Weight

Stillman shed a lot of weight for the journey. Several tons, he figures, once the library went to the used book store, the clothes went to the thrift store, the bookshelves went on Craigslist, and the golf clubs and espresso machine were left on the neighbor's steps. Another ton+ if cars are part of the equation. But then there was a love he left, and judging how heavy that left his heart he figures it was pretty much a wash by the time Dionysus's dad picked him up for the early AM ride to the airport with just a big suitcase, a big-screen computer monitor (double-boxed), a veteran Timberland carry-on, and a backpack fit-to-burst.

He had to shed a final ten pounds in the terminal. He had figured if he could heft the new silver-shelled suitcase it was not over the 50-lb. limit. He was pleased he could lift 60 pounds when he learned it weighed that much. But he wasn't as philosophical about the $100 charge. The contents didn't add up to that, though the suitcase itself probably did. So he found a carpeted corner where the bank of pay phones used to be when there were such things as pay phones and he disgorged. He shifted some stuff to his carry-on. But then it was over the side—an industrial-grade surge protector, black Johnston & Murphy dress shoes he'd taken good care of with cedar stretchers and everything, blue jeans, and his favorite pair of University of Colorado sweat pants. He hoped the garbage guys could find some use for them. He had been pretty sure they'd be too warm for Paradise but had hedged his bet. Now he threw the hedge out.

He came in two pounds under. He probably could have kept the sweat pants that he wouldn't wear.

Bringing his dumbbells was out of the question so those went to a friend's teen son who was getting to that age when he might want dumbbells. But Stillman is also of an age and his body softens and weakens more quickly now. A little lifting keeps the creeping softness and weakness from discouraging him overly much.

So he had this idea. Rocks. He could lift rocks. There are plenty of rocks in Paradise and he began keeping an eye out for ones of certain sizes, certain weights. He found what seemed like a ten pound block to replace a little green medicine ball that was among the things he'd left behind. Ten pounds is about right for a lot of exercises. Then he watched for bigger for presses and rows and spotted a 30-pounder at the top of the driveway, a rock that was longer than thicker.

So he now he lifts rocks on the deck and tries not to think about the chances of dropping the big one on his head. Are the chances cumulative? Or calculated solely per set of lifts? Or per lift?

He lifts pretty much every day, between rain showers. And someday, maybe, the weight of the rocks he pushes, pulls, and presses may equal that of all he put aside and left.