Savoring the Present: Unveiling the Lessons from James Joyce’s “The Lestrygonians”

Greetings, dear readers! Today I am restarting my analysis of Joyce’s Ulysses where I left off many moons ago. We’re halfway through the month of May and Bloomsday is fast approaching, so I’m once again embracing my favorite book.

Join me as we embark on a literary journey to explore the profound insights hidden within the chapter “The Lestrygonians.” While Joyce’s works are often considered dense and challenging, they offer remarkable perspectives that can inspire us to live more consciously, especially in our relationship with food and the present moment.

“The Lestrygonians” takes us through the bustling streets of Dublin as Leopold Bloom, the protagonist, seeks nourishment during his midday stroll. Amidst the vibrant descriptions and sensory overload, there are valuable lessons to be learned:

  1. Embracing the Art of Mindful Eating:
    Joyce’s vivid portrayal of Bloom’s lunchtime excursion reminds us of the importance of being fully present while enjoying our meals. In a world that often promotes mindless eating, “The Lestrygonians” encourages us to savor each bite, to indulge our senses, and to appreciate the flavors, textures, and aromas that dance on our palates. By practicing mindful eating, we cultivate a deeper connection with our nourishment, fostering gratitude and awareness of the present moment.
  2. Observing the Intertwined Lives of Others:
    As Bloom navigates the crowded streets, we witness glimpses into the lives of the diverse characters that populate Dublin. Joyce’s intricate descriptions remind us of the interconnectedness of humanity. “The Lestrygonians” encourages us to become more observant of the world around us, to acknowledge the stories of others, and to appreciate the richness that emerges when we embrace the tapestry of human existence. In doing so, we foster compassion, empathy, and a greater understanding of our place within the grand scheme of life.
  3. Seeking Beauty in the Ordinary:
    Joyce’s mastery lies in his ability to find beauty in the most ordinary moments. Through “The Lestrygonians,” we are reminded to see the extraordinary within the seemingly mundane aspects of our daily lives. As Bloom contemplates the simplest details—a sandwich, a passing tram, or a stream of conversation—we are prompted to open our eyes to the beauty that surrounds us, to find joy in the small pleasures, and to appreciate the significance of the present moment.
  4. Honoring the Journey, Not Just the Destination:
    “The Lestrygonians” invites us to slow down, to embrace the journey rather than rushing towards a final destination. As Bloom leisurely meanders through the city, the chapter encourages us to adopt a similar mindset in our own lives. By savoring each step, each interaction, and each experience, we cultivate a deeper appreciation for the richness of our existence. Life is a collection of moments, and “The Lestrygonians” reminds us to relish each one, finding meaning and fulfillment in the present.

Incorporating these insights from Joyce’s “The Lestrygonians” into our daily lives can help us foster a more mindful and fulfilling lifestyle. Let us become aware of the food we consume, connect with the stories and experiences of those around us, seek beauty in the ordinary, and embrace the journey of life itself.

Remember, our existence is a tapestry woven with countless threads, each representing a unique moment in time. By consciously weaving those threads together, we create a life that is rich, meaningful, and deeply fulfilling.

Wishing you a journey filled with mindful exploration, conscious connections, and an appreciation for the wonders of the present moment.

Boldly going, occasionally delusional.

-Troy

Energize your morning: The power of a simple body weight workout

Greetings, fellow adventurers,

Today, I want to share with you the transformative power of starting your day with a simple, body weight workout. As our lives become increasingly fast-paced, it’s crucial to find ways to nourish our minds and bodies, setting a positive tone for the day ahead. Engaging in a morning workout routine can be a game-changer, and here’s why.

  1. Amplified Energy Levels:
    By kickstarting your day with a body weight workout, you ignite a surge of energy that will fuel you throughout the day. Exercise stimulates the production of endorphins, the body’s natural mood boosters, leaving you feeling invigorated, focused, and ready to tackle whatever lies ahead.
  2. Enhanced Mental Clarity:
    The benefits of exercise extend far beyond physical well-being. Engaging in a morning workout routine can help clear the mental fog and sharpen your focus. By activating both your mind and body, you stimulate blood flow and oxygenate your brain, enhancing cognitive function and mental clarity for the tasks that await you.
  3. Improved Physical Strength and Flexibility:
    Regular body weight workouts build strength and flexibility over time. By incorporating exercises that target different muscle groups, you develop a strong foundation and improve your overall fitness. This newfound strength not only enhances your performance in other activities, such as distance running, rock climbing, or mountain biking, but also supports your everyday movements, promoting better posture and reducing the risk of injury.
  4. Time Efficiency:
    One of the beautiful aspects of body weight workouts is their simplicity and accessibility. You can perform them in the comfort of your own home, in a hotel room while traveling, or even outdoors amidst nature. These workouts require little to no equipment, making them a time-efficient solution for those with busy schedules. Just a few minutes each morning can make a significant difference in your overall well-being.
  5. Mental Resilience and Discipline:
    Committing to a regular morning workout routine fosters mental resilience and discipline. Starting your day with intentional physical activity instills a sense of accomplishment and sets a positive tone for the rest of your day. By overcoming the initial resistance and showing up for yourself, you cultivate a mindset of determination and perseverance that can carry over into all aspects of your life.

So, fellow adventurers, I encourage you to carve out a few moments each morning to invest in your well-being through a simple body weight workout. Embrace the power of movement, harness the benefits of increased energy, mental clarity, strength, and flexibility. You deserve to start your day on your own terms, primed to make the most of every adventure that comes your way.

Wishing you strength, vitality, and an abundance of adventure.

Going boldly, occasionally delusional

-Troy

Finding Balance: Returning to the Zen and Active Lifestyle Blog

It has been far too long since my last post, and I wanted to take a moment to extend my sincerest apologies for the hiatus. Life has a way of keeping us on our toes, and lately, the demands of work and personal commitments have consumed much of my time. However, I am thrilled to announce that I am back and more motivated than ever to share my adventures, experiences, and insights with all of you.

When I initially began this journey as a travel blogger, little did I know that it would evolve into something even more meaningful. Along the way, I discovered a passion for a zen and active lifestyle—an embodiment of the balance between mind, body, and spirit. From distance running and rock climbing to mountain biking and delving into the world of home improvement, I have immersed myself in a diverse range of activities that have enhanced my well-being.

Life, with all its twists and turns, often reminds us of the importance of prioritization and self-care. It has taken some time to find equilibrium amidst the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Nonetheless, this period of reflection and introspection has reaffirmed my commitment to this blog and the incredible community that has formed around it.

So, from this point forward, expect regular updates once again! I am eager to delve into the world of captivating trails, reach new heights on breathtaking cliffs, pedal my way through stunning landscapes, and transform my living spaces into sanctuaries of tranquility. Together, we will explore the intersections of adventure, mindfulness, and personal growth, finding inspiration in the simple joys of life.

Thank you for your patience and understanding during my absence. Your steadfast presence has reminded me of the significance of sharing these experiences, and I am excited to embark on this journey with you once again. Let’s reconnect, rediscover, and reinvigorate our passion for living a zen and active lifestyle.

Stay tuned for the upcoming posts, where we’ll dive into thrilling tales, insightful reflections, and practical tips that will inspire you to embrace your own path of balance, wellness, and adventure.

Boldly going, occasionally delusional: Quixote Goes

-Troy

The Value of Being Neighborly

I’m a day late and a dollar short on this blog. This year, I intended to spend time on the weekends and post each Monday. We’re still in January and I’m already posting a day late. I’m not exactly a dollar short though – I’m actually up a few dollars, unintentionally. Let’s dig in – or rather – out.

We’ve had some snow here in central Ohio. I love the snow. I embrace it and the cold of winter. I could handle longer daylight hours in the winter months, but I’ve largely found that the more I embrace the winter as it comes, the more I get out of it. A few years ago, I noticed my better half was increasing her distaste for winter weather. As such, I started scheduling time for us to go out into the winter weather while appropriately dressed for the conditions. What’s that saying? “There’s no such thing as bad weather, merely bad preparation.” Something like that. I’m happy to report, dear reader, that my diabolical plan worked. I wouldn’t say that my wife Melanie embraces the cold and snow like I do – yet – however, she has found a joy for downhill skiing and figures out how we can make time for it.

Snow and cold don’t work for everyone though. The slippery conditions can be hazardous to the less mobile and arthritic joints don’t love the colder temps. So I recognize that my embrace of winter is not the same for everyone at all stages of life. Last night, I saw a couple of neighbors post on our neighborhood Facebook group that they needed help shoveling their driveways. After I took care of my chores at home, I had time to either write a Monday blog post, or help my neighbors. I chose the latter.

I reached out per the message’s instructions and confirmed that no one else had agreed to help. After all, I don’t want to get in the way of some industrious middle- or high-schooler looking to make some valuable spending money. After confirming that my neighbors did not have any scheduled helpers, I told them I was coming to take care of their driveway. They immediately asked about payment. “No charge,” I simply replied. They politely protested. “I must pay you something.” “It is too late for you, don’t come in the dark.” I smiled and walked down with my snow shovel and quietly got started. I was already dressed in my cold weather gear from walking our dogs, so I was honestly enjoying my time out.

Two-thirds of the way through the job, the garage door opened. A venerable Indian man walked out to greet me with cash in hand. I politely protested, “I just want to be a good neighbor.” “Please,” he replied. “I won’t sleep if you don’t let me pay you for your efforts.” Now that I’m a bit older and marginally wiser, I handled this situation with a touch of poise. Younger Troy would have not taken the money and perhaps said something that took away from the dignity of the situation. Instead, I deferred and took the money. I don’t need the money, nor do I want it. However, not taking it would have made the other person feel indebted or obliged – also not what I wanted. So, I ended up getting my target step count per my fitness tracker, I helped a neighbor in need, I got some joyful time in the snow, and I earned a few unintended bucks. Well worth a late blog post!

Now the question is what to do with the money. I’ve put it in my sock drawer for now and plan to use it as ‘seed money’ to do something else positive for the neighborhood. Maybe if I shovel enough driveways this winter, I can buy some extra flowers for the flower bed at the entrance of our neighborhood in the Spring. It will be a fun, neighborly experiment!

Exploring Appalachia: Going Back

Last week’s post marked the relaunch of this once-travel-turned-reflective-inner-journey blog. This year, I plan to pick up on two main threads: 1.) Exploring Appalachia, which serves as the familial roots for my wife and me, and 2.) Completing my exploration of Ulysses by James Joyce. This post kicks off the exploration of Appalachia, as the title suggests.

Last year, my wife and I bought a modest vacation home in Fayetteville, West Virginia. But the story leading up to it is worth telling, even if briefly. Prior to Fayetteville, we had been saving for a vacation home and in 2019 met with a realtor in Barcelona, Spain. We had traveled to Barcelona a couple of times a year for five years in a row and we wanted to take advantage of low home prices in our favorite place on earth. We attempted to navigate the buying process there, but it didn’t work out because of the requirements for foreign buyers. Now 2 years into the Coronavirus pandemic, that failure was a blessing. We would have been paying for a house we largely couldn’t use.

Fast forward to Fayetteville. Within driving distance of our home Columbus, Ohio, we visited the New River Gorge area a few of times during the pandemic for the extensive outdoor sports: rock climbing, trail running, white water rafting to name a few. We fell in love with the charm of the town and the world-class sporting opportunities. This was prior to the national park designation in late 2020 and at that time, home prices were within our vacation home budget. Sitting on our savings that was making essentially no interest, we decided to make a splash.

The home buying process was arduous, we were well-qualified buyers but our local bank told us to “go find another lender” because they couldn’t handle their current business load. We had to wait on the regional appraiser to make the 100-mile trek to Fayetteville. The home inspection found a litany of problems that needed to be negotiated. We finally closed after four months of seemingly endless back and forth. Now we could begin renovating our humble house that was in dire need of attention, but that story is for another day.

As part of our purchase and temporary move to Fayetteville to renovate the house, my wife Melanie and I extensively discussed “going back” to Appalachia. We were both raised in Scioto County, Ohio, an economically depressed county with localized small towns along the Ohio River in the foothills of Appalachia. There were many things that felt like home, from the ultra-local news coverage on Huntington-based WSAZ to the difficulty in finding a reliable plumber. Melanie and I had worked so hard to move to a major metropolitan area away from the Appalachian attitudes of our upbringing, and now we’ve made a major investment in Southern West Virginia. What were we thinking?!?

Fast forward a year and we both agree that buying the Fayetteville house was perhaps our best decision as a couple. We love the area for the outdoor opportunities, but even more importantly, we have met so many amazing people with their own fascinating stories. Rather than being pulled back into some of the negativity that can mark small town life, we have been utterly uplifted by small business owners, fellow outdoorsy people, and exceptionally talented craftspeople who highlight the area. As younger people searching for greener grass, we once thought that Appalachia was backward and was best viewed from the rear view mirror. But here we are embracing it anew and happily exploring Appalachia.

Crossroads: Should I Stay or Should I Go?

I was just about to close the shudders on this blog and take it all down. WordPress informed me via email that my credit card on file had expired and that I needed to update it in order for my annual subscription to be renewed. I thought, “meh.” I haven’t had the time – or the travels – to write anything new in quite some time. So I simply didn’t act. A couple of months went by with no action from me and then I received the renewal receipt. WordPress figured out how to renew with my card on file. So now I’m thinking, “Let’s get back on the wagon.”

I originally started this blog with the intent to share our travels. For about 7 years, my wife and I were road warriors, constantly taking in new locations across the US and Europe with our eyes on the horizon for new destinations in Latin America, Scandinavia, and potentially Asia. However, a couple of things happened that slowed our roll.

First, my Dad passed away, very early in life by today’s standards. As I let his mortality sink in, writing a travel blog just felt a bit lofty. “It doesn’t really matter,” I thought. “Very few people will read or benefit from my writing.” I ended up writing about a more personal journey rather than staying focused on travel. The title still worked though. Quixote Goes: Boldly going, occasionally delusional. Rather than traipsing around countries where I didn’t speak the native language and relying on the hospitality of strangers, I was still on a journey though life and finding my way through this world.

The next big thing that hit the idea of a travel blog was Covid-19. We all know the deal. Travel was quashed, countries closed their borders, states rated each other on infection rates, political affiliates hurled missiles across the aisle. I think there is pent up demand for travel, but the proverbial Genie has been let out of the bottle. Things won’t be the same for some time.

Alas, I’ve now paid for another year of this blog, so I might as well use it. So here we go. Post one of the new year. This year, I plan to further the journey. I want to continue exploring the idea of life’s journey. Given that my wife and I both hail from Appalachia but have our lives rooted outside the region in a work-life that is notably Northeastern, I think there are tales to be told. Still boldly going, still occasionally delusional.

Saying Goodbye to My Best Friend

For the past 11 years, I have had the honor of sharing a household with the most amazing dog. He didn’t leap tall buildings in a single bound or learn to speak Portuguese in a weekend or anything like that, although he was hands down the most athletic dog I’ve had in my 45 years of dog ownership. However, what made Rusty special among the many dogs I’ve owned and met was his startling ability to read the human situation.

Rusty saw our family through divorce, new love, marriage, blending households, death of friends and family members, work layoffs, illnesses, graduations, and – up until this weekend – an unprecedented lockdown due to a global pandemic. It is not hyperbole to say that he knew what you needed. He could read a face better than most humans I’ve met. He knew when we needed love sometimes before we did.

On Thursday evening of this week, Rusty went to jump onto our bed and he seemed a bit stiff. No big deal I thought. He’s eleven. On Friday, he stiffened up a bit more; Hopping on his back legs rather than trotting. Again, I’ve seen this before. A few years ago, he had a tight back for a few days. He came out of it in less than a week and was back to his full athletic prowess. I called the vet and told them the situation. With his reduced mobility and the lockdown, they agreed to prescribe the same meds as the last time. This time, things would not fare so well.

By late Friday afternoon, Rusty was hobbling. It was as bad as things had gotten the last time. Something felt wrong, but he was still moving, eating and drinking. I sat with him until 10 PM. He was stable, so I went to bed. At about 1 AM, I woke up to thumps and dragging noises. I rushed downstairs to find that Rusty had gone to the bathroom on the floor and was nervously dragging his back half around the room. He was panicked, looking to me for help. It was heartbreaking. I stayed up with him the rest of the night and carried him outside every couple of hours, petting him to keep him still in between. He had lost control of his bladder and bowels. I knew it was dire. Before the vet opened, I put him in the truck and we took him for his last car ride.

It took the vet about an hour and a half to call me and tell me what I already knew. My old friend wasn’t going to make it. I’m crying as I write this. The vet’s best guess is that he had a spinal blood clot that caused the shockingly fast paralysis.

Like me, Rusty was a runner. Actually, Rusty was a real runner and I’m just a plodding middle-aged trotter. I have plenty of videos of him running happily in the dog park. Just this past weekend, we were on a trail run with an old friend and his dog. I’ve never seen Rusty happier. The trail was full of mud and standing water. He and I were filthy by the end. His post-run glow and doggie smile were perfect. He came home and got an unwanted shower. He was a boy’s dog all the way. As I replay these memories in my mind, it is difficult for me to resolve that he’s gone.

The thing with dogs is that they touch us so completely but are comparatively short-lived. Our co-existence sets us up for this agony. I always knew he wouldn’t live forever. But with Rusty, he sort of made you forget about that. He retained his youthful exuberance up until his final 24 hours. I guess from that perspective we were lucky to have such incredible healthy and loving companion for 11 straight years. It still hurts.

Rest easy old friend. We love you.

Separated by Ideology

Earlier this week, I went for a run with a dear friend of more than 30 years. It was special. He’s a better runner than me by magnitudes, but he slowed down to my hobbling pace for a nice 6 mile run in a beautiful state park as we discussed life After COVID-19 (AC). We’re both introverts, so we mused that life AC hasn’t changed too terribly much for either of us personally. We had a thoughtful discussion about our direct experiences thus far. He is a paramedic, so to say that he’s on the front line of this thing is an understatement. I work in corporate America with access to some very good economic reporting, so I was able to bring that perspective. It wasn’t long into our run before our attention turned to some of the conspiracy theories about the virus.

“They’re saying that this thing was developed in a Chinese lab and was released just in time for the US election.” “I also heard Bill Gates had the patent on the vaccine.” “Oh, and let’s make sure we talk about the chemical trails, the 5G Network, and how wearing a mask is a form of government control.” We chuckled them off. Not because we have direct knowledge that they are false or that it wouldn’t be more dramatic to believe that there is something bigger going on. Rather, our experiences and our education have taught us to see the world through Occam’s Razor. Boiled down into my own terms, Occam’s Razor is the axiom that in the absence of direct knowledge, the least complicated explanation is generally the best. Applying Occam’s Razor means that this COVID-19 is a natural occurring phenomenon and our best way to deal with it is to follow expert advice on social distancing and wearing masks until we can sort out a vaccine. I know… Boring. The best things in life usually are.

Unfortunately, I haven’t experienced the same thoughtful dialogue or boring conclusion from other loved ones. I see old friends or family sharing conspiracy videos and taking a very real stance on calling COVID-19 a hoax designed to further enrich the ultra-wealthy or influence the US election. Wearing a mask has become a question of personal freedom. Protest signs reading, “My body, my choice. End the lock-down now” pock mark the lawns of US state capitals. This thing seems to have tipped into a special kind of lunacy where people are risking their own lives or the lives of their loved ones to prove a political point. But why?

Looking Back at Historical Health Calamities

For clues, I looked back at the bubonic plague. The plague killed roughly one third of medieval Europe’s population. Until it was well understood that it was being spread by fleas from rats to humans, the plague was a similar invisible enemy. Thanks to reasonably good record-keeping from the era, we know that society reacted in all sorts of kooky ways. The following excerpt offers up just a few of the popular preventive measures for the plague.

Fires were a popular method of warding off miasmas [corrupted airs believed to cause the plague]. They were burned at street corners; even the pope sat between two large fires. People were urged to burn aromatic woods, but other scents would do as well, including rosemary, amber, musk and fragrant flowers. When they walked, people took their scents with them, carrying packets of herbs. Some plague-proofed their homes by putting glazes over the southern windows to block the polluted southern wind. People were advised not to eat meat or figs and to avoid activities that would open the pores to a miasma, including bathing, exercising and physical intimacy. Stranger recommendations circulated as well, including not sleeping during the daytime and avoiding sad thoughts about death and disease.

excerpt from How The Black Death Worked by Molly Edmonds

OK, you might be thinking. Avoiding eating figs or not taking a bath are very personal decisions. They’re not conspiratorial – unless maybe you’re a medieval fig farmer or a soap manufacturer. Rest assured dear reader, that medieval Europe was not safe from conspiracy theories either.

In the 14th century, when the plague ravaged Europe, nobody knew how the illness had originated. Soon after, unfounded rumors surfaced that Jews caused the outbreak by poisoning wells in a bid to control the world. Jewish people were accused of being behind the plague — and were subjected to deadly pogroms and forcefully displaced. 

excerpt from Coronavirus and the plague: The disease of viral conspiracy theories by Christopher Nehring

The same is true for the more recent Spanish Flu, which Nehring writes was believed to be developed by Germans as a weapon after WWI.

Introspection

I find it both fascinating and frustrating that our human response to calamity is – for some – to assume others have set it in motion. When we should be pulling together to solve a common problem, some portion of us dream up dark schemes assigned to others and posit them as truths, which catch on and cost even more lives. What drives this abhorrent behavior? Perhaps an inward view will offer more clues.

I recall back to my younger days when I was more willing and even eager to buy into conspiracies. The difference between the younger me and the current model is a question of power. 20 years ago, I worked in small factories for a low salary and I had no say in how my company, my neighborhood, my favorite sports teams – anything – ran. I also had a lot more time to sit and stew about not having any power. On the lower rungs of the societal pecking order, it was tempting to think that the cards were stacked against me. Or even better, there are puppet masters pillaging the world for their personal gain and keeping it all to themselves. Now I had, if not an individual person, a group of people that I could direct my dissatisfaction for my lowly station. The man was holding me down.

The Truth is Usually Quite Boring

As I have gotten older, become better educated and furthered my career, I’ve begun to get access to power. Not real power like the 1% or the 0.1%, but some marginal levels of financial stability and the ability to have some influence in my various organizations. I’m learning the downright boring machinations of how the organizations work. I see clearly that I was never being held down. What was holding me down was my own ideology borne out of my dissatisfaction with the current state of my life. I wanted more. More stuff, more money, more importance, more say in how things went. In short, I wanted more power. Because I didn’t perceive that I had enough power, I looked for dramatic and sinister stories about the world around me to keep pushing the dopamine button. The man was holding me down. He was. His name was Troy.

Perhaps it isn’t fair of me to project my youthful feelings of powerlessness onto others. Perhaps they have firsthand knowledge that brings real credibility to these alternative positions. But generally speaking, the conspiratorial arguments fall apart quickly. When asked for more proof than some slick social media video or report from a alternative news source, there isn’t anything other than a fervent willingness to believe in the malicious motivations of others.

What to Do About Those We Love

Now that I have written this post, I find hope in navigating this tricky space. I was once a brooding soul weary of the man holding me down. Now that I’ve come through that portion of my life, I hold on to hope that my loved ones will too. If I’m honest, I have not reacted well. I’ve become frustrated and harbored sharp-witted thoughts in response to the conspiracy purveyors in my circle of loved ones. But sarcasm and sharp wit aren’t the answer. It only leads to entrenchment because there’s always a counter-argument. I think the best thing to do is focus on safety. As long as a loved one is taking care of themselves, let them believe and post and share what they want. Perhaps it will run its course. On the other hand if our loved ones are not being safe, we must speak up. We must encourage them to follow clearly documented health guidelines. Then we will have done what we can.

Wishing you well in these challenging times.

– Troy

Don’t Call it a Comeback

… I’ve been here for years…

LL Cool J

If you know that song, you’re welcome. It should be running through your head for the next 40 minutes or so. If not, I think it’s worth looking up. But music, like many creative endeavors, is a personal thing.

Speaking of creative endeavors, this blog had to take a back seat for a while. The primary reason is that I ran out of time and energy. In the second half of last year, I doubled the size of my team at work, which meant a lot of hours interviewing, which then turned into a lot of hours training and making sure we had the right culture. There were additional things – I broke my thumb and, ahem, required surgery (that’s a hoot of a story), my lovely better half finished up her Masters in Psychology, we had to stop traveling for some Lord Voldemort-ish thing called COVID-19, and so on. But there’s time to tell these stories.

As such, my wife and I will be restarting this blog. Obviously, this can’t be a travel blog these days. So the theme will be more about life in general. But even on the road of life, we’re still boldly going, and we’re (mostly me) still occasionally delusional.

Stay safe out there!

-Troy

I Have Become my Middle School Assistant Assistant Principal

First, let me get it out of the way in saying that I have the utmost respect for Mr. (Matt?) Mitchell and in this piece I mean him no harm. If there is any “shade” being thrown here it is all internally focused. You, dear reader, will also note that I am unsure of Mr. Mitchell’s first name. These are recollections from more than 30 years ago. All the more interesting that I have now become my Middle School Assistant Assistant Principle some 30 years on.

I have talked about Scioto County before; my birthplace in the Appalachian foothills in the Ohio River Valley. I love my home, so it is with perfect clarity that I see it for what it is: steeped in tradition, conservative, protestant, hard-working but not ambitious, provincial, suspicious of outsiders, rural, local, and individualistic. With two feet in the Midwest, but leaning hard to the American South, our people put practicality about 30 feet higher on the priority list than presentation.

My wife and I noted this on our last trip to Europe in which we sailed up and down the Douro River in Portugal. Even Europe’s squalor is classy. Old homes lay in ruin along the Douro, but all that is left is the timeless stonework. It looks like a Led Zeppelin album cover, mystical and legendary. No plastic flapping in the wind, no garbage strewn about. That cruise could never happen on the mighty Ohio River. Both the Douro and the Ohio are working rivers, but the scenery is not comparable. On the Ohio, manufactured homes with blue tarp serving as replacement shingles and plastic flapping from windows mar the otherwise picturesque greenery. I have digressed.

However, this practicality-over-presentation is exactly the point I want to illustrate. Mr. Mitchell held the position of Assistant Assistant Principal. Yes I know that sounds weird. This was the time when corporal punishment was still common in public schools. I am pretty sure that Assistant Assistant Principal was the school’s way of not calling Mr. Mitchell the “Corporal Punisher.” Mr. Mitchell was a HUGE man. A former football player, it was clear that he lived for the former glory. He was a coach on the all-important middle school football team. The only thing more important in the community than this team was the high school football team. Mr. Mitchell dressed like a coach. Every day. Polyester coach’s pants, white socks, all black training shoes that could be used for refereeing, coaching, or – in many cases around Scioto County – comfortable office shoes. On hot days, he would swap out the coach’s pants for coach’s shorts: same polyester cut with double snaps at the waist, just cut above the knee to display calf muscles that could (and probably did) move automobiles.

As I dressed for work this morning, I slipped into my pro-golfer branded “Traveling Pants.” It was my wife and better half who pointed out that these are essentially the same as the 1980’s polyester coach’s pants. And yes of course, to help protect my feet from the day-to-day pounding I give them while running, climbing, biking, etc. I have paired my Traveling Pants with all black trainers. I don’t wear my all-black athletic shoes all day at the office, but I wear them to- and from- the office for comfort and to protect my office shoes from the often harsh Ohio elements. Practical. So this morning, I paused in front of the full length mirror to offer one last check before heading out the door and confirmed it. I have become my middle school Assistant Assistant Principal, only much less imposing.