the equipment, in classes, moving. Not as fast nor as smoothly as the younger patrons, or our younger selves, but still moving.

Every seat in the chair exercise classe is filled with Seniors moving, stretching, bending, reaching, pushing themselves to get and stay fit. It’s admirable.

Today, I heard an interview with a world class athlete, Colin O’Brady. He’s climbed all the highest peaks in the world and in each U.S. state in record time and is the first person to traverse Antarctica by foot, alone, pulling a 300 pound supply sled. His excellent book,, ‘The Impossible First’, describes this venture.

Colin’s newest project is to get people moving, alone with only your thoughts, unencumbered by cell phones, at your pace, resting when necessary, for 12 hours. His new book, The ‘12 Hour Walk’ gives you the motivation to take the challenge. I’m thinking about doing it. Only thinking, now, but with each chapter I read, the more appealing it sounds. It’ll certainly keep me moving for awhile, at least 12 hours, just me and my thoughts.

Not sure that I have 12 hours of thoughts.

My Mother was Catholic, My Father was Handsome…a Love Story

My mother was Catholic, my father was…handsome. The daughter of poor immigrants, and poorly educated, herself, this young girl of Irish/Italian heritage was looking for a better future. My father, too, was of immigrant parents, hard working, middle class, and Protestant.

She wanted the love that an abusive father never showed her, and he, this dashing young tradesman, would give her that, and more. Still, she was Catholic and, well, he was a pool shooter.

Living in a flat above the pool hall he frequented, evenings would often find her purposefully loitering on the building steps, easy prey for his roving eyes. Love finds a way…

Barely 19 and in a ‘family way’, she married him, probably to the chagrin of the family patriarch, and the local priest. After all, she was a Catholic girl and he…well, he was careless and cavalier.

In all likelihood, he was careless more than once, as six more children were added to the family tree, five in rapid succession before a brief respite. then my sister and me. She was very Catholic.

Life was challenging for a young wife with a bevy of small children and an ‘old school’ husband who set the rules and expectations in a firm manner. Yet, for all the hardships endured, she worshipped him, depended on him for her well-being and her place in a middle class America. Besides, what were her options?

Their marriage endured, and only strengthened with time. My mother loved my father dearly and he relished his role as a strong family provider and leader. He was doing what was expected of him, then.

It was joyful, watching their love grow, an affair lasting 50 years. Life’s tough challenges were met and now behind them, and they basked in the comfort of their companionship, each one knowing the other’s pleasures.

And then, it ended. One morning, he kissed her goodbye, twice, went to work and didn’t come home. 76 years old. To the end, the handsome pool player fulfilled his vow to love and cherish, protect and provide.

The Catholic girl survived another twenty years, still in love with the same man but now adding God in her daily thoughts. After all, she was Catholic, and He…well, He was her Savior.

srbottch

Dedicated to my wonderful parents