I'm getting old

Or at least I'm getting the ailments of age. To be precise, arthritis.

I've been aware of this for a while. The lower back, definitely. But I now know of several other areas affected.

See, yesterday I took the train to Tacoma to meet with a general contractor concerning work to be done on my new-to-me house, and as it wasn't that far from the train station, I walked.

Well, thirty years ago it wouldn't have been that far. Three miles, basically. A forty-five minute walk. At twenty I was walking 16 miles to visit friends, up big hills, with no problems.

At fifty, it's a different matter. There were some hills, nothing major, and I felt them. I was noticing the exertion, big time. It took me the better part of an hour to start to recuperate, and I was still feeling it that evening. And today, well, my hips hurt. In an arthritic manner. I'm really glad the contractor was willing to give me a ride to the train station, walking back just wasn't going to happen, and arranging for a cab would have required calling 411 and getting Tacoma directory assistance and not knowing the name of the local cab company, and I really wanted to avoid that if I could. I need to add the cab companies, and the ride information line for Pierce County Transit, to my phone/address list I've been making for Tacoma.

It's now 25 hours since I finished that walk, and I'm still feeling it, aching hips, unhappy knees, sore feet; I'm not doing that again.

Pity, that. What a difference thirty years makes. Actually, what a difference ten years makes, which is when the arthritis started kicking in.

On the good news, I'm back down to 180 lbs., which is my low weight for the last twenty some years. Now to see if slightly smaller portions will drop the weight further without feeling overly hungry; the height/weight charts say I should weight more like 160 lbs, which I haven't weighed since before I went to grad school in 1987.

Anyway, that's it for now. Just like living with my disabilities, I get to live with arthritis, and balance things out; Ibuprofen would take care of the pain, but at the expense of mental functioning, so I deal with the pain during the day and take Ibuprofen prior to going to bed.

Moderation in action!

A site I frequent is self-defined as 'A friendly place to read, write, and discuss Trans-gender fiction.' And that's what it is. It doesn't happen by accident, or just by everyone naturally keeping on topic, however. It takes careful moderation. Case in point. Poster A posted a link to a BBC article and an article in The Guardian, both discussing a research report on the NHS (National Health Service). Several responses were made. Then poster B started a new thread, destructively critiquing the report and the coverage, and taking a swipe at poster A. Again, several responses were made. Indeed, I myself prepared a response (comparisons were being made to the US healthcare system by Poster B). When I went to post my response, lo and behold I couldn't. Access was denied. I looked, I was logged in, why couldn't I post? I couldn't post because the thread was gone. Both threads were gone. Poof, vanished as if they had never existed. I sat back, aghast. Shades of 1984! Liberal Librarianship front and center! This is censorship! This is restraint of freedom of speech! This is... all sorts of things the American Library Association is against. Actually, it's quite proper moderation. The threads were becoming contentious, and had absolutely nothing to do with the purpose of the site. And thus, to promote the friendly atmosphere and to keep the site properly focused, they were removed. I thought of making a thread commenting on this, and how well done it was, but realized that such a post would be unacceptable, because it would have nothing to do with the purpose of the site, and would be a potential source of contention. So, practicing restraint and self-moderation, I didn't. But I can post here, on my own blog, can't I? Yes, I can. Here's to Erin Halfelven, site owner and moderator, for a job well done.