Beer Me:Old Scratch Amber Lager

This Saturday afternoon, while sitting in Big Ten corner watching a couple of non-Big Ten games on the computer, I sampled this beer from Flying Dog Brewery. According the info on the Flying Dog website, Old Scratch has 5.5% ABV and a Hop Bitterness of 19.5 IBU (you can see the rest of the details Flying Dog Brewery).

Old Scratch has a slightly bitter aftertaste; once that passed, I was left with a pleasantly mild sensation that lasted well after the bottle was empty. While not particularly memorable, it made for a very refreshing drink on a hot Florida afternoon.

Overall rating: 3.75 out of 5

Goodbye, My Gentleman

Today is a sad day in my life, for today I had to say goodbye to another feline companion. Guy, who has been part of the family for the past three years, was peacefully laid to rest today after valiantly fighting a digestive system disease.

Some of you know the back story on Guy. For those of you who don't, let me fill you in. Three years ago, when I was living in South Bend, I had two cats: Booger, who was three at the time and who I have had since he was eight weeks old, and Bucky, a nine-month old kitten. One Saturday morning, one of the local news shows was running its weekly Humane Society spot, and they featured this beautiful gray-and-white male cat who looked a bit like Booger and was about his age. They said his name was Guy and that he had been there for about a year because his previous owners couldn't keep him. He was so sweet--he just laid there in the reporter's arms. I thought if I didn't have two cats already I would adopt him.

Then Bucky developed feline leukemia, and I had to have him put to sleep the day after Easter in 2009, a couple of weeks shy of  his first birthday. Needless to say, I was very distraught, as I tend to get very attached to my pets. It took a couple of months, but in June I thought that Booger could use a playmate, since I was away from the house so much, working two jobs. I remembered Guy from the news and called the Humane Society. Yes, he was still available, I was told. Sadly, there weren't lines forming to adopt three-year-old neutered, declawed housecats, no matter how sweet. I met him and was taken by his loving nature--how a little fellow like him could spend a year in a crowded shelter and still just melt in my arms simply amazed me.

I brought him home and Booger, of course, didn't like it one bit. He eventually warmed up to Guy, though, and they would play all over that South Bend house. What I remember most about Guy there was how he could lie for hours in the windows of the front porch, watching the world go by on the street; how he adopted the reclining chair as his and would sleep there when he wasn't on the porch; how he liked to get into the crawlspace attached to the basement and climb on top the duct work down there; and, mostly, how quiet he was. Guy did not have a regular "meow," like most cats; he had a very quiet, almost inaudible "mew" that he would "say" every now and then. Even his purring was quiet.

When Kendra and I got married in March 2011, we spent the first few months living three hours apart. In July we decided enough was enough and I would move to Greenwood at the end of August. I quit my full-time job at the end of July but continued my three-nights-per-week teaching job through August. Kendra moved into our rented house in the middle of July, and at the end of that month I brought the cats down, as I would only be in South Bend three nights. Kendra has never been a cat lover, and she probably never will be, but I think she took to Guy as much as she could to any feline. She would tell me how, on those nights I was in South Bend, he would very quietly come up to her when she was sitting on the sofa, touch her softly with his paw, then climb on her lap or legs to snooze. That was one of the most adorable things about Guy--he was so polite. He would never just jump on you--he would always gently touch you first to see if it was OK. Even when I was down in Greenwood those four other nights, Guy would choose to sit close to or on Kendra--even though she could never figure out why.

Guy had had some digestive tract issues before, and I had gotten them treated, but perhaps the move to Florida was more than he could take. Although the vet gave us medicine and instructions about how to care for Guy, he never fully recovered from his ordeal. So for the past few weeks, we let Guy go out into our fenced back yard so he could experience a little of the outdoor life, and he got to live out what the vet called "every indoor cat's fantasy." He established his presence in the yard very quickly: he relished being able to lie in the sun or under the bougainvilla, and he even got the opportunity to stalk and catch a few lizards. Guy was the ultimate "people" cat, and I know he enriched our lives in ways I can not count.

I do not know what kind of life you had before I adopted you, Guy, but I hope you loved every minute you had with us. I cherished every day with you, and I will never forget you. Thank you for allowing me to be your surrogate family these past three years. Rest in peace, my Gentleman, my Guy Kitty.

Guy under the bougainvilla--here lizard, lizard....

Guy in the South Bend house, checking out Kendra's phone.

The Retaining Rodent's Refuge

Kendra, my darling wife, will be the first to tell you--or anyone else--that her husband is, if not a complete pack rat, then certainly a retaining rodent. I have souvenirs from events dating as far back as elementary school, and the only time, it seems, that I remember I have them is when we move--which we have now done twice in less than a year.

Granted, I--and by "I" I mean via Kendra's insistent prodding--jettisoned a lot (for me, anyway) of stuff before our move to Florida--and I am sure that there was a lot more that could have been disposed of. But give me some credit--we went from 11 boxes of Halloween decor to 5.

Although we haven't found a home for everything (there remains the guest room to be tackled before the in-laws' visit in May), I did manage to get all of the holiday decor, along with a bunch of my miscellany, stashed in the small shed in the back yard. I even made room for our three bikes.

One small step for me, one giant leap for rodentkind.

Goodreads Review: Foundation by Isaac Asimov

<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/76680.Foundation" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img alt="Foundation (Foundation, #1)" border="0" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1320518217m/76680.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/76680.Foundation">Foundation</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16667.Isaac_Asimov">Isaac Asimov</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/316020730">5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
I was first introduced to Asimov's <em>Foundation</em> series (nee trilogy) in a high school English class called "Science Fiction: A Look at Tomorrow." One of the choices for the independent read was <em>Second Foundation</em>, and I was consumed by the story of a group of mentalists who were trying to rebuild the shattered remnants of a galactic empire. Naturally, that led me to read the first two books--and the subsequent four additional ones Asimov wrote before his death (not to mention the <em>Robot</em> and <em>Empire</em> books).<br><br>Every couple of years I go back and re-read the stories, partly because they are entertaining, enjoyable reads (you don't have to be a sci-fi fan to appreciate the storytelling, and Asimov never lets the sci get in the way of the fi), but partly because of their prescience. Asimov was not merely a sci-fi writer--he was knowledgeable in a great many fields (as his body of work demonstrates), and history was one of them.<br><br>In <em>Foundation</em>, we are introduced to Hari Seldon, a psychohistorian who has predicted the fall of the current 25,000-year-old empire and the subsequent 30,000 years of barbarism that will follow. To compact this into a mere 1,000 years, Seldon created a mathematical plan and established a settlement, the Foundation, on a remote planet of the empire's periphery. <br><br> covers the first 130-or-so years of this new world: how Seldon's plan predicts the challenges facing this fledgling outpost and how the people in charge kept the course of history from deviating from the Plan. What's more important, however, is what lies beneath the storyline: a not-so-subtle commentary on mankind's myopic method of going through life.
<br/><br/>
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/list/5259678-dave-hanna">View all my reviews</a>

Killing Time

Don't you just hate it when you spend your time promoting something than doing the opposite? Yes, I know the term for that is hypocrisy, but that's a little extreme in this instance. You see, in the past I have extolled the virtues of running/jogging (for those of us who enjoy doing so) just for the sake of doing it, and not concerning ourselves with time, pace, or speed (unless, of course, you are training for a race). So what have I been doing since we moved to Florida?

You got it...I have been timing every run diligently, even pausing the stopwatch when I had to wait on a light. Monday I ran one of my short routes and was dismayed that my time was as slow as it was the first time I ran it. So yesterday I didn't run at all. Today, I did...sans watch. And it felt...liberating. It's amazing how much a little Timex strapped to the wrist can weight--psychologically speaking. Once again I jogged just for the sheer enjoyment of doing so...and, in so doing, I freed myself from the bonds of time. Isn't that what our escapes are supposed to do for us?

The Price of PETulance

Pets can be a wonderful source of comfort and companionship...at the same time, they can be vexing and annoying. Take our "junior" cat, Guy, for example. I call him the junior cat even though he is only about half a year younger than Booger because I adopted him about three years ago, when he was already three, as opposed to Booger, whom I adopted as a kitten.

About two years ago, I had to take Guy to the vet because he had a blockage in his colon, which was not allowing him to pass solids. In other words, he was royally constipated. After the vet 'cleaned him out," I put him on Metamucil for awhile, and he returned to normal. Well, as luck would have it, the same issue arose this week, and again I had to take him to the vet (a new one, here in Florida) for yet another "cleaning." This time, I was told, Guy had a somewhat unusual colon, and I would have to keep him on special food plus the Metamucil for the rest of his life. (I will admit, sheepishly, that I did consider the possibility of putting him down. Thank God my wife, who is no lover of cats, didn't even consider that as an option.)

So Guy is now home, in recovery mode, which consists of the special food plus me having to coerce him into taking drops orally twice a day, just to keep the plumbing working properly. I guess the point of this rambling is...how does one measure the ROI of pets? Can one? Even though Kendra is no fan of the cats, she did take this photo of Guy...I guess the ROI speaks for itself.

A Fond Farewell

As I sit here in an empty Social Studies classroom at Greenwood High School (empty because it is the prep period of the teacher for whom I am subbing), I have the chance to think back about the last six months of my life--the time period I have spent in this southern suburb of Indianapolis, sharing a small rented house with my wife of now one year and our dog and two cats.

It has been an interesting transitional period. Transitional because, as of this Saturday, we will be packing up what few belongings we have, along with tres animales, and heading out on our two-day drive to our new beginning in Stuart, Florida (that includes a Saturday night stay-over with my sister at her new home in Georgia). It didn't start out to be transitional--my wife, who just last year became the head of adult reference at Greenwood Public Library, figured we would have about three to four years here before we headed south. But a number of factors fell into place: 1) I couldn't find regular, full-time employment here; 2) her library became embroiled in some financial issues; and 3) the Florida job opened up and she applied, pretty much on a whim.

With the reality of our move finally settling completely in, I am excited (to say the least) about this adventure. After all, I have nothing binding me to this state. My mother passed away last October and is laid to rest with her parents; my sister is now in Georgia; my house in South Bend is safely rented to some friends who I know are taking good care of it; and, as I stated before, I have no job to leave (not that I have ever had trouble leaving a job in the past). Kendra, on the other hand, is dealing with a whole complex of mixed emotions: her family, whom she is very close to, are all in the area, and she has never lived more than three hours away; her friends are also all in this area (unlike mine, who are scattered all about the country); and she still likes her job and place of work, despite the recent challenges it has faced.

It has been a mostly good six months. I have discovered a lot of nice things about this area that I never knew when I lived on the northside and downtown Indy. Greenwood is a very friendly community with a lot of good people; it is easy to get around; and it has some great local places to shop and eat. One of its best features is its Community Center, a gathering place and no-frills gym that residents can join and have unlimited access to (during open hours, of course) for only $50 per year. I know I have gotten my money's worth out of the place, and the treadmills and weight machines have kept me from ballooning up over the winter months. The schools here are very good, too, as I have learned from subbing in them--great teachers, and the bulk of the students are serious about learning.

So as we close out this first chapter in our lives, I will look back fondly upon these few months; despite the few frustrations I've encountered, it has been a good ride. Thank you, Greenwood.

Cubic Footprints

Yesterday the movers came and, four-and-a-half hours later with 1,000+ cubic feet of our possessions, went. One-thousand-plus cubic feet. Who in their right mind owns 1,000+ cubic feet of stuff? We do, apparently, scattered over 157 items, including cardboard boxes, plastic storage bins, a recliner sofa (which counts as four, as the three backs are removable and were wrapped and inventoried individually), a gas grill (sans propane tank (empty), which we have to transport), various shepherd’s hooks (bound together, so I assume they count as one item), and a washer and dryer.

It doesn’t look like 1,000+ cubic feet when it is scattered over five rooms and a back porch. I didn’t measure it, so I have to assume the movers are being honest. All the initial quotes came in around 900-950, hence my trusting of the final tally. The load out was uneventful, with the two movers (from the Chicago area, on their way back from Kentucky) working quickly and efficiently. They took care to handle our boxes and bins carefully, and they wrapped all our furniture far better than we ever would (or could) have. About the only excitement came when Guy, one of the cats, managed to shift the weight of the attic ladder enough for him to come flying out of it and into the hallway. (We had put both cats up there to keep them (a) out of harm’s way, (b) out from underfoot, and (c) from escaping out one of the open doors. Guy enjoys the attic and will go up and down the stairs freely whenever I have them down. Booger, on the other hand, does not like the ladder and dislikes the attic even more. But I digress.)

Now we have an empty house. Empty except for two bag chairs, a small bag table, a 19-inch flat-screen TV, a DVR player (to stream Netflix), our modem, and an air mattress. Oh, and the dog and two cats, who keep wandering around the house wondering what in the hell happened to everything. We do also have the stove and refrigerator, which will stay, and the microwave, which will not. Five more nights of inhabiting the shell of our house, then early Saturday morning we load up our few remaining material items and our menagerie and begin the first leg of our trip, which will take us to my sister’s house in Georgia.

Moving Thoughts

When you move from town to town within a state, the packing phase of the move doesn’t seem to require too much effort. I have relocated within the state of Indiana more times than I care to remember—from address to address within the same city, and several times between cities. My method has pretty much been the same: go from room to room and cram whatever I can in as few boxes as necessary, tossing out what doesn’t fit, and get it from point A to point B as quickly and as cheaply as possible.

Our move to Florida, scheduled for next weekend, is an adventure far beyond anything I have ever experienced. For one thing, there are two of us moving our stuff—in the past it’s been just me (for the most part). Secondly, we are moving about 1,000 miles—the longest distance either of us has moved. Finally, we are using a professional moving company, which in turn brings about its own issues.

The first is preparation. When you move yourself, you can load the day you want and deliver the day you want. With moving companies, you are somewhat at their mercy when it comes to scheduling—to increase their efficiency (and minimize your cost), the moving company will offer you windows, both for picking up and dropping off. What this means, in our case, is that our stuff will be departing our current residence today and will arrive at our new habitat between Tuesday, March 13, and Thursday, March 15. Not only did we have to have everything packed efficiently and completely very quickly, we had to plan out what we will need, in terms of clothes and other supplies, for the next week, as we won’t be heading down to Florida until Saturday, March 10.

The second issue is convenience. On the plus side it is nice not to have to load and unload everything. Sure, we are packing and labeling everything ourselves, but the movers will do all the heavy lifting and, when they get to our new place, will put all of the boxes, bins, and furniture in the rooms designated for each. On the negative side, because we have to have everything prepped and picked up so far ahead of our actual departure date, we will be doing without most of our creature comforts for a week—including, but not limited to, our entire wardrobes, most of our kitchen appliances, our desktop computer, our TVs and other entertainment devices, and our washer and dryer. This means we will have to plan carefully the clothes we will need for the week—not only for work, but also for recreation and travel. Too few clothes and we’ll have to find someplace to wash them; too many and we’ll have to find someplace to squeeze them when we load our cars. It also means eating off paper plates and using plastic utensils—there is a plus to that, though, as I will have far fewer dishes to wash.

The third issue is cost. There are a lot of moving companies out there, and picking one is more difficult than you might think. Sure, you could try going by cost alone, but you’ll find out that, with some exceptions, most of the companies will come within a few hundred dollars of each other. Really, for me, it came down to a gut feeling—which of the movers did I feel, based on my communication with them, would do the best job for the best price. If you haven’t used a mover, you learn that the total cost of the move is based on weight and volume. If you are paying for the move yourself (as we are), you quickly realize just how much that stuff you have been holding onto since junior high is going to run you, and you have to take a really hard look at what you “need” and what you don’t. Both my wife and I have jettisoned a lot of items, including boxes and boxes (and boxes) of books and pretty much my entire CD collection (which I ripped to the hard drive of my computer first). We’ve also donated boxes and bags of holiday décor, general décor, old (mostly cold weather) clothing, and kitchen supplies to Goodwill—and we hope they can make some money off all of it. A lot of times I found myself wondering just why in the hell I still had all of my report cards from kindergarten through high school—then I realized my mom had gone to the effort of keeping them for me, so I had held on to them, too. Now that she is gone, it made it easier to let those go. I also had to come to the realization that, despite the fact that I was really proud, at one time, to have been the eighth grade intramural boys basketball champion at Thomas Jefferson Junior High School in Valparaiso, Indiana, I no longer needed to hang on to the round, flat ceramic trophy painted to resemble a basketball. Ditto with the various and sundry award certificates I received back then, as well as with hundreds of photographs from my college and post-college days that I hadn’t looked at in more than a decade.

Right now the movers are putting our stuff in their truck. Soon it will be on the road to who knows where. For us, it’s one week of “roughing it,” then Florida, here we come.

Phase 2, Stage 1

My bride and I are hanging out at Indianapolis International Airport, waiting for the flight to Midway that will connect us to our flight to Orlando. Better than having to go through the ATL, I guess. Damp and cool here in Indy...the temps were dropping all afternoon. Can't wait to get down to Florida. My cousin Dianna is already making plans to visit us early and often. Had a tasty roast beef sandwich at the Shapiro's here. TSA agents were friendly and unobtrusive--well, as unobtrusive as they can be. Body scanner...no biggie. I have had CAT Scans, MRIs, and X-rays that took far longer and were for more inconveniencing.

Our plane just arrived from somewhere. Looks like we'll be jetting to Chicago shortly.

New Adventure, Phase 2

This afternoon my bride and I will hop on a plane for Orlando via Chicago. Why airlines route flights from Indy through Chicago is beyond me, but hey, it's a pretty cheap flight, all things considered. At least the return flight is direct--but I'd rather get there faster and get back to Indiana indirectly. Our short (three night) trip is to scout out our new home area and find a house--or other dwelling--to rent, as my wife's new job starts in about three weeks.

Don't jump my case about renting versus buying--we have our reasons. The trick will be finding a place that will accept our menagerie: two cats (neutered, no front claws) and one mini schnauzer. I guess people in Florida don't have pets, because most of the places we have found (online) so far don't allow the little furballs.

So right now I am running through my mental checklist of the things that need be done before we depart. We're thankful my cousin, who lives and works on the northside, will drop us off and pick us up, saving us some ridiculously overpriced parking fees. We're happy the hotel we are staying at has a pool and tiki bar--my wife more for the former, me more for the latter.

Time to dig out the suitcase and trudge out to the storage barn to find my sandals and flip flops.

Change in the Whether

They--whoever "they" are--say change is inevitable, that change is good, that change promotes growth, that if you aren't changing, you are dying...and on and on and on. There is one thing that I have come to accept about change, though--you can either embrace it openly, roll with it complacently, or fight it vigorously. Depending on the type of change we are facing and when it occurs in our lives, we will likely do all three.

In my life, change has been, to cite another well-worn saying, constant. Not continuous, for continuous change comes known as chaos, but constant, meaning that it occurs with relative frequency. Take jobs, for instance. The longest I have ever worked in one place has been 10 years--and I had three different positions during that decade. Since then, my tenures have lasted one year, thee years, four years, six years, and three years (the last two running concurrently). Spaces in which I have inhabited? Far too many to mention; the longest (since leaving the family home) was five years on three separate occasions, the most recent of which was my home in South Bend. Relationships? Again, five years has been my max--thus far--although I am sure my bride of 11 months is planning on ending that streak.

So now, I stand at the brink of yet another change--one in which has been a long time coming for me, yet one that I didn't (directly, anyway) effect. For years now, I have wanted to get out of the Midwest and into warmer weather, specifically Florida. I began vacationing there regularly in the early 2000s and have yearned to relocate to its Gulf Coast ever since (never mind that I had a golden (and garnet) opportunity back in 1984). It just never seemed to be the right time, the right situation...the right something.

When Kendra and I got married last March, she knew it was my dream to become a Floridian--preferably before the magic age of 55, when I could move into most of the residential parks down there. So I have been applying and applying for jobs down there--all to no avail. My wonderful wife, despite the fact that she really, deep down, did not want to leave her family (much more tightly bound together than mine) or her job at her beloved library, did the same--and, as some comical twist of fate would have it, she landed a job down there, with the Martin County Library System, based in Stuart.

For those of you unfamiliar with Florida geography, Stuart is on the Atlantic side, along what they call the Treasure Coast. I've never been to that side of the state, but from the pictures I have seen, it looks every bit as delightful as the Gulf side. Next week, we make our first visit down there to scout out a place to live, as Kendra starts her job March 19. For me, it will mean setting up a new household and refocusing my job search in a new area.

(A bit of "credit where credit is due" here: I have to give Kendra a lot of it for making this leap of faith. Like I mentioned earlier, her family is far more close-knit than mine--we (at least, those in my generation) were always encouraged to spread our wings as widely as possible and fly as far as the currents would take us, whereas her family has tended to stick close to each other. This is a huge step for her, and I don't know if I will ever be able to express how much it means to me.)

So for the next few weeks, it will be getting moving quotes, changing utility companies, packing and purging, and--for Kendra, especially--saying some farewells. Change is change: you embrace it, roll with it, try to fight it, but in the end, it will have its way.