Who Knew Sharp Metal Objects, Raw Meat and Boiling Oil at Your Table Could Actually Be a Good Idea?

I took Danelle to one of our favorite restaurants for her birthday tonight, The Melting Pot. Her mom was nice enough to watch the kids, who are still young enough to enjoy sleepovers at Nana's house.

The first time I ever went to a fondue restaurant was our first anniversary almost 16 years ago. When Danelle suggested it my response was, "Sounds good. Where are we going to eat afterwards?" I had no idea that sort of meal could actually be filling and satisfying, but all those little pieces of meat actually do add up to something substantive.

Then after we had kids we grew to appreciate another aspect of a fondue dinner -- how "adult" it is. And I don't mean that in a Skinemax way. The multiple courses, the liesurely pace as you cook your own food, the complete absence of crayons. It's nice to have a meal out that's not a race to see what gets to the table first -- tears, pee or the check.

They had an incredible salad that we always ordered that was essentially just a big plate of mushrooms and a sprinkling of lettuce with a special garlic & wine seasoning. It was taken off the menu, but they'll still make it when ordered. I love outstanding service to long-time customers like that.

Danelle got a little When Harry Met Sally with dessert tonight and asked to substitute dark chocolate for milk chocolate. Dark chocolate always make me thing of this kid I took Home Economics with in 8th grade, Billy Rivers. Dark chocolate made him sick, and he hated Home Ec. So on days he really didn't want to be there he'd bring one of those little Hershey's dark chocolate miniatures, eat it right at the start of class, puke a few minutes later and get sent to the nurse. And lucky me got to sit at his table.

Fortunately there was no puking tonight, though I think we were both stuffed enough to want to. Just a nice meal and good conversation with the woman I love, and nary a bendy straw in sight.

When They Invent a Rice Cake That Tastes Like a Whopper, I'll Probably Be First in Line

I just got back from my physical, which went pretty well with a couple of exceptions. One was the nurse practitioner making quite a production of putting some KY and a pair of surgical gloves out for the doctor, and the other was my cholesterol being a little high.

I first got my cholesterol checked a couple of years ago, and was pretty upset to learn that it was 222. This put me squarely in the "borderline-high risk" category. Compounded with my dad's history of heart problems that eventually led to his early death, I was a little freaked out.

I'm pretty physically active and I don't smoke, so the area where I could most effect a positive change was clearly diet. And there was an easy target within my regular diet -- fast food. I went cold turkey with it and got my cholesterol down into the "desirable" zone at 191 just a few months later.

I've definitely backslid in the ensuing two years to the point where I probably have a fast-food meal two or three times a week, and now my cholesterol is back up to 209. My LDL or "bad" cholesterol level is 136, another "borderline high" number and "a better gauge of risk than total blood cholesterol" according to the American Heart Association.

My doctor said she'd like to see me try and correct this on my own over the next couple of years, then consider medication once I turn 40 if my numbers aren't where they should be. There are probably genetic factors involved that may make this something I can't do on my own. But the real question now is how much am I willing to try?

I know fast food is horrible for you. I saw Super Size Me, which probably would have been more effective if Spurlock hadn't taken his fast-food eating to unrealistically excessive levels. His point became dangerously easy to dismiss when he was doing things like eating multiple entrees at one sitting. But even setting portion control aside, I don't think anyone would argue that a McGriddle and a Coke is as healthy a breakfast as a bowl of high-fiber cereal in fat-free milk with a glass of pomegranate juice.

It comes down to a classic struggle -- sacrificing short-term and direct benefits for long-term, indirect ones. Fast food is convenient, cheap and generally tasty (curse you, MSG!). The benefits of eating healthy are things you may or may not end up getting, and that will also be influenced by a lot of other factors -- better overall health, higher quality of life, longer life and so on. And your stereotypical "healthy" food like a salad can't easily be eaten while driving, is likely to be more expensive than a burger and doesn't excite basic taste sensations like salty, sweet and umami (don't feel bad clicking the link; I had to look that last one up, too).

We face these kind of questions all the time in our lives. Should I play outside and get some fresh air and exercise or just watch another music video? Should I study for that exam that might help me raise my overall GPA to where I get that interview for that great job in a few years, or should I just go to that frat party and get tanked? Should I stay late to finish up that project at work that might help me get a raise and promotion someday, or should I just go home and watch the big game?

Long-term benefits may be harder to quantify, harder to get and feel a lot less in my control. But when I take the time to really think about them, I generally realize they're much more worth having. Is eating that BK Stacker worth the risk of not being around to bounce my grandchildren on my knee? No contest. I just don't often take the time to think about things in those terms, and I don't think I'm unique in that regard.

So I'll try to say good-bye again to Guacamole Bacon Burgers and Spicy Chicken Sandwiches. Sure, I could get hit by a bus and all the sound diet and exercise choices won't matter. But however I eventually go out, I'd like to believe I was mature enough to make sensible choices and set a good example for my kids along the way.

Besides, if I didn't believe in doing things with no direct short-term benefits I probably wouldn't be blogging.

Herman Gulch Trail/Mt. Machebeuf, Part II

As I alluded to yesterday, just hiking up to Herman Lake and back on the Herman Gulch Trail wasn't enough for me. So I decided to make a slight detour and summit Mt. Machebeuf on my return. This ascent looked pretty manageable -- nice saddle, gradual incline, smooth terrain. Piece of cake.

Cute little pika. He must have had a nice set of tunnels under the snow, because he'd disappear and then pop up again on another set of rocks.

The view to the north from the saddle, I believe with Hassell Lake just visible.

Unexpected snippets of trail would appear, then end after just a few yards. Tantalizing little roads to nowhere. I ended up just making my own switchbacks going up the smaller mound in front of the summit.

Trouble in the distance, with a capital "T" and that rhymes with "P" and that stands for "precipitation." A cold wind was blowing it right in my direction, too. Good thing I got my new windbreaker last week. It was doing me a lot of good hanging in my closet, too.

The north side of the ridge.

A more persistent trail appeared for the final push to the summit.

The last stretch was pretty steep and rocky, but clearly defined.

The precipitation arrived in the form of hail. The tiny pieces hissed and popped like radio static as they melted on my shirt.

The summit I'd been aiming for turned out, of course, to be a false summit. Fortunately the real one wasn't far off.

I looked for the USGS stamp when I got there, but couldn't find it. And it was too freaking cold to spend a lot of time searching.

I did take the time to enjoy the view to the northeast, though.

The descent proved to be much quicker. I just yelled "As you wish!" and hurled myself down the embankment.

Because I'm a glutton for punishment, here's another wildflower I can't definitively identify. Purple fringe?

The descent actually wasn't that fast at all. I needed to be pretty careful on the steep slope. This is the dizzying view about halfway down.

This climber apparently didn't make it.

The view back up what I'd just scrambled down. I was nuts to even consider climbing UP this way earlier.

Five hours up and down, with nowhere near enough water and just an Odwalla bar for food. The quart of Gatorade I picked up in Georgetown thankfully took care of my dehydration. Next time I think about extending a hike, I need to be sure I've got plenty to drink and appropriate attire. Sort of like going to a wedding reception.

Herman Gulch Trail/Mt. Machebeuf, Part I

What seemed like it would be a nice little hike on Herman Gulch Trail turned into something more. Too much more to fit in one blog, so I'll give you the first set of pics today and the next tomorrow.
Second straight week with a steep start to the trail. This one was pretty rocky, too.
Beetle kill again marked the hike's early stages, but again it dropped significantly the farther away from the highway I got. I wondered if proximity to development was a factor before. What about things like vehicle emissions or noise?
The noise from the highway was eventually drowned out by this roaring stream.
Looking back south at Mt. Sniktau on the other side of I-70.
A lot of great wildflowers again, and I still can't identify them to save my life. This one is...um...purple. Parry Primrose, maybe?
My wildflower disease is also infecting my butterfly identification. No idea what this guy on the dandelion is. I'll ask Mike Fisher, who was so helpful with the ones from last week. UPDATE: Mike came through again. I sent him the photo and he says it's either the Veined-White or Forest White (Pieris marginalis). Everybody should have a butterfly specialist on call!
I almost broke from the trail to head up this slope just because it looked intriguing. That itch would eventually become something I just had to scratch later. (Editor's Note: Foreshadowing is a sign of quality entertainment.)
Token wildlife sighting -- a friendly Gray Jay. Danelle and I learned on our safari to Africa back in 2000 that you might not see a hippo or a lion every time, but if you appreciate the birds you'll never be disappointed.
Blue flax? Spiderwort? I desperately need a Mike Fisher for wildflowers...
I'm fairly confident this is a Globe Flower.
There was still quite a bit of snow on the top half of the trail. Fortunately there were also a lot of footprints to make it fairly easy to stay on course.
Lots of Forget-me-nots at the higher elevations.
Herman Lake at the trail's end was still heavily covered with snow.
A thin layer of ice extended all the way to the lake's edge.
Looking back towards the trailhead, Mt. Machebeuf on the left continued to beckon. I could break from the trail, summit that peak and make it back with no problem, right?
Stay tuned...

God Knew What He Was Doing When He Didn't Make Me a Salmon

Zak and Taryn had their weekly swimming lesson today. We have plans to go to Hawaii for a vacation in December, and we really want them to be fairly comfortable in the water by then. Fortunately one of our neighbors used to swim competitively and teaches kids in the pool at a local health club called Club USA, who graciously allows non-members in for the lessons.

Danelle's a much better swimmer than I am. She had a big in-ground pool at her house growing up and spent a lot of time in it. We had an above-ground pool for a while when I was growing up that was more for just cooling off on a hot summer night than actually swimming. I started wearing glasses in third grade, and since I obviously couldn't wear them in the water I couldn't see very well and that made me sort of uncomfortable. Or I just suck at swimming and my vision makes for a convenient excuse.

I'm proud of both of the kids for their progress so far. Taryn's not doing as much as Zak since she's a couple years younger, but she's still putting her whole face in the water and blowing bubbles, floating on her back and so on. I think her favorite part is soaking in the hot tub. Poor kid slipped on the wet concrete last week and cracked her head pretty good, too. But after a few minutes of TLC she got back in the water and finished her lesson.

Zak's doing actual swimming -- well, he's moving his arms and legs in the water anyway. He's still reluctant to look down at the bottom of the pool when he swims. He wants to pick his face up and try to look ahead as he's swimming, which makes his legs point down to the bottom. Reminds me of me when I was learning, which makes no sense since as I said I couldn't see anyway.

He started jumping in the water today, too. His instructor wanted him to jump in "like a pencil" -- straight up and down -- then bob up, take a breath and swim to her. He thought it seemed like a much better plan to jump out as far as he could towards her. Made sense to me -- less distance to actually swim. So she tried to move him straight to diving, but he was reluctant again to put his chin down and not see where he was going. But his belly-flop technique is pretty solid.

Danelle's been swimming a lot lately as training for her triathlon in August, knocking out a half-mile swim two or three times a week. She challenged me to a race, which seemed like a lose-lose proposition for me considering she's still also rehabbing from her ACL surgery in February. But I did a lap up and back against her in the pool a few weeks ago, and let's just say it's a good thing we didn't go one more length.

One thing I don't get about swimming is all the different strokes. They just seem like someone arbitrarily decided that there needed to be more water events. Seriously, why would anyone ever do the butterfly or breaststroke if they had to swim from Point A to Point B? And the backstroke? Can you imagine a 100-yard dash where everyone was required to run backwards? Then again, I suppose race walking doesn't exactly make much sense either.

Frankly, I'll be happy if Zak and Taryn master the dog paddle in the next few months. I've never been to Hawaii, and I'm not too proud to go as the fourth-best swimmer in the family.

They make adult-size arm floats, right?

I Don't Even Mind Her Pooping In the House As Much As I Used To

In the past two days we've caught and returned three lost dogs that all ended up belonging to people right on our street. There was never any question of whether we'd try to help when we saw them. You see, we have a bit of a karmic debt to repay.

Our dog, Kimi, got loose about a month ago. I was washing our car and the best we can figure is that one of the kids left the door from the garage to the house open for a little too long. Unfortunately, it took us about five hours to notice. For a while everyone just figured she was just somewhere in the house they weren't.

Kimi's an eight-year-old Havanese (kind of a cross between a Maltese and a Poodle) who Danelle used to show. Former champion now turned couch potato, and definitely NOT used to running around on her own.

In an eerie case of foreshadowing she'd actually gotten out a few weeks before and we had an extremely tough time catching her. Danelle was out of town and Kimi wouldn't let ANYBODY near her, including me. Like she was savoring her little taste of freedom and wanted to make it last as long as possible. Another guy and I finally cornered her, but not until she made us look pretty silly running from us.

We noticed someone had left the side gate open after she'd only been gone a few minutes that time, and she was already a block away when we found her. After five hours there was no telling how far she'd gotten this time.

After an hour of driving around and asking people it they'd seen her it turned out she had gotten pretty far. Someone said they'd seen her in the open space behind our neighborhood, a good mile and a half away. So Danelle and I and another nice lady walked around back there for another hour calling her. Danelle saw two rattlesnakes, but none of us saw Kimi.

We went back home, made a sign to put at the entrance to the neighborhood and called the nearest vet and animal control with her description and our number (she didn't have a collar -- show dogs never do since they mat down their coats, and even though her show career had long since come to an end we never got around to getting her one). I went out to the open space one more time on Danelle's road bike since my mountain bike had a punctured tire, but still no luck.

By the time the sun went down we were resigned to the fact that she was gone. An old, small dog with no outdoor experience in open space after dark seemed bound to end up as one thing -- a coyote's dinner.

I felt responsible since she'd again gotten out on my watch. Danelle was holding up pretty well all things considered. The kids had already very quietly asked her in the car why she was crying. She said the worst part was just thinking about how terrified Kimi must have gotten once it was dark.

Then about 9:30 the phone rang. Hoping against hope I answered, and the voice on the other end asked if we'd lost a little black dog.

I don't remember much else of what the guy said; I was too busy saying "thank you" over and over. They lived near the back of our neighborhood close to the open space and I was in the car in a flash on my way there.

There were about 10 people congregated under a streetlight as I drove up, one of them holding a small dark bundle. Turned out an older couple had seen her when they got home from grocery shopping about an hour earlier and tried unsuccessfully to catch her. Other neighbors joined the effort, using treats to coax her close until someone was finally able to grab her.

I couldn't believe the trouble these people had all gone to to catch a dog who clearly didn't want to be caught and wasn't even wearing a collar. None of them would accept any sort of reward, though one did ask that if I ever saw a white Persian cat out and about to please return the favor. I didn't even ask how they got our number; again I was just too busy repeatedly and profusely expressing my appreciation.

She was completely in covered in burrs which Danelle was only too happy to paintstakingly pull and cut out one by one. And I was happy to help, as much to work out my lingering guilt for my role in the mess as anything.

Kimi now sports a sassy pink collar with our last name and phone number. It may have taken one lesson more than it should, but her old owners are still able to learn new tricks. And any stray dog we happen to see will reap the benefits for a LONG time.

Fortunately He Couldn't Care Less About Dinger

One of our neighbors organized a trip to Coors Field to watch the Colorado Rockies play the New York Mets today. We have a pretty tight group on our street; a lot of us are about the same age, in the same place in our lives and have kids also about the same age.

The response was great -- eight families, 28 people total. We got a group of tickets together in the center-field bleachers, affectionately known as the Rockpile. Most of us took the light rail together and after baking in the 90-degree heat for the first couple of innings we got some relief from wind and cloud cover. We made it all the way to the bottom of the eighth inning, which isn't bad for a group with 13 kids between the ages of two and eight.

I was fortunate to go to a few major league games when I was a kid. They were always a really big deal, since they started with a three-hour drive whether we went to Boston or New York. I remember one trip to Fenway Park in particular. The Red Sox were taking on the Mariners, and my dad's bowling buddy Tommy Shramm came along. Just to bust my dad's chops he bought a Mariners hat and rooted for Seattle. I think the Mariners even won.

Tommy tragically passed away at a young age, I believe from brain cancer. But watching and listening to him and my dad jaw at each other during that game proved to be a good introduction to the fine art of talking trash.

Today was Taryn's first major sporting event of any kind in person, and she correctly identified what watching baseball was good for by falling asleep about halfway through. Zak was also four the first time he and I went and I managed to get him all the way to the end of the game with the lure of different concessions. "Just six more outs and we'll go get ice cream, Zak." We went again when he was five and he was done by the fifth inning that time. Then we were blessed with the opportunity to get to see game four of last year's World Series together.

Zak knows I like the Red Sox and has always been somewhat partial to them himself too because of it. When he was just a year old Derek Lowe of the Sox was the starting pitcher for the All-Star Game. I raced home from work, put him in his Red Sox onesie, grilled up a couple of hot dogs and we ate them together while we watched the start of the game.

The week before the World Series game he said to me, "Daddy, I still like the Red Sox. But I think I like the Rockies a little bit more..." I laughed and told him that was fine, and he could cheer for any team he wants. He already had a Rockies hat, but we went out that afternoon and got him a t-shirt with Troy Tulowitzki's name and number on the back and a hooded purple sweatshirt to go with it.

The fans in our section were great to him, high-fiving him whenever the Rockies did something good (which wasn't often). I told him how special it was that he was getting to see his first World Series when he was only six years old and another guy in the section said, "I'm 66 years old, and this is MY first World Series!"

He decided he had to go to the bathroom during the seventh-inning stretch, of course. The only time during a baseball game that the men's room actually has a line. And six-year-old boys don't give you a lot of warning when they have to go. So he's doing the pee-pee dance at the end of the line when some guy up ahead of us notices his distress. He shouts, "Hey, we got a little kid back here!" and the line parted like the Red Sea to let him to the front. Not sure if that would happen in many cities besides Denver.

When Jonathan Papelbon struck out Seth Smith to end the game and clinch the series most of the Red Sox fans in attendance congregated behind the visiting team dugout. I didn't think the newly minted Rockies fan needed to have his nose rubbed in it, so we just watched the celebration from our seats for a few minutes before heading home.

Zak was more interested in goofing off with his buddies today than actually watching the game, but that's fine with me. The social aspect of sports is part of their immense appeal, even when you're in second grade. He did pay more attention than I thought, though. He said tonight that the best part was when the Rockies hit a home run, which is how they scored their lone tally.

Unlike Tommy Shramm, I didn't buy a Mets hat to taunt him. He's probably still a little young for that sort of induction into talking trash.

But if the Sox and Rox ever meet in the Fall Classic again, all bets are off.