Month: September 2025

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Cool Comfort: How a Few New Fans Changed Our Summer Game

Written July 27, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Yesterday, the cavalry arrived—in the form of shiny new window fans. We installed them in their rightful spots, flipped the switch, and within minutes, the difference was so dramatic that stepping out of our bedroom this morning felt like walking into a gentle breeze instead of a stifling hallway.

We’re not anti–air conditioner, but we save it for when the thermometer creeps toward 92°F (33°C). Most of the time, ceiling fans plus these new window units keep the heat from staging a coup in our home. My own temperature regulation hasn’t been the same since my stroke, so a huge indoor–outdoor temperature gap hits me hard. Yard work doesn’t stop for summer, so we try to keep the house temperature within shouting distance of the outdoors—at least until the weather gets truly unbearable.

My wife, for her part, is a champion of “natural” temperatures. Winter? A brisk 65°F. Summer? A balmy 88°F. She’s from Japan, lived in Canada and Germany, and is perfectly fine without the constant hum of an air conditioner. Unfortunately, Nashville summers come with a side of humidity that could make a cactus sweat, so yes, we do give in to the A/C when it turns truly tropical.

Our old fans, relics from our Oregon days, had long since lost their sparkle—and by sparkle, I mean airflow. They moved the air about as effectively as a polite sigh. These new fans, however, blew me away—literally and figuratively. Affordable, powerful, and perfect for our home’s 12-foot ceilings, they move the air in ways that make lightbulb changes perilous but living conditions delightful.

The upstairs is mostly open, save for bedrooms and the washroom. That means one strong window fan, paired with a ceiling fan, creates a swirling breeze that cools the entire floor in under an hour—something that used to take all evening. Last night, our upstairs was cooler than it had been in weeks, without a single blast of A/C.

If we get another scorcher like last summer—two relentless weeks over 95°F, with a few days in the triple digits—we’ll still use the air conditioning as needed. But for the rest of this heat wave, and the next one lurking around the corner, these fans should make summer far more bearable.

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A Tangy Affair: My First Real Date with Sumac

Written July 26, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

In our kitchen, spices often live in two categories: the everyday workhorses, and the “mystery jars” that sit in the back, aging like fine wine but without the payoff. My wife, however, refuses to let a spice sulk in a corner. If we don’t have it, she simply plays culinary matchmaker with something else.

Take sumac, for example. Traditionally used in Middle Eastern dishes, it had long been absent from our shelves. My wife’s stand-in? Lemon zest with a dash of pepper — a clever impersonation that worked surprisingly well. For months, she worked this little trick into our cooking.

But then the recipes started stacking up. We were making dishes that actually called for sumac — and not just once in a blue moon. “It’s not like saffron,” she said one day, “you can get it without taking out a small loan.” Still, she wouldn’t commit unless the spice could earn its keep. After a respectable number of appearances on our dinner table, she finally brought home the real thing.

Sumac, as it turns out, is a striking spice — a deep, muted red, like paprika’s sophisticated cousin. My wife admired it instantly. “It’s beautiful,” she said, “and sour.” I had to taste it right then. Tart, citrusy, slightly spicy — like lemon zest that had been training for the Olympics.

Today, I finally put it to work. Lamb meatloaf with sautéed vegetables in cream sauce — not exactly a traditional sumac showcase, but I was curious. I dusted the crimson powder over the dish and took a bite. Perfection. The tangy sharpness sliced right through the richness of the cream like a sword through butter, bringing everything into balance.

It was the lemon zest experience I’d always wanted — all the brightness, none of the bitterness you get when you accidentally shave too close to the pith. From now on, any dish that gets a kiss of lemon zest might just meet its bolder, redder cousin too.

For the curious: sumac comes from dried, ground berries of the Rhus genus, relatives of the cashew and mango tree. It has nothing to do with poison sumac — that’s a completely different plant family, and one you do not want in your spice rack. The edible variety thrives in subtropical and temperate climates and can grow almost anywhere outside of Antarctica and South America.

It’s a darling of Middle Eastern cuisine, but as my wife and I discovered, its talents go far beyond that. Bright, tangy, and just a little spicy — I suspect this is the beginning of a long, flavorful friendship.

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Negotiating with My Body: Finding Energy in the Summer Heat

Written July 22, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

I don’t know if it’s the sweltering summer sun or if I’m just hitting a wall, but lately, I’ve felt like I’ve got nothing left in the tank. After a tiring mowing session—where I had to fuel up with cantaloupe instead of my usual pastry-bites—I found myself too zapped to follow through with my weekly pushups. So, in a bold act of self-compassion, I struck a deal with myself: “No pushups before breakfast. We’ll do them before supper instead.”

Summer in Nashville is a true test of endurance. Between two days a week of working outside (and yes, still doing battle with that steep backyard), it feels like my energy reserves are running on fumes. Thankfully, this year’s summer hasn’t yet thrown us into a brutal 100°F heatwave, though I won’t lie: the humidity here still knows how to knock you out.

Despite the sluggishness, I try to push through. The last time I attempted this, though, my wife was not thrilled. I had a gout flare-up, but did I take it easy? Of course not. I kept mowing and marching around like nothing was wrong. I didn’t tell her about the gout—partly because I didn’t want to worry her and partly because, well, I didn’t want to admit my body was starting to rebel. It’s a tough pill to swallow, realizing that I need rest when I’d rather keep pushing forward like the good old days.

But, here’s the twist: my wife insists I’ve got more stamina and energy than before. Go figure. She’s always been the outdoor adventurer—hiking, canoeing, camping, you name it—while I’m the homebody, cozy with my books, video games, and board games. She enjoys the outdoors but doesn’t really do the whole “movie-watching” thing unless there’s a notepad and pen involved. No judgment there; we all have our quirks.

The truth is, I’ve got more energy than I did before—but it still doesn’t last as long as I’d like. One culprit? My diet (or lack thereof). My protein intake is a bit on the low side, and I’ve noticed that my muscles just don’t bounce back the way they used to. So, I’ve had to learn how to negotiate with my body—compromise when I need to and push myself only when it’s truly necessary.

One trick that’s working for me is setting specific times to make up for missed tasks. As long as I know I’ve scheduled something for later, I’m far more likely to follow through than if I just say, “I’ll do it later” and leave it at that.

Take today, for example. I managed to knock out my pushups before dinner, even though I had postponed them earlier. My wife’s concern about my health is valid, especially after the last gout episode and the fact that my lab results weren’t as stellar as we hoped. So, yeah, I need to be smarter about listening to my body, knowing when to rest and when to power through—without ignoring those signals.

Negotiating with myself is key. If I’m wiped out, I rest. If I think I might regain my energy by the end of the day, I’ll save the pushups for later. The important part is making sure I follow through. If I tell myself, “I’ll do it later,” I’ve got to remember to actually do it later—not let it slip off the radar.

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How a Pastry Mistake Led to Creative Snack Solutions

Written July 20, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

While preparing my usual batch of pastry-bite snacks for the week, I made a classic mix-up. Instead of grabbing my trusty puff pastry sheets, I ended up with puff pastry shells. Whoops! In the frenzy of snack prep, I wasn’t paying attention to what I grabbed.

Now, with these pre-formed shells in hand, I had to get creative. Normally, I whip up tiny, 3-bite-sized snacks to snack on throughout the day—perfect for popping in my mouth during moments of weakness (or mowing the lawn). But these shells? Well, they’re already shaped, leaving me with no room for a creative bite-sized spin.

Why do I like my snacks tiny? Because they’re easy to consume, especially when I’m doing something like lawn mowing. On running days, I can throw a couple back at once and head out the door, but with lawn mowing, I like to spread out my snack breaks, nibbling between laps like a true lawn-mowing connoisseur. Occasionally, I even toss in some cantaloupe—gotta keep the energy up, right?

So, why am I constantly so hungry? It’s probably the sheer amount of physical activity I do, plus the fact that I’ve been building muscle. (Surprise, surprise—turns out, muscle-building works up an appetite!)

A few years ago, I asked my wife for an abdominal exercise machine for Christmas. After my brain stroke, I focused on improving my leg mobility, and as my endurance grew, I realized my body could handle muscle workouts. So, I dove into daily strength training. But here’s the catch: I couldn’t eat protein like a regular adult, which slowed down the muscle-building process. Slow and steady, though, I managed to gain muscle and, funnily enough, start putting on weight a little too easily. So now, with my food restrictions, managing my weight is an ongoing challenge—it’s like juggling, but with less grace and more snacks.

This pastry blunder also made me think of a similar moment with my wife. One time, she accidentally bought green Jasmine tea for our homemade kombucha instead of our usual roasted tea. Initially, we thought it was a mistake, but after some research, she found that green Jasmine tea actually works better for kombucha. So, voila! A happy accident turned into our new favorite tea.

Mistakes, huh? Sometimes they lead to pleasant surprises. Just like with my pastry shells—while I can’t break them into bite-sized pieces (sigh), there’s no use crying over it. The key is figuring out how to work with what I’ve got. Who knows? Maybe I’ll stumble upon a new way to enjoy these not-so-bite-sized bites. The important part is adapting, not obsessing over what went wrong.

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Stormy Skies, Jedi Robes, and a Surprisingly Cool 80 Degrees:

Written July 19, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

After days of heat so intense it felt like we were living inside a convection oven, the skies finally cracked open—dramatically, as if someone upstairs decided enough was enough. About an hour before bedtime, the long-threatened storm rolled in with theatrical flair, dumping buckets of rain and dropping the temperature like a mic.

My wife had been watching the brooding sky all evening, eyeing those dark gray clouds like they owed her money. And when the rain came, it brought with it that earthy, nostalgic smell—part petrichor, part soggy forest floor. The little wooded patch behind our house soaked it all in, sending up the scent of wet leaves and wood.

The temperature drop was swift and sweet. By sunset, it had dipped to a breezy 80°F. That may not sound like sweater weather, but after multiple days of 90+ degree punishment, it felt practically alpine. What’s wild is how 80°F now feels cool to me—a reminder of how my body has changed since my stroke and kidney issues. I used to roast like a lizard under a heat lamp. Now I’m grateful to feel any kind of comfort at all.

Meanwhile, my wife was feeling chilly, which brought back a funny memory: last Independence Day at my mother’s place. She had the thermostat at 78°F, and we were both huddling like penguins in a wind tunnel. I ended up donning my emergency Jedi robe—the one my sister gifted me for my birthday, complete with big sleeves and dramatic flair. It’s followed me across states and seasons, now upgraded to a thicker version for maximum cozy defense.

Before my stroke, I was a walking contradiction—loved the cold but couldn’t regulate it well. I’d fling open windows in the dead of Canadian winter, much to my wife’s horror. She, ever the voice of reason, kept our homes in balance—never too warm, never too cold. Her temperature philosophy? Let nature do its thing, and open the windows at night. It’s worked well in Nashville’s climate, where summer nights still offer a break from the scorch.

So, yes, the weather was finally nicer. I still didn’t hit my personal best pace on my run, but I got it done. According to my app, it was my 11th fastest 10k. Not too shabby for a guy in a heatwave who once wore a Jedi robe to survive a 78°F living room.