A Blue Moon, Ten-Month Ramble
10 Months, 1 day
It's cold today. There's a nice fire going in the fireplace. I'm on the couch with my laptop, dog (also on couch) curled up at my feet, his nose draped across my ankle. Spouse and darlingdaughter have just left to hunt for bargains at JC Penney's. The house is suddenly quiet, and on a sunny day this is the most wonderfully peaceful place to be. A year ago, I'd have been outside on the deck right now, in the cold, relishing a couple of smokes as soon as the car left the drive.
Sometimes it seems therapeutic for me to walk along our country roadside picking up litter. This is also a form of penance, as I have indeed tossed a few butts to the breezes myself. I must observe that smokers (along with teenage drinkers) are among the world's worst litterers. More than 90% of the discarded objects along my roadside are butts or empty packs. So the argument that smokers are among the world's least considerate people has merit. But last week, I made a symbolic and highly significant finding: There at the end of our driveway was a little clear piece of plastic that looked familiar to me. "I wonder, could that be?" I thought, as I stooped to pick it up. Sure enough, on the other side was some of the foil that once sealed in a piece of Nicorette gum, to preserve its fresh tastiness (blech). So, at least one of the litterers is attempting a reform of the smoking habit; can the littering habit be far behind?
I've been out in the woods twice today. This morning I ran for a mile in the snow. I don't usually do that, but I am so tired of this stupid exercise bike. And this afternoon the daughter and I went for a walk. She can make a half-mile trip around the little loop path behind our house last for nearly an hour. There are so many things to do and see out there. There's a gathering of saplings that forms an imaginary cave, and we had to hunker down in for a while. There's a leaf that looks like a turtle. There's a network of mouse runways, and deer tracks. There's a stunted misshapen pine tree that looks like an octopus. The laurels' leaves are all curled up and shivering in the cold. There's an oak tree with a big bump on its side, known as the booboo tree, a tree with a horizontal section of trunk that can be ridden like a horse known as the black beauty tree, and a stand of maples that are known as the halloween trees. Scary looking trees, they are, especially when imagined with a full moon behind them. There's a spot on the path where the roots cross it in the shape of an X. This may have religious significance. There's a creek with a couple of inches of ice on it, that needs to be jumped on, and a frozen swamp, and all kinds of other great stuff.
These are also my old smoking woods. A while ago (4 months, to be precise) I anticipated that my first nonsmoking winter was approaching, and that I was looking forward to winter walks without smoking. This is the fourth season of my quit. As a closet smoker, all my smoking was done outdoors, and winters were therefore especially difficult. Despite the hardships, I did enjoy those walks. They used to be my escapes, my excuses to get away from family, my smoking opportunities. I cherished them for that last reason, but I have found new reasons to enjoy them. Many of you write wistfully about how you're going to do without smoking while doing things that seem to go hand in hand with it. Walking in the woods was that way for me. Now I just take my daughter along, and it's more fun that it has ever been. A year ago, I'd have been privately annoyed if she had wanted to come along, and would have needed to fabricate a need for an errand shortly thereafter.
I never knew it would happen, but I'm glad to report from here at the end of month 10 that it is possible to enjoy life without cigarettes. I expect that each of you will find ways of doing the same. I do still think about smoking. These thoughts come disturbingly often, but I don't take them seriously anymore. The urges are no longer translated into temptations, and I don't come anywhere close to buying a pack. I am fortunate to live in a tobacco-free world.
So there you have it, scattered, random remarks (therefore a ramble in the traditional sense), at 10 months. I had better save a bit for the 12-monther.
This Old Quit: a Dozen Signs of Age. (Warning: QuitNet in-jokes)
1. Your computer has learned the way to www.quitnet.org, and just takes you there, hoping for some recognition for being so clever.
2. You just can't decide: will it be Quitstop, or Milestones? Quitstop, or Milestones? If both, which should come first?
3. You wonder: would people hate you if you did not post congratulations today? Dunno. Better do it, even though you've never heard from msplacebo (13 months!) before, and she has probably been smoking like a chimney again for the last 12 months and 29 days.
4. You begin to harbor a grudge against that assho*e, MrFlapJacks, who has NEVER responded to any of your posts or acknowledged ANY of your anniversaries.
5. You stop reading posts that just say "HELP!!!!!" In their subject lines, just to be mean.
6. You start reaching for a simile to improve on "smokes like a chimney." Can't think of a single one. You conclude that this must be among the best similes of all time.
7. You have noticed that MrFlapJacks always uses "your" where he should use "you're," and "it's" where he should use "its." But after typing a long and thoughtful note to him, trying to be helpful while being very careful to avoid offending him, you hit the cancel button. Let the poor bastard wallow in his improper pronouns.
8. You have copied images of Mike and Ike, the "Talk" buddies, and they are now icons all over your desktop.
9. You have painted the room that houses your computer a lovely shade of green to match the decor of the chat room.
10. You become a regular reader of the "Feedback" forum, just to see if there's any trouble brewing over there that you should know about.
11. Your "People" light is always lit. ALWAYS.
12. You have experimented with the following: sending whispers to yourself (some highly complimentary, and even some nasty ones!), swatting yourself, and putting yourself on your buddy list.    
Good Fish Don't Smoke  
Go-ood fish, they don't smo-o-oke (they don't smoke) Go-ood fish, they don't smo-oke (hey guys, it ain't a joke)
deedoodededum... You know the tune.
The Premise:
Fish can be smoked, but they do not, of their own volition, choose to smoke.
The question:
And why not? They are bored. Their lives can be stressful. They spend time in schools, doing what all the others do. They are stupid. All of the ingredients of a smoker. Why, then, do fish not smoke?
I've given this some deep and serious thought today, while zooming along Bermuda's south shore being the bad-ass moped biker dude. I thought of several possible reasons. The truth, of course, cannot be discerned from mere hypotheses without further investigation, which I intend to begin by writing a major grant proposal, possibly to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Hopefully, this will fund my next expedition, complete with research assistants.
Hypothesis 1:
Fish have no fingers, and therefore have an awkward time with lighters and matches.
Hypothesis 2:
Fish do not have fleshy lips, and therefore cigarettes dangling from their mouths do not look as cool as they do in human mouths.
Hypothesis 3:
Fish do not have lungs (Well, except for lungfish) and without lungs, what fun would smoking be?
Hypothesis 4:
Since fish do not have lungs, they don't have lung cancer to worry about, and therefore smoking is not risky behavior. And it's the thrill of the risk-taking that appeals to us all.
Hypothesis 5:
Cigarettes, when submerged, become soggy and difficult to light.
Hypothesis 6:
There is no place for fish to purchase cigarettes.
Hypothesis 7:
Fish have no money to spend on cigarettes.
My Quitnet friends suggested many alternatives, including lack of pockets, etc. but you get the idea. None were really serious suggestions. Some questioned the initial premise.  
Now and Then
04/06/1999 20:42:21    
Dear Quitsters,
Looks like year two is going to be just fine. A new approach, that of making life easier on ourselves, has prevailed and seems to be a viable option! Ok, sorry. A contrast with April, 1998, the beginning of year one might be in order. A year ago, let me see. . .  oh, yes, now I remember. . .
[fade to past with harp music]
Spouse was a guilt-ridden, conflicted lawyer-mom. Solo practice out of the house. Pissed off most of the time. A year ago, she was probably at an evening meeting of a nearby water or sewer district commission, getting yelled at by the citizenry because water and sewers should be free.
Darlingdaughter was mastering the bicycle.
The basketball hoop was set at the regulation height of 10 feet.
I was finishing hell week and feeling mighty smug about that.
I had not done the taxes. . .
Spring peepers (Hyla crucifer) were out and getting warmed up for their annual hectic period of nonstop frantic froggy sex.
[fade back to present, with harp music]
And now:
Spouse has bagged the law practice, and has instead become the Brownie leader par excellence. Still guilt-ridden and conflicted (a family condition), but the conflicts are different. Right now, she's at a leaders' training session-- camping technology. Probably s'mores, and then some more.
Darlingdaughter is taking piano. Two hands at the same time this week! We have a tire swing now and a treehouse is being planned (don't tell spouse).
The basketball hoop is now set at about 8 feet. ToddL can slam-dump at that level-- very impressive, and Darlingdaughter is no match for his roundball wizardry.
I have finished year one and am feeling mighty smug about that.
I have not done the taxes. . .
Spring peepers (Hyla crucifer) are out and getting warmed up for their annual hectic period of nonstop frantic froggy sex.
Looks like a very good year for treefrogs in these parts. I'll let you know how it all works out.
Salutations, ToddL  
ToddL has Left the Building. . .
The time has come. I will miss you all, but I can't keep living at QuitNet. It has been so valuable and dear to me that I am going to have a very hard time leaving it. I'm not saying goodbye this time, as that makes it too embarrassing to return, but I do intend to make only the occasional visit, to report back from the frontiers of Year Two now and then. I hope the many friends I've made there will continue to keep in touch.