In the mid-90s, Marty and I visited the family home of one of her college roommates, Brigid. Brigid's family lived in western Pennsylvania in an old country farmhouse. Her father was the orthopedic surgeon to the high school football stars of the area. In the winter, they would ride snowmobiles to the grocery, and in the summer, they would take advantage of the wonderful outdoors that region of the country offered. One of those outdoor options was white-water rafting. 

As we donned our helmets and vests, the guide who prepared us to push off explained, "There's only three things to remember. One, have fun. Two, if you fall out, keep your feet up. And, three, if someone in your boat falls out, get them back in the boat IMMEDIATELY." I've never been known as a great listener, and fifty minutes later, I found myself exerting great effort to remember those three simple instructions. 

So things were going swimmingly. We were chatting and laughing and commenting on the beauty of the river. Then we came around a bend and found a shore-to-shore expanse of angry, churning water. Quickly scanning the options, we thought we saw a less-evil path through and paddled toward it, people yelling commands as we worked. But we got pulled into the one channel we were most trying to avoid. When the boat dipped into the swell, Marty who was manning the front right, got thrown backward and disappeared completely from view. Once through the worst of it, we saw her resurfaced and floating with her feet up. We quickly made our way to her, and Jim, Brigid's large and strong boyfriend, impressively hefted her back into the boat with a single arm.

Once in calmer waters we recounted the excitement, each person animatedly telling their side of the story. My version might have said something along the lines of, "I saw we were going to drop into that dip and knew Marty would fall out, so I tried lunging for her and just missed grabbing her vest before she fell backward." Everyone complimented my foresight and bravery, and we finished the float without any further mishaps. 

When we got to the end and were escorted out of the facility, the guide pointed us to a wall of televisions and said that some photos had been taken of us during the float and we could purchase them if we'd like. At this point in our relationship, I had known Marty for somewhere between six and eight years. In this time together, she has never, ever once been swayed by a memento of any sort, crazy-overpriced or even free, so I did not expect us to be getting anything on this day. When we stood at the counter and found our set of pictures, I studied the two-photo set and was struck by how clear and detailed the images were. 

The first photo showed us about to hit the swell that ate us whole. The second photo, this would be the one that should have shown me reaching for Marty and trying to save her from falling out of the boat, somehow, instead, curiously, showed me diving, sans paddle, toward the center of the boat to safety and possibly even laughing while I did so, as my girlfriend perilously fell backward out of the boat.

After taking in the image, I turned to Marty, who was staring not at the photo but directly at me. 

TROY
Hey. That's pretty great quality they got there, huh? I wonder how they do that.

MARTY
Yeah, it's great that we have a picture of you trying to save me and NOT of you diving to the middle of the boat, saving your own ass while I got thrown into a wild river. 

TROY
Yeah, I agree. It is a little hard to make out what's happening there.

The worker appeared in front of us and asked if we would be interested in buying a photo. I began to say thanks but no thanks, but Marty spoke over me and said, "Yes, I'd like one of each of those in an 8x10. Oh, and he's paying." 

And that is how these two custom-framed photos came to be hanging in our upstairs hallway, should you ever visit.

Everyone seems well aware, peril is at hand.
The question is how will you react?

I understand it might look like both Brigid & Jim are looking to Marty with concern. And it might look like I am diving to the safety of the middle of the boat, and, maybe, possibly, laughing while doing so. I get that is what it kinda looks like, but I think what we are really seeing here is an unfortunate camera angle.
Further, I would contend that what you should be looking at, instead of me, is Marty's impeccable form in entering the water. I mean, look at that pointed toe, and you can barely detect the splash!

Click photo for an enlarged version

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. Her Secret Weapon

Before season three of White Lotus made it a national conversation, Bookpimp and Dutch were testing the waters of brotherly affection. 

They, Bookpimp and Dutch, were driving cross-state in the night to a family event. They got a late start because one (or both) of their minimum-wage jobs had them working late. Given their meager means, they had the practice of sharing drinks and snacks at gas stops. At the last fueling, Dutch got a 32-ounce Big Gulp drink. This places our story in the early nineties, when both of them were in their twenties, because 32 ounces was the prominent option of the day. If this story happened now, it would likely be a 64 or even 96 ounce beverage and in a plastic cup instead of the styrofoam one they had this night. That it was a 32-ounce cup matters not only to date the story but also because this was a time when car cup holders could not yet hold these bloated canisters. Due to this, the accepted practice was to hold the cup between your legs to ensure it did not spill. 

They’d been going several hours and were talked out, making the only sounds in the car coming from the stereo. In time, Bookpimp was ready for a pull from the drink. Without looking, he reached over to grab the large cup from his brother’s lap. His mind did not initially register the information his fingers sent to his brain. I imagine his mind flickering like a home’s electricity pulsing on and off. Perplexed, he looked to his right. He saw the white of Dutch’s eyes staring back at him, the cup in his raised hand, and the straw in his mouth. Neither of them had to look down to know what Bookpimp’s hand was holding.

Calmly, Bookpimp returned his hand to the steering wheel, looked forward and with great equanimity, said, “When you’re done taking your drink, I would like some, please.”

Those were the only words ever said by the brothers about this shared moment in a car racing down a nighttime highway to a family event. However, I do believe at the next fueling, there were two Big Gulps purchased. 

 A year ago, a friend shared a story with me about his fifteen-year-old daughter. Let’s call her Jean. While on a date at a movie, Jean looked to her right and saw a girl five seats away performing oral sex on her date (the girl’s date, not Jean’s date). For this story, we will call the second girl Crystal. When Crystal noticed Jean looking at her, not only did she not stop her endeavor, bu...

At Anthony/Tony/Anfer’s high school, the student body votes on who the commencement speaker should be. There is an initial round of nominees where everyone is eligible. The nominations are collected, counted and the top six named. To his, to our, to everyone's surprise, Anfer's name was one of those final six. The six nominees then write and record a two minute sample of what they would talk ab...

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. Fail to Launch

What you see on the top is a one-hundred-year-old shower stem. What you see on the bottom is what a brand-new replacement of that shower stem looks like. What this photo does not show is the path that led from the top stem to the bottom one. That path began seven years ago when the original shower stem (which is the handle your turn to stop and start the water) started failing. I want to re-draw y...

Marty and I were invited to dinner with a former work colleague (of hers). As we walked up the street to their house, we commented on the number of cars and that someone was having a party. It turns out the people having the party were our people. We somehow thought we were the only guests, but we were not, far from it.

There were maybe fifty people in the large victorian home and M ...

Bella and her boyfriend of five years, Abdi, bought a house. I fear I am part of the reason this happened. They happily occupied an apartment that had been in Abdi's family for many years, but it was not in the safest part of town. Around a Michigan campfire a few years ago, when Bella and I played a what-would-you-change game one night, I said in regard to her, the one and only thing I would wave ...

There is a saying that a healthy person wants for a thousand things, and a sick person wants for just one. This past week I was in that latter camp thanks to undergoing my fourth knee surgery.

There are many personally woeful parts to this story. First, the injured knee was what has previously been called my “good” knee—now I just have two bad knees. Second, I had just complete...

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. Unimitigated Honesty

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. New one

It was late afternoon and I was sitting on the porch reading. After a bit Bella (24) stopped in on her way home from work to pick up her pup Leta (who hangs out with me during the workday). Given the beautiful weather, she joined me on the porch and we started chatting about the day’s happenings.

The front door opened and Aleo (21) stuck his head out to ask me a question. Bella zeroed ...

Here is a game Tony and his friends play.

A PG-13 movie can contain one f-bomb in it. They like to take movies with a PG-13 rating that did not use that f-swear liberty and debate where it might have best been placed. So, Lord of the Rings was the example Tony gave. Where do you think an f-bomb would have been best used? Hint: Gollem is a leading contender for the honor. I mean, who hasn’t dropped equal for something far less than losing their precious? 

When I shared this with my bud Bookpimp who was in town for a day, without missing a beat he said, “Gandalf: Those f’ing dwarves.”

A few people have asked how Tony’s Red Leather Talks initiative is going. I guess I could let you know that it continues still. And that on the night before publication a group of kids come to the house and help Tony prep and roll the next day’s issue. And that on publication Mondays, while Tony moves through the school filling his distribution bins, students he doesn’t know stop him in the ...

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. De-Motivator

The neighborhood I live in began as a family farm. When a developer purchased the property in the early 1920s, they built 204 homes on the land. Back then, there was a lovely variety of architecture, not like today's tract housing. The original "show-home" that was used to advertise all the features possible is across the street from me. That home had everything from a marble staircase to Roman sh...

I was playing tennis with a fellow a few years back. I was in my early fifties, and I would put him in his early sixties. He looked good and played well, matching me in singles play, stroke for stroke, sprint for sprint. Between games, I inquired about his health. 

TROY
So what’s the secret?

WISE MAN
The secret to what?

TROY (gesturing at his fit frame standing before me). 
To this. 

WISE MAN
When I was about your age, I met a guy about my age, a little older, and asked him the same thing. 

TROY
Ok. 

WISE MAN
He said, if you stop moving, you die; if you keep moving, you hurt. So the key to a long life is pain management. 

I am finding this sentiment to be truer with every passing year. For the rare situations where, for whatever reason, I am not exercising, like with a recent illness, I am struck at how quickly my body begins to “set,” almost like someone is pouring sand into my joints and cement into my muscles. This is not something that takes months or weeks to begin but days and hours.  So the moral, in my eye, seems to be, keep moving or be prepared to stop moving altogether.

Here's another one that deals with your nasal passages, but this focuses on allergies. When I first moved to the Midwest, they had way more trees than Colorado. As a result, I had absolutely horrific allergies during different parts of the year—depending on what tree was blooming or losing its leaves. Anyone who has had allergy issues knows how debilitating and joyless they can be. 

I saw doctors. Took pills. Drank viscous elixirs straight from the bottle. They helped in some ways but always hurt in others (putting me to sleep at 2 pm at my work desk). It was annual misery without relief. 

It was again Marty who helped after seeing me struggle. She pretty casually said I needed a Neti pot. What’s that? She explained. What do you do with it? She explained. If you haven’t been introduced, a Neti pot is like a little genie's lamp that you put salinated water into and then pour into a nostril and let the water run through your nasal passage, where it then exits out the other nostril. You send half the bottle of water in one nostril and then switch and send the second half through the other. The result is what they call a nasal lavage. After she explained how it worked, I said thanks, but no sale. That actually sounds worse than the allergies. 

A few days later in the throes of allergy hell, I found myself at the bathroom sink holding my freshly acquired Neti pot. While it is undoubtedly a bizarre sensation one can't really prepare themselves for, the fact that it completely resolved my allergy issues near immediately, made it a sensation I was happy to become habituated to (if not even came to look forward to). 

Here’s why it works. When you have allergies, there are certain things (e.g., pollens) in the air that you breathe in that your body finds irritating. Western medicine's answer to this is to have you take drugs that work to suppress your body's reaction to the presence of these irritants. Those medicines can be helpful, but they often come with unappealing side effects (e.g., foggy mind, drowsiness). However, the thing those medicines do not do is remove the irritants. That’s what the Neti pot does. 

So, let’s say some trees bloom near your home and leave a fine green dusting over everything. Unfortunately, given your need to breathe, your nasal passages will also be part of that dusting. Now, the good news is you have your humidifier, or it is spring time, so your sinuses are healthy and moist. The bad news is that your beautiful sinuses are coated with this fine pollen your body finds offensive. If you take a pill, it will help you not realize that the annoying thing is there, BUT it is still there. If you instead use a Neti pot and flush all of that evil film out of your sinuses, then you will not need a pill because what was irritating you is no longer in your body. 

Since discovering the Neti pot, I have had zero issues with allergies. Not only that, when my kids were young, they and the neighbor kids loved to watch me do it over the sink, and they would ask to be called upon when I was doing it, and then I would have six small people craning their heads to get the best views of a rivulet of water pouring out of one of my nostrils. My first public performance was a little unsettling but/and now that the kids are all older, I can say I kinda miss my Neti pot audience. I imagine I could attract a new group of local youngsters to my bathroom show but fear that may introduce some new problems into my life ;-)

Here’s a fact. 

So many January resolutions fail not because people lack willpower or desire for change but because it is too jarring to go from the full-on decadence of the holidays to absolute discipline at December 31st’s stroke of midnight. The fact is, you probably could not pick a worse time in the year to attempt such a change, with the obvious aside being the start of the hol...

When we had kids in elementary school, there was almost always someone in our house in some stage of illness. That is becoming sick, being sick, or getting better. And it made perfect sense. When you’d drop your kids off at school and see the hundreds of other kids, several of which would be delivered with mucus-plugged noses and what-not, you only marveled that there was anyone in this collective who wasn’t sick.

Then, one day, Marty installed a humidifier in each of our home’s bedrooms. I was appalled. For someone who grew up in the humidity-free climate of Colorado, the notion of ADDING humidity to a climate already dripping with moisture seemed foolhardy. She explained that in the winter, the humidity went down and was not in the 140% range as it is the rest of the year. Great! Why aren’t we celebrating that instead of manufacturing more of it? Here’s what she said: I found her explanation compelling. But what was even more compelling were the results. After installing the humidifiers in our home, illnesses in our family all but disappeared, and having a sick person was no longer the norm; it was a surprising outlier. Consider me and my delightfully gelatinous nasal passages a zealous convert.

I recently fell ill.

And that is how long it took for it to happen, the equivalent of falling on the ground. On Sunday I felt fine. In the late afternoon I even went on a 25 mile bike ride and returned feeling strong and knowing I could have easily done another ten. I had dinner. I did some reading and went to bed spot on time (@ 10:30). When I woke in the morning, I could barely move. My skin, each and every pore was sensitive to touch. Movement of any sort was met with limp and resistant muscles. What in the world happened while I slept?

I don’t get sick very often. Like anyone else, I hate it. But I am a good sick person. Though you might not agree with my interpretation. You would probably think Marty is a good sick person. When Marty gets sick, she acts like she is not sick and muscles her way through the responsibilities of the day—some call that putting on one’s big girl pants and handling business. When I get sick I completely shut down regardless of my level of illness or what was on the schedule—whatever it is, it will have to wait because, like can’t you see, I’m fending off death here. But, I think this is the definition of a good sick person. Someone who accepts it, and gives their body the time and resources to handle its affairs.

One positive I feel illness brings is a renewed appreciation for all the days we wake up to a healthful body. In fact, that is one of the VERY FIRST touchstones of my morning ritual—acknowledging the good health gifted to me on this day. Because let’s be clear, as the above story illustrates, these days of health are gifts and like our bodies themselves, have been handed to us with little to nothing asked for in return.

As for my morning ritual giving thanks for my health, I do so specifically by looking at this picture. It is of Randy Pausch, of the Last Lecture fame from 2008. He was a vivacious father of three who went to the doctor because of a head cold he couldn’t shake and by week’s end was told he had six months to live.

Admittedly, given the complexity of these bodies we were given, we should all spend more time reveling in amazement that they work as well and as effortlessly (on our part) as they do—and if you are at all like me, their continued operation is doubly impressive given all the bad decisions I’ve made over the decades. These bodies are an unequivocal marvel and will without compare be the single greatest things we will ever encounter (let alone be given). But they are also fragile beyond comprehension.

As I emerged from this latest malady, I thought instead of posting the silly yarns and stories I had planned, I would instead use the week to share five of my favorite health hacks I’ve come upon in the last twenty years. The first is noted above—be grateful for every day you wake in a healthy body that is ready to do your bidding. Because every now and then we are reminded how little influence we have over whether or not that happens.