Every day …

It's more fun to read blogs than to write them — at least for me it is.
That may seem a betrayal of my profession, but I write all day. Must I really tap out scintillating commentary here?
Not that anything I've written here is groundbreaking, earth-shattering, Lady Gaga-in-an-egg sort of stuff. I just don't have the energy.
I feel like that old cartoon character, groaning over and over again at the slightest hint of promise, "It'll never work."
Besides, all I could ever hope for now is the occasional reader willing enough to let me slip onto the figurative psychiatrist couch. We could talk about how sorely I miss my dad, who died more than three months ago; how, every day, something happens that I say, "I've got to tell Dad about … Oh, yeah, I guess not"; how I wish he could be here to watch Benny's upcoming first baseball practices and games. We could talk about how I have to tell myself not to push Benny too hard into baseball as a way to reconnect with my dad; or how baseball season's started again, and it's the first one where we can't discuss the Tigers' prospects.
Everyone's been through the loss of a parent, but having both gone just bites.
I'm trying to channel my energies into other things: I've joined the handbell choir at church; I'm working out more regularly; I took my first yoga class tonight, and if I can get out of bed tomorrow morning without my muscles contorted into some weird pose, I'll be just dandy; and I've even started working — ploddingly, mind you — on a novel and a kid's book.
Every day, and in every way, I'm getting better and better.
Really.

Be it resolved …

What's the start of a new year without some resolutions.

Reading
OK -- I'm cheating. Christine gave me Laura Hillenbrand's "Unbroken" for Christmas. I finished it in three days. I'm using that energy to read more. I bought another book, "The Imperfectionists," by Tom Rachman, on Thursday.
I recommend "Unbroken" to anyone. It's not just about an Olympic runner, World War II bomber, survivor of 47 days stranded at sea, and the legacy of Japanese POW camps. His life up to that point is amazing enough -- and accounts for two-thirds of the novel -- but how he conquered his post-war life and helped others even more is incredible on its own.
I'm only 48 pages into "The Imperfectionists," which is a fictional story about people working at an English-language newspaper based in Rome. After my days working for an English-language weekly in Prague, the storyline intrigued me. The structure of the novel put me off at first, but Rachman is a great storyteller, and I'm starting to see the big picture coalesce.


Run and Get more sleep
Here's the plan: Get to bed by 9, rise by 5. That way I can bang out a few pieces for the company website or on Twitter before Christine and Benny wake up.
Rise by 4 on the one day (initially) per week that I go running. I went running with Benny at the Kezar Stadium track last week, and I actually found it relaxing.

Save more money
Not a good start — I just bought this new computer, a Flip camera and a printer. But after seven years of working on the same computer, which technology has passed by — it's time. The goal here: roughly $1,000 a month, not counting restarting the 401(k) contributions. Recommended reading: "Your Money or Your Life." My mother gave it to me and my siblings years ago, but Christine and I finally started living it three years ago.

Stay focused at work
Simple goal here: Continue what I've been doing, but try to turn out at least one enterprise piece every quarter.

Help others/get involved
The church that I joined last June — Seventh Avenue Presbyterian Church — does a monthly gig at a soup kitchen. I've also meant to volunteer at Benny's school's library, and I'll be volunteering with the SF Little League as Benny starts playing baseball this year. I also talked to the choir director at church about playing in the bell choir, something I haven't done for years.
Since I mentioned church, the other thing I want to do is try to figure out this God thing. That isn't too much to do this year, is it?

Eat right/exercise more (consistently)
I've been working out at a club for the past two years, but I need to bring more consistency to that routine. I figure two times working out at the gym and one run per week — so that means eating better.
I cut soda out of my diet in July, and in 2010 I drank a lot more water.
Goal: Lose 5 pounds a month, maintain and finish the year at 170.

Take more trips
In California: Death Valley, Mono Lake.
Midwest: Family in Michigan and Wisconsin.
2012: England, Scotland, France.

Spend more time with family/friends
Whether that means friends from work or friends outside of work, Dad's memorial service reminded me that it's friendships, not achievements that are the longest lasting.
I'm not sure exactly what I think about this little bit from "The Imperfectionists," but it also got me thinking. The character, who is sick, is being interviewed by a reporter for her obit:

"But my point, you see, is that death is misunderstood. The loss of one's life is not the greatest loss. It is no loss at all. To others, perhaps, but not to oneself. From one's own perspective, experience simply halts. From one's own perspective, there is no loss. You see? Yet maybe this is a game of words, too, because it doesn't make it any less frightening, does it." She sips her tea. "What I really fear is time. That's the devil: whipping us on when we'd rather loll, so the present springs by, impossible to grasp, and all is suddenly past, a past that won't hold still, that slides into these inauthentic tales. My past — it doesn't feel real in the slightest. The person who inhabited it is not me. It's as if the present me is constantly dissolving. There's the line of Heraclitus: 'No man steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.' That's quite right. We enjoy this illusion of continuity, and we call it memory. Which explains, perhaps, why our worst fear isn't the end of life but the end of memories." She considers him searchingly. "Do I make sense? Does that seem reasonable? Mad?"

My dad's obituary

Father, husband, coach and friend, Robert "Bob" Leuty, 77, died Nov. 11 at Lakeland Regional Hospital.
A memorial service will be held at Sarett Nature Center at 2 p.m. Sunday, Nov. 21.

Memorials may be made to the Boys and Girls Club of Benton Harbor (c/o Janet Farley, 1200 E. Main St., Benton Harbor, MI 49022 -- please be sure to note that it is a Bob Leuty memorial) and Hospice at Home, 4025 Health Park Lane, St. Joseph, MI 49085.

Whether catching tadpoles on Ox Creek, teaching kids how to bunt or walking alongside the Benton Harbor High School marching band with an armful of coats during the Blossom Parade, Bob lived his life with a quiet dignity and always treated others as he would like to be treated.

Bob loved to be out in nature, if that meant just puttering in his seemingly ever-growing garden on Pavone Street, fishing, riding his bike to work on Klock Road or picking apples at Higbee’s orchard. He loved sports, from his beloved BHHS Tigers to the University of Michigan to the Detroit Tigers.
Most of all, Bob loved his family — his wife, the former Joyce Curtis; his four children; and his grandchildren — and his friends, especially those since childhood.

Bob was born on Nov. 27, 1932, in Grand Rapids, and raised in Benton Harbor by his parents, grandparents and cousins in the Flats, and other locations, including the house his dad built at Parker and Marion streets.

After graduating from BHHS, where he played baseball and played trombone in the band, Bob and many of his friends entered the Air Force during the Korean War. He stayed stateside throughout his service.
After he was discharged, he and his returning veteran friends welcomed in 1956 at a New Year’s Eve party, where he met Joyce. Ten months later, they were married. As they drove to their honeymoon destination the next day in Traverse City, Joyce talked on about their beautiful wedding, and Bob seemingly listening attentively. The car radio playing in the background, however, was where Bob’s ear was more tuned, as Don Larsen was pitching his World Series perfect game for the New York Yankees.

A little more than a year after their honeymoon — or the perfect game, whichever stands out more — their daughter, Marlene, was born. Diane, Steve and Ron followed over the next eight years.
Bob’s activities usually centered around those of his kids. He was president of the Benton Harbor Band and Orchestra Parents, he coached his kids’ baseball and basketball teams (and rarely missed one of their games, whether he coached or not) and taught Sunday school, sang in the choir and played in the bell choir at First Congregational Church in Benton Harbor.
During baseball season, Bob usually could be seen around Benton Harbor with a car full of neighborhood kids heading toward baseball practice. He helped build the Fairplain Babe Ruth field off of Union Street, coached for many years in Benton Harbor youth baseball and, later in life, assisted with teams in St. Joseph.

In particular, he enjoyed helping coach his son, Ron, and a rag-tag group of inner-city kids, known as the Pearl A’s, to a Babe Ruth championship at the Eaton Park baseball tournament in 1981.

Bob loved animals and bowling. He loved to watch old movies, especially Westerns, was a voracious reader of mysteries and mowed the lawns of many elderly neighbors.

Bob ran unsuccessfully for Benton Harbor City Commission in 1972, but continued to serve the city over the next two decades on the planning commission and parks and recreation board. At First Congregational Church, he served on many boards and choirs, but kept a keen eye on the church grounds and Roosevelt Park across the street.

Bob will be sorely missed by family, friends, and all the kids whose lives he touched through coaching, and all those who simply were recipients of his kindness.

He is survived by his children — Marlene (Ron) Robinson of Copemish; Diane (Michael) Venn of Kohler, Wis.; Steven (Maureen Lannon) Leuty of Kalamazoo; and Ron (Christine Kilpatrick) Leuty of San Francisco — and grandchildren, Christina Venn, Nicholas Venn, Raymond Venn, James Robinson, Ian Leuty and Benjamin Leuty.

He was preceded in death by his wife, Joyce, in 2000, and his parents, Berniece and Steve, in 1988.

Beautiful day in Michigan!

Naked sellers should cover their assets

The SEC made the right move today by limiting naked short-selling.
In fact, I say the agency didn’t go far enough: It should ban naked short-selling on the public market.
Imagine if everyone at the E-Trade office at Market, Sansome and Sutter— full of windows, mind you — started naked short-selling. One or two naked sellers is bad enough — but a whole office full of them exposing their assets?
If someone wants to naked short-sell in the privacy of his or her own home, go for it. But there’s no way the market should support this kind of behavior.

Michael Vick's new sentence

If there was truly justice in this Home of the Free and the Atlanta Braves, disgraced pro quarterback and amateur dog-fight operator Michael Vick would face a probation that included watching the Detroit Lions.
"But, judge …," Vick would say at his sentencing, moments before breaking down in tears.
"I don't want to hear it, Mr. Vick," the judge would say. "And if you can't handle it, you'll have to play for the Lions."
Vick would be sedated and placed on a stretcher headed straight for Ford Field.
Just put a bag on your head, Michael -- like the rest of us who have taken our punishment during the 45-year William Clay Ford Era.

Bike to Work Day

Ever since a cabby forced me to ditch my bike -- or get hit -- on a ride to work seven years ago, Christine has more or less put the kibosh on me pedaling into work again.
The fact that I wrenched my knee, had surgery, the doctor pulled a floating, one-inch piece of bone out of my leg -- and then I actually got hit while riding in Ann Arbor a couple years later -- only adds to her case. She tries to hide it, but I can tell she's nervous even when I ride on the weekends.
* sigh *
So I was thrilled to ride into work today as part of Bike to Work Day. Totally uneventful -- which is good, considering Market Street, from what I hear, can be a real bear for bicyclists. But I've biked down Market a half-dozen times now with no problems.
Someday. Someday. Maybe I can bike to work throughout the workweek.
A biking boy can dream.