Category technology

Numbers make me happy

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

My daughter and I come from very different generations. This first paragraph is absolutely, 100% my perception and my opinion; and I am categorizing or generalizing in a way that I have not researched as fact– not with my academic hat nor my journalism skills. Her generation (let’s call it born around 2000) loves labels. Even when that generation rejects labels, they put new labels on concepts they rebel against.

It took me until I reached my fourth decade to consider, accept and adopt the identity of someone with a disability. The Teenager, on the other hand, studies identities, labels and the DSM as a part of understanding who she is and how she interacts with the world. She ponders whether or not I have OCD, if her father has ADD, but she also has her own ADHD mind, and her hearing loss, which is a powerful combination.

I call her my tornado, but in reality she might be more of a thunderstorm– the crashing and banging, the relentless burst of energy, thrashing winds and then a deluge.

As people we all show symptoms or signs of all sorts of conditions that may or may not be part of a label, that may or may not be something we “have.” And one of the nuances of who I am is that numbers make me happy.

I think the phenomenon has become more noticeable since I starting spending more time with my traveling partner, M., because as someone with Asperger’s, numbers play a huge role in organizing his life. And we talk about numbers when we notice them, because it’s nice to have someone who also likes the comfort of numbers.

I was relieved when I got my current car, because the license plate featured a number I could live with. Speaking of cars, I have been in a special kind of mourning every since that car, my Jetta, turned over to 70,000. (Since I lost my job at Stitch Fix, my daughter has been driving it. She’s put about 12,000 miles on it in eight months.) But The Teenager also sent me a photo when her father’s car turned over to 11,111 miles.

I will transfer money between savings and checking to create more favorable bank balances, ones that are pleasing to see.

And I dread the day I need to close my primary bank account, because the account number features a sequence I particularly like.

I’m old enough to remember when telephone numbers were seven digits, not ten. And the strange sensation of having to add the area code for local numbers and not just long distance. The generation before me can probably remember when phone numbers did not include the local exchange.

And if you are unfamiliar with some of these terms…

These terms and systems originated and grew with the “landline” telephone technology. The numbers directed users to specific systems of wires and before automatic switching, a telephone switchboard operator had to direct callers to specific wires by unplugging them and plugging them back in.

An American phone number is customarily organized like this:

1-XXX-YYY-ZZZZ

The “1” is the country code.

The XXX is the area code which refers to a larger geographic region, like a few counties in a state, depending on population.

The YYY is the local exchange, usually a town.

And then the ZZZZ were specific residents. Like your house number, but for your telephone.

The Face ID meltdown

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

In middle school, I was part of the generation of kids who had introductory computer programming classes mandatory in the curriculum. Everyone had to sit at the IBM computer and learn DOS commands. It was 1989, and we had no idea why we would ever need to do this. Our parents were farmers, mechanics, plumbers and other blue collar workers.

At the same time, we saw our first local farms sold and turned into developments. One summer, school let out and in September, at one farm on my bus route, suddenly 8 kids stood at the end of a road by a field that now had houses all over it. But the real shock was when some of these kids had dads that worked in offices and wore suits and carried briefcases.

My dad went back and forth between an OTR truck driver and a diesel mechanic. Periodically he would buy a truck (twice he bought the same 1965 Kenworth) and when he had driven our family into debt with the cost of massive tires and gasoline, my mom would force him back to work as a diesel mechanic at a local paving company.

In high school, we got ONE computer in the back of the classroom to print the stories for the high school newspaper and literary magazine. Previously, we sent our copy down to the business classes so those students could type it in columns. Whether the business students typed it or we did it on the computer, we cut it out and glued it on blue grids with rubber cement.

By college, we all had email addresses and computer labs and web sites on Geocities.

My college roommate had an IBM computer that ran Windows 95. And after my freshman year, I saved ALL my money, drove two hours and bought a floor display model of a Powerbook 165, which if you do not know, was the first real consumer laptop.

I’ve been a die-hard, fight-to-the-death Mac girl ever since. And if you want to have the Mac vs PC fight, save your breath and remember, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates both stole their ideas from Xerox.

My point is, I am not a Luddite.

But I have reached the age– and tomorrow is my birthday– where technology issues can unhinge me. I ate half a bag of flaming hot Cheetos last night because the FaceID on my iPhone 13 suddenly stopped working.

I tried being patient. I tried restarting it. At the behest of The Teenager (who only has one more month of being a teenager) I tried to reset it. That failed. And suddenly I was being asked for the password to my bank account. I was faced (pun intended) with having to TYPE passwords and I, for a moment, wondered if fingerprint ID would work… and then I remembered fingerprint ID went out with FaceID.

I tried again. I could not reset FaceID.

Well, I thought, the sensors that read my face must have died. And then suddenly it worked.

I reset my FaceID. Without the help of a teenager.

It still only works about 50% of the time. But, somehow, I will persevere.

The Rocket Ship Construction Zone

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

I had an MRI this morning.

It was my first MRI, to monitor an aneurysm in my brain discovered last year during my random heart issues. Last year they did a CT scan with contrast as I did not know if tooth implants would count as metal. (It does not. They are non-ferrous. I learned this as a more-or-less universal fact from the radiology tech. And to think I made my poor dentist research the screw in my mouth.)

When I called to schedule a few weeks ago, they asked where I wanted to receive an MRI and I chose the hospital that is 600 steps away from my front door. They offered me an appointment at 7:15 a.m. on a Sunday. I agreed.

Roll out of bed, wander to the hospital, get an MRI, and be home while it’s still early for a cup of coffee.

And that is indeed how it played out, and I had my coffee in my hand before 8 a.m.

On the walk over, I noticed this Subura station wagon from Vermont with roses on the hood. Now, between the apartment building across the street and the hospital itself, one finds a lot of out-of-state cars and doctors-in-training. And while I did not linger long enough to read what was written on the windshield, it said something like “you and me forever” and someone had laid a wrapped bouquet of roses on the hood. A marriage proposal? A stalker? A farewell from a lover returning to a place far away as a promise to come back?

I surely hope they aren’t roses, because leaving roses on the hood of a car in the middle of the city in the rain, especially if it’s a marriage proposal is certainly both romantic and stupid.

I arrived at the hospital around 6:50, in part because I know they ask you to register at the front desk and then meander through the facility to reach the waiting room of your particular appointment where you start the registering process again. There are usually insurance card checks, and headshots taken to prevent fraud.

I walk in the front doors and there’s one person, in a hospital t-shirt, sitting right inside. Before I even have a chance to pause or plot a course, she greets me with, “Are you hear for an MRI?”

I say yes, and then she follows with, “Is your name Angel?”

I again say yes.

Now, I know this particular hospital doesn’t do much hospital-ing. They literally only have one floor of inpatient services, and I experienced that last year. I must say the renovations are looking gorgeous, again, nothing like the room I stayed in last year straight out of mid-twentieth-century Americana. At this early hour on Sunday morning, there is no one in the hospital but me and this employee, Rose. No one.

“As soon as I clock in, I’ll take you back,” Rose says. “But we have a few minutes. So have a seat.”

I sit behind Rose in the waiting area in front of the not-even-staffed-yet registration desk.

“That’s fine,” I say. “I’ll read my book.”

I have a lovely conversation about Rose, her retirement from one of the larger hospitals in the network, and how she has really enjoyed reading again since her retirement. She clocks in and escorts me upstairs and down the hall to the MRI suite where I sit in another waiting room and Rose greets the staff who are arriving with us for their shift.

I sit and read my book, and the techs come for me. For the first time ever, I am given hospital pants. I peel off my civilian layers and tie on my gown and pants.

Much to my relief they have a metal detector as the final phase of the pre-MRI adventure. I am pleased to report I am not magnetic.

So many of these tests come with so much hype, and I have to say, I think I prefer the MRI to the CT with contrast, because an MRI doesn’t make me feel like I’m about to or in the middle of urinating in my pants.

And they tell you to stay as still as you can– which always makes me super aware of every twitch in my body.

They warn you that the machine is loud and they give you ear protection. If I had to describe the experience I would say space rocket meets construction site. And so many different types of squealing, clanging and banging.

Just get it out there

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

Since I lost my job at Stitch Fix in September, I’ve been working hard to build my business, Parisian Phoenix Publishing. And it’s not easy. I have a lot of long days and many things– like reading and creative writing– that used to be hobbies are not work.

I’m constantly balancing what to do with my time. Should I work on personal projects? Paying clients? Unpaying clients? Authors? How much time do I spend at Barnes & Noble versus Book & Puppet (my local independent bookstore)? How many titles should the publishing company release this year? How much freelance journalism should I pursue? How many events should I attend? How many self-published and/or local authors can I support by buying and reviewing their books, especially when only about 20% return the favor?

But one choice that was easy to make was attending last week’s Podcasting 101 community education class at Northampton Community College at their Fowler Center in Southside Bethlehem. My friend and trusty photographer Joan suggested it, with her musical background, my past obsession with podcasts and my hope to start recording miniaudio books.

We invited our partner-in-crime Gayle to join us beforehand at El Jefe for tacos, though we all got burrito bowls.

Podcasting 101

Our class was led by Demetrius Mullen, host of The Single Parent Conflict, and covered a basic overview of all of the elements of creating and uploading a podcast. He’s also a bit of a voice-over actor so imagine my surprise when I heard his “professional voice” versus his everyday one. I now understand what my daughter always meant when she said, “You’re using your journalist voice.”

I love exploring new topics and ideas in classes like this one. They are usually inexpensive and offer a safe environment to dip proverbial toes in the water. I’ve taken other community education classes– like vegan cooking (have the best cobbler recipe ever from that one) and six weeks of Irish Gaelic (my first foray into impractical languages).

At the most basic level, making a podcast involves six basic steps:

  1. Have the mindset. This means not finding excuses. It doesn’t matter if you record, edit and upload your podcast 100% from your phone if you have to, challenge yourself to do it. Accept that you will learn and grow and perhaps be embarrassed by your initial attempts, but keep in mind that it takes time to build momentum, market and develop a following.
  2. Gather your hardware. To simplify this, this means having somewhere to record and edit the podcast. It could involve computers, XLR cables, and microphones, but it also could be simply you and your phone. Demetrius’ advice was to invest your energy in learning and honing the content of your podcast before spending money on equipment that might not even be necessary or before you know exactly what would suit you best.
  3. Learn your software. If you want to have a decent podcast, you’ll have to learn to edit it. There are a variety of free or inexpensive options on the market. And if you’re an Apple user, you have Garage Band.
  4. Record. Sit down and record your content.
  5. Edit, save and export. Again, there are a variety of podcasting services from Buzzsprout to Spotify for Podcasters (formerly Anchor.fm), some with free and some with paid plans. All you need is an MP3 and an ability to read and follow directions.
  6. Upload. Once you have your MP3, release your creation into the universe.

Perhaps this will renew my interest in creating a show author interview show involving a craft topic, followed by an excerpt, short story or poem from the Parisian Phoenix catalog to demonstrate the principle. My larger goal is to use this as a training ground for audio editing and speaking for audio so that we can start production on Parisian Phoenix audiobooks.

Podcast Workshop with GLVWG

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Yesterday I presented a workshop at the Greater Lehigh Writers Group on the use of podcasts to research, improve and market your writing (at least, that was the morning program) and how to be a good interview guest, whether you are working with journalists or podcasters.

It was a super fun day with my partner-in-crime William D. Prystauk, who wrote The Kink Noir series and the new horror novel The Hanging Girl.

I wasn’t sure if my audience would embrace the idea of using podcasts as a source of inspiration and information, but they did. And we had a fun time writing materials and doing mock podcast interviews.

I received a few thank you emails after the presentation and that meant a lot to me. The day went very quickly!

I share snippets of the information I provided in the sessions in the Greater Valley Writers Group newsletter column I write every other month.

Murphy, you’re not going to win: How a great day broke my heart, part 1

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

Yesterday, I “broke” my dear blind friend Nan out of her independent living facility, her first outing since her bout with Covid-19. I drove up to the door in that convenient wide lane that have under the overhang and lowered the window on her side of the car.

“Hey, Nan,” I shouted. “Your getaway car has arrived.”

She laughed, and since she recently had her first Corona experience, it sure was nice to hear her laugh again.

I had the Spotify ready to go, as Nan loves a good random computer generated playlist, and we pulled off. Her goals were simple.

  1. CVS for vitamin C and Excedrin
  2. Batteries for her clock, 2-4 AAAs
  3. Stop at her old apartment as there was a package for her that was not forwarded
  4. Get some cash at the bank.

Well I told her right off that we had a 40-pack of AAAs somewhere in my house. So that was easy. I then told her I had thought I might take her back to my house for chai, but thought maybe getting out of a building into the sun would be more fun. That we could listen to Spotify in the car with the sunroof open sipping chai.

“That does sound nice,” she said.

“The same theory as taking the dog for a car ride,” I explained.

She laughed when I compared her to the dog, and I pointed out that really we both liked things that the dog would enjoy.

Nan and I headed into CVS, where I found her 200 generic acetaminophen, aspirin and caffeine tablets and 100 chewable vitamin C/rose hips tablets. The original price was $31.00 before tax, but I had carefully set up my CVS app to use some coupons that reduced her total to $20.58.

We drove to my house, got the batteries, and headed to her old apartment building.

“I just thought of something,” she said to me. “How are we going to get in?”

“I suppose you’ll have to tap the lobby door with your cane until someone sees you,” I said.

But there were no parking spots on street, and I pulled into the parking lot.

“Why don’t we just drive down to the back door and see if we see any of your neighbors,” I said.

“Good idea,” Nan agreed.

I saw the maintenance man at the back door. I pulled into the middle of the parking lot and hopped out of the car, escorting Nan as I hollered, “Excuse me, but can you let this vagabond into the building?”

She got her package.

We then got my favorite teller at the bank and almost went to a Dunkin several miles away, forgetting there was one on the other side of the bank.

We remembered in time.

We sat in the car, windows and sun roof open, enjoying the sun, listening to cars and birds and all the mundane sounds Nan had missed when trapped in her room with Covid.

And then, she went home and I talked to my friend Maryann Ignatz. I did all the press stuff I had planned for my business. I thought I deserved a small rest. I went up to my room and cuddled with some fosters, including sweet Jean-Paul Sartre.

The teenager texted that her boss was stopping by later. If you’re a regular here you might recall our “cat foster godmother.”

I decided to go downstairs and clean.

I grabbed my computer, Rosie, the 13″ MacBook Air, last of the Intel processor generation, and my iPhone. Foster cat Khloe has been a member of gen pop lately, free roaming the house because she scared the dog so badly. She can be a little dramatic.

The teenager has a baby gate with a cat door at the top of the stairs. Khloe was walking out the cat door and I went to unlatch the gate and must have tilted my hand just enough that Rosie the Laptop slipped from my fingers and somersaulted all the way down the uncarpeted, hard wood stairs.

When I opened her again, her screen image was splintered.

I have three book projects underway for Parisian Phoenix, and the Easton Book Festival coming up. I’m still wondering how best to pay off the recent ceiling repair…

Now is not the time.

But life is like that. I have to remind myself that we have more appreciation for the things that don’t come easy, that real success is slow.

And then I broke down into hysterics, alone, just me and the dog. And I scrubbed the floor on my hands and knees.

This saga will be continued on Parisian Phoenix’s blog.

Getting sick of electronic devices and words

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I haven’t written in a while and I may keep this one skeletal.

I called out sick from work on Thursday and skipped my workout as I woke up in the same pain I had when I went to bed.

I thought I would rest in bed with my laptop and work more on the Parisian Phoenix website, my erotica collection, or even book four of the Fashion and Fiends series, Road Trip.

But instead I had my first Big Mac ever (which is especially odd since I worked my way through college at a McDonalds), ate too much candy and slept for 12 hours straight. The cats did not know what to make of that.

Are you curious how I responded to the Big Mac? See that here.

Friday I moved a little slow but still got decent numbers in QC folding clothes and after work ate too many cheese curls.

But, in my defense, they were amazing cheese curls— sour cream and cheddar— that I found at my local Dollar Tree.

Speaking of food, I also made my final Green Chef meal. Video here. I cheated a bit, adding beef tips, and forgot the pecans and the vegan aioli but it still tasted great.

Tonight I made Purple Carrot’s Fieldstone sausages with roasted fingerling potatoes and vegetables. Another great dish. I also made a side of “leftover sauce” pasta, mixing up every scrap from the fridge.

This morning, the teenager and I met up with Dan at Apex training and I did some lower body while Dan taught the teen to do barbell squats. He started by giving her the bar and evaluating her form and then he gave her some weight.

I think she used some muscles in her knees and legs that she has never used before, not with that range of motion. Let’s just say she was walking like me on the way home.

Then we treated ourselves to some egg sandwiches, grabbed the dog and went to the Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab Yard sale and cake auction. The child spent all my money— but we didn’t buy any cake. She got dog supplies and the massive dog now has a mermaid flotation device and a puffer jacket. And I have my third tea pot in two years. The teenager kills my tea pots.

Even the cats got goodies. See the new water fountain here.

I never saw a cake auction before and it was certainly more fun than the livestock auctions I’ve seen.

The dog was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open in the car on the way home.

Then I came home and made a video I’ve been putting off. I kept planning to get a little dressed up, do my makeup, set up a cozy spot on the sunporch and made a video of me reading a little of my novel.

Instead, I did it in sweatpants on the couch with the dog. See it here.

Stress, leg day, wins for the cat cafe, taste testing and EZ Pass Drama

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

In 45 minutes, I need to leave for work. It’s Thursday and I feel like I haven’t stopped moving all week. I’m behind on my own commitments and starting to feel panicked.

The pop up kitten cafe fundraiser for Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab is this Sunday.

Although it has required effort from many people, in the last few days this has become my baby.

In the last 24 hours, we received commitments from Just Born candy and Target #2536 (the same Target where I used to work and that experienced a fatal shooting in the parking lot last weekend).

This brings our list of supporters to:

  • Many individual bakers
  • Easton Baking Company
  • Philly Pretzel
  • Wawa
  • Wegmans
  • Giant Food Stores
  • Keystone Snacks
  • Chocolate Works
  • Target
  • Just Born

Today the teenager and I will be heading to Keystone Snacks to get the Veggie Chips donation.

So that’s the fundraiser but meanwhile real-life goes on. I haven’t worked on William Prystauk‘s upcoming novel in his Kink Noir series, Bondage, in several days. Our personal cat, kitty cancer survivor Opie has a very goopy, wet eyes. This is very unusual for Opealope so I gave him a couple treatments with a chamomile tea eye wash for cats grown and prepared by our fellow foster, Granola Cat Lady.

Despite all this (and only 5 hours sleep from sharing my bed with the teenager’s dog, F. Bean Barker), I still made it to Apex Training for leg day and some warm-up core work. My body was very stiff after that, not really from the workout but because my period is late and doing things to my body.

Although I have to admit I fell on the way to the gym and broke the screen to my iPhone. After 3.5 years I now get to test my SquareTrade insurance.

The other big news is that the teenager installed a new toilet seat in the upstairs bathroom. The old one had screws so stripped it kept falling off while you were sitting on it. Bad news is: our bathroom is 1950s Flamingo Pink. The new toilet seat is white— the only one they had. I hate white toilet seats on colored bowls but I also hate “falling in.” And now that she’s seen it, the teenager agrees.

I finally tried my Emmi Roth cheddar cheese snacks from Hungryroot which were supposed to be for tuna artichoke melts but I couldn’t bring myself to use such fancy cheese on a grilled cheese sandwich. A colleague and I were talking about snacks & cheese so I brought her some and we tried it at the Bizzy Hizzy.

She loved it so much she googled where to buy it. Apparently it’s only available in Wisconsin and Switzerland. It literally melts in your mouth.

After work I went to Sheetz and ordered a pina colada lemonade with immunity boost with my bonus points. It tasted like candy, too thick to be refreshing but definitely very summery. I added some mango vodka when I got home. (Here’s a video if you want to see me talk to myself in a parking lot at midnight.)

And finally, not sure if I mentioned it on the blog, but I’m another step closer to resolving the great EZ Pass Drama of Summer 2021. Did you ever procrastinate something so long it bit you in the ass?

Yeah, so that’s what happened to me.

So, our Nissan Ultima (oh how I loved that car) died suddenly. My husband and I were still together and only had one car. He replaced the Ultima was a used Nissan Juke— a car he had wanted for a while. We moved everything from the Ultima into the Juke.

I had ordered an EZ Pass when I started work on my master’s in world history at West Chester University and was driving down the turnpike at least once a week.

So I knew that the EZ Pass was connected to my car— the Ultima— but I never really used it. I forgot about it. And then I bought my Jetta because I hated the Juke. Our family didn’t really go anywhere. I worked retail so I never really got time off. I had stopped working on my master’s as money got tight and my marriage continued to fail.

I neither returned nor updated the EZ Pass.

My husband returned the box of random things from the Ultima and I, with other things on my mind, tossed the transponder in my car hoping to remember to update it.

I never did.

At this point, I don’t even remember how to access my EZ Pass account.

This summer, the teenager took her grandmother to Cape May. She pulled up to the first toll booth and the toll collector yelled at her for trying to pay the toll.

Being a dutiful child, she trusted the toll collector who told her she had an EZ Pass.

Two weeks later, we get two violations from NJ EZ Pass. $30 in missed tolls and $55 in administrative fees. My daughter and I send a check, but I also send an email stating that I understand I hadn’t updated the EZ Pass, but my daughter had tried to pay the toll and the toll collector yelled at her.

They cashed the check.

Then a couple weeks after that I get a letter from PA Turnpike EZ Pass stating I had insufficient funds in my account and they were threatening to ticket me. Now, my EZ Pass was on a credit card. That credit card expired one month before my daughter’s trip.

I call the number. Because I don’t know my account pin or my transponder number, I am forced to leave a message and they say they will call me back. That was Monday.

A couple days ago I get another letter from NJ EZ Pass. They claim I didn’t pay one of the two violations. I send another email and send them a screen shot from my banking app of the cashed check.

It’s now Thursday. I go to PA EZ Pass and try to remember all my account info. I easily succeed. I look at the “insufficient funds.” $5.37 cents. They also demand $35 to load my account fully. Even though I haven’t used it in three years.

And you can’t just pay what you owe.

I then go to the “manage vehicles” tab, add the Jetta and delete the Ultima. That took five minutes. Had I done that years ago, I could have avoided the whole drama.

The highs and lows of Christmas 2020

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Christmas is always hard for me. Having a second teenager, a houseful of kittens and brand new budgie chicks helps me escape a lot of the pain that surfaces during the holidays.

And no matter what I try, I can’t escape it. Instead, I work to minimize it.

And every year it gets a little easier.

It’s 9:30 pm now— I am listening to Rachmaninov on my brand new AirPods and at first I was very disappointed to discover that they didn’t have buttons.

Imagine my shock when I discovered they automatically turn on and off when I place them in my ear and take them off. And so far they don’t fall out as easily as the cheap ones do. (When I saw cheap I mean cheap— I got my previous set for $10 at Family Dollar. I had no problems with my $10 set either except I broke pieces off of them within the first couple days).

So to continue writing about my holiday backwards, teenager #1 received kitchen tools from teenager #2 and a new hand mixer from my mother-in-law. She’s baking banana bread now.

Apparently piles of cookies and fruitcake aren’t enough for her.

I’m journaling, blogging, and about to watch another episode of The Tudors. I can’t believe Vale of FURR’s Norse Pride is going home tomorrow— and I am bringing three other kittens to the adoption fair as well.

Fern-Edie is doing well in her new home. And I am starting to hyperventilate a little thinking this might be the last night my bed looks like this:

Vale and Loki

As I came up to my bedroom to start the animals’ night routine, I noticed all three budgies were out. Mama Wink showed me that all her eggs had hatched and I watched her clean shell off her newest chick. We hope to name them Yule, Winter and Christmas if they all survive. I hope they do.

Other highlights of Christmas:

  • The big Christmas mission for the teenager’s mysterious package earlier this week was… her varsity jacket!

YouTube: Teenager opens her varsity jacket

  • We listened to some non traditional Christmas carols extremely loudly in the car. Including “The Christmas Tree’s on Fire.”
  • I earned a place of honor in this year’s Christmas Grace, “Thank you, Lord, for keeping us safe from Corona, well except for Angel.” Ever burst out laughing during a prayer? Now I have.
  • I was asked to make the broccoli for Christmas dinner. My step mom doesn’t trust anyone else with the green vegetables I guess. I sautéed them golden brown in butter with sea salt, too much multicolored peppercorns (I grabbed the wrong jar— oops!) and herbs de Provence.
  • Christmas was much smaller than usual because of the pandemic, so my stepmom decided we would get fresh cut steaks from the butcher. She even ordered one for my brother’s dog. And she wanted to grill them. The temperature dropped drastically while my dad was at the grill and then all the steaks went up in flames. I learned that a good blue cheese dressing can cut the taste of charcoaled steaks.

I guess the last thing I’ll mention is that the teenager got a pet play pen which will come in handy for our work with Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab. Of course, I’ve discovered it houses cats and teenagers.

I gave up my Fitbit.

Angel Ackerman 3 Comments

About three weeks or a month ago, I was standing in the kitchen at work and my bracelet broke. But, you see, it wasn’t merely a bracelet. It was one of the custom Fitbit bracelets my husband made me.

I slipped it into my pocket where the old Fitbit Flex could at least continue to track my steps and continued my day.

When I got home, I relayed the catastrophe to my husband. The next day, he fixed it. He fixed it while I was at work. My Fitbit broke on Saturday and I went to work Sunday without it.

Sunday is the first day of the week. This whole week would be “under” since I missed a day. I couldn’t “make up” those steps. I’d spend the whole week below my Fitbit friends in the rankings when I knew I had more steps than that.

So I challenged myself to take the week off.

It took until Thursday for someone to email and ask me if my Fitbit died. I’m really surprised that no one emailed or called my husband to see if I had died.

By the weekend, I didn’t miss it.

I’ve been wearing my Fitbit for more than two years. My Fitbit story is NOT the usual Fitbit story. I needed to lose ten pounds. I had some health issues that led to me gaining weight and I needed to lose about ten pounds. I was 39 and thought I had to do it now because the next decade historically is not kind to women in my family.

Well, when you walk a mile every hour at work, and suddenly cut carbohydrates, increase protein, remove junk food from your diet, give up alcohol and fancy coffee drinks… And decide to bike with your daughter, box in the garage and lift weights… Those ten pounds come off easily.

One month later, I had lost thirty pounds.

Oops.

I bought a Fitbit to make sure I ate enough for my increase in activity. And then when I understood how much food and what food my body needed, I kept wearing it because I liked the step goals. I loved seeing the charts and the impact. But then I started to know without looking. So, then my focus turned to my sleep habits. Now that I never mastered. My sleep habits stink. I’m a mom, after all.

I lost my drive for a lot of my activities. I used to roam the neighborhood for miles, do walks in new towns, even tried to run a 5K. I used to lift hard every day. I used to kick box and do yoga. But suddenly, my soul got tired.

Maybe it was stress.

I had regained about 15 pounds of that thirty lost, and it needed to return. It returned as muscle. I went from underweight and bony to muscular enough to toss forty pound boxes around in the freezer at work. I can carry a 35-pound of popcorn kernels on my shoulder across the entire store. I can do push-ups and chin-ups.

I have visible abs.

I don’t have wiggly arms.

So WHY did I stress myself out if I didn’t hit five miles a day? Why did I feel guilt if that number hovered around 10,000 steps? Why did I hate myself if I sat?

Even one “rest day” would drive me insane.

And the only time I watched a movie was if the battery died.

So, I’m glad I gave up my Fitbit.