Thursday, June 18, 2009

Faces of T-Ball

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Avenger Motor Speedway

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Healthy Hints

By: Bonnie Hester
Restful sleep provides the foundation for our mental and physical well-being. Millions of people suffer from some form of insomnia, resulting in fatigue, lack of mental alertness, and weakened physical and mental health. If you look at the millions of drugs on the counters for sleep-aid, you will know this is true. Lack of sleep also contributes to both minor and major injury accidents. Studies have shown that if you wake up at 3:00 in the morning and do not get back to sleep -- your immune cells do not work as well for the next 24 hours. Once you have a full night of sound sleep, they regain their disease-fighting abilities. A chronic lack of sleep may cause much more serious problems than a simple tendency to doze off the next day. People who do not get enough sleep on a regular basis may become less sensitive to insulin which, over time, can raise the risk for obesity, high blood pressure , diabetes. Dr. Eve Van Cauter at the University of Chicago found (1) that chronic sleep deprivation - 6.5 hours or less of sleep per night - had the same effect on insulin resistance as aging. Just like poor diet, a sedentary lifestyle, aging and chronic stress, lack of sleep is a risk factor for type 2 diabetes. Type 2 diabetes occurs when the body loses its ability to respond to insulin, the body's main blood sugar-regulating hormone. This insulin resistance causes blood-sugar levels to rise, which in turn increases the risk for a number of serious medical conditions including kidney damage, blindness, heart disease and lower limb amputations. Steps you can take to ensure you enjoy restful sleepinclude avoiding bed-time snacks, particularly grains and sugars. These will raise blood sugar levels and make sleep difficult. Later, when blood sugar levels drop too low (hypoglycemia), you might wake up and not be able to fall back asleep. Do not watch television or do any work in bed. Once in bed, close your eyes and simply "feel your body" - this means focus on your body and wherever you notice tension, consciously relax that area. Then, simply watch your slow easy breathing until you fall asleep. The neti pot is a beneficial practice which may help you improve your breathing for better health. Read spiritual or inspirational literature for a few minutes before bed. Avoid dramatic novels or distressing reading material. Go to bed as early as possible. Our body systems, particularly the adrenal glands, do a majority of their recovering during the hours of 11PM and 1AM. In addition, your gallbladder dumps toxins during this same time period. If you are awake, those toxins back up into the liver which then secondarily back up into your entire system and cause further disruption to your health. Prior to the invention of electricity, people would go to bed shortly after sundown, as most animals do, which is what nature intended for humans as well. Sleep when it is dark and in the daytime, get bright sunlight. So aim to be in your bed with the lights out between 9:30 P.M. and 10:30 P.M. If you are not used to getting to bed this early, move your bedtime up by 30 minutes every week until you are in bed by 10:30 P.M. For example, if you usually watch television until midnight, try turning off the TV by 11:30 for a week. Then aim for 30 minutes earlier, and finally 10:30 P.M. Stay away from alcohol and medications, if at all possible. Although alcohol makes people drowsy, its effect is short-lived and people will often wake up a few hours later, unable to fall back to sleep. Alcohol will also prevent you from falling into the deeper stages of sleep, where the body does most of its healing. Medications tend to be addictive and may even contribute to the cause of restless leg syndrome and other sleep problems. Avoid foods which you may be sensitive to. This is particularly true for dairy and wheat products, because they may have an effect on your sleep, such as causing apnea, gastrointestinal upset, excess congestion, and gas, among others.Reduce or avoid as many drugs as possible. Many medications, both prescription and over-the-counter, may affect sleep. Sleep in COMPLETE DARKNESS or as close to it as possible. When light hits the eyes, it disrupts the circadian rhythm of the pineal gland and the production of melatonin and serotonin. There have even been studies which show the effect a high level of melatonin (which sleeping in complete darkness produces) lowers your risk of cancer: The researchers found that totally blind women have a 36% lower risk of breast cancer compared with sighted women. Women who became blind relatively early in their life (before age 65), appeared to be especially protected against breast cancer, with cancer incidence rates 49% below those of sighted women. Only total blindness - not visual impairment - seemed to protect against breast cancer. According to the authors of the study, these findings support the theory that increased nighttime exposure to artificial light reduces melatonin levels, changing estrogen secretion rates and increasing risks for breast cancer. High blood levels of the hormone melatonin may explain why blind women have significantly lower risks of breast cancer compared with sighted women. Melatonin, an hormone which is secreted by the pineal gland in the brain and plays an important role in the body's sleep cycle, is thought to have an impact on the secretion of estrogen, which in turn influences breast cancer risks. Blind women are, by definition, unreceptive to light, and may maintain high melatonin production at night regardless of external light conditions. The authors of the study believe this may be the mechanism whereby blind women are protected from breast cancer. Ideally it is best to increase melatonin levels naturally with exposure to bright sunlight in the daytime and absolute complete darkness at night. Some sleep specialists recommend you get blackout drapes so no light is coming in from the outside.

The Effects of Sleep Deprivation: Sleep deprivation can have serious effects on your health in the form of physical and mental impairments. Inadequate rest impairs our ability to think, to handle stress, to maintain a healthy immune system and to moderate our emotions. In fact, sleep is so important to our overall health that total sleep deprivation has been proven to be fatal: lab rats denied the chance to rest die within two to three weeks. Find out more from this Free Guide to sleep disorders. Without adequate rest, the brain's ability to function quickly deteriorates. The brain works harder to counteract sleep deprivation effects, but operates less effectively: concentration levels drop, and memory becomes impaired. Similarly, the brain's ability to problem solve is greatly impaired. Decision-making abilities are compromised, and the brain falls into rigid thought patterns that make it difficult to generate new problem-solving ideas. Insufficient rest can also cause people to have hallucinations. Other typical effects of sleep deprivation include:depression • heart disease hypertension • irritability slower reaction times slurred speech • tremors. The older we get, the more likely it is that we will suffer from some kind of sleep disorder. In fact, over 50 percent of people over 64 years old suffer from some type of sleep disorder. While the hormonal and physical changes that occur as we age will likely affect sleep, especially in menopausal women, the increased presence of other medical conditions and disorders is also a factor that tends to upset the sleep of the elderly. One of the biggest sleeping problems the elderly experience is the inability to get deep, restorative sleep. Although they tend to sleep just as much as they did when they were younger, the elderly don’t get as quality sleep, meaning that they often suffer from fatigue and daytime drowsiness. The main reason for this is because older people don’t get as much REM sleep, the deepest, most restorative sleep phase. Dramatic weight changes, especially weight gain, are also common effects of sleep deprivation. Because the amount and quality of the sleep we get affects our hormone levels, namely our levels of leptin and ghrelin, many physiological processes that depend on these hormone levels to function properly, including appetite, are affected by our sleep.

Happy Hunting Ground

By: Ralph Ricks
Summer is in full swing here in the Deep South and it's promising to be a hot one. I took my daughter fishing the other day and I have added two very important items to my tackle box: a sling blade and a shotgun. The sling blade is to cut down weeds and tall grass from our favorite fishing holes to make it a less "snake friendly environment" and the shotgun is in case we fail. I find myself constantly having to remind my fourteen-year old daughter to watch out for snakes. As I begin to see more and more children her age I am convinced that children today have no natural fear of snakes. I have come to the conclusion that its one of two things, either we live in an increasing urban society that doesn't expose our offspring to snakes or the whole television world of animals has convinced our children that snakes are nothing to be afraid of now days. I believe that we are each born with an innate dislike of snakes or at least we should be. I say dislike instead of fear because I personally do not fear them but they do surprise me when I come upon one unexpectedly. I have heard the low buzz of an Eastern diamond back warning me to stay away and have calmly taken his advice. I have watched what we call a rat snake do some silly things with no fear at all.I stepped on a moccasin one time and still can't figure out why he didn't bite me, but he'll never bite anything again. My father had a definite absolute, deep and total terror of snakes. His avoidance of them almost ruled his entire life. Dad had a chance to become a pilot in the U.S. Navy and I am convinced that he was probably willing until he found out that he would have to take survival training and actually kill and eat a snake and that meant actually touching one and I'll bet he passed on that career decision. There is an old family story that involves my uncle, dad's brother in law. My uncle was an instructor at a naval aviation survival school in Florida and occasionally he and his fellow instructors would make forays into the local woods to round up snakes to use in their school. One trip, he came home straight from the field. There was some family get together at my Mom and Dad's house, so my uncle came straight there. As he walked up to the front door, my dad noticed that he was carrying a burlap bag. Dad knew what that bag meant and he headed out the back door. Sure enough, my uncle had a bag full of snakes and he had brought them with him so they wouldn't get too hot. My brother tells me that this is the only time he saw my dad ready to whup up on my uncle.Dad was of the opinion that there were only four kinds of snakes, " Big ones, little ones, live ones and dead ones." And he was afraid of all four. It didn't matter that they might be good for rodent control, it didn't matter that they might be endangered, it didn't matter that they might have a unique social system and laid golden eggs, they fell into the category of "The Four Kinds of Snakes" I think that dad was so afraid of snakes that I only remember actually seeing him kill one. It was a big South Baldwin County diamond back and he ran it over with my mom's '74 Impala. He made me get out to see if it was dead. I think I inherited my feeling about snakes from my grandmother. She had a healthy respect for them but as long as she had her hoe, she didn't fear them. She would cross the road to whack a snake with her hoe. She kept her hoe in a particular spot on the carport and there was trouble if you moved it. She wanted to be able to walk out the door and place her hand on it without looking. She was a sight scooting across her yard after one of "The Four". My brother followed in dad's footsteps and I won't even get into some of his antics when a snake is involved and we'll just end this part about my brother right here. My daughter came out of the blue. As I said, she watched too many animal shows where "snakes are fun" and didn't get very many encounters out in the woods where they could scare her. It just drives me crazy that I warn her to watch for snakes when we are fishing and she just seems unconcerned about them. I really get concerned when I think about the fact that the main snake she is going to find near a pond is a Cottonmouth. Personally I also think these "snake wranglers" are nuts.I feel that as far as snakes are concerned I am willing to live and let live as long as they stay out of my sight. I do not like close encounters with them but I won't run from them either. Grandmother had her hoe, I have my twelve-gauge shotgun and when I have it, I have no fear.

Alabama Fishing

By: Barry Brasher
I know you hear a lot about fishing in creeks, but have you ever tried it? There are a lot of different kinds of creeks and they all hold fish. Basically a creek is a tributary off the main body of water on any lake. They can range in size from very skinny and shallow to wide and deep. All fish use these creeks as a place to spawn, eat and live year round. I have caught bass, crappie, stripe, brim, red eye bass, catfish, carp, and even gar in creeks. The main thing you want to know about creeks is how, when, and where to fish them. So I am going to try to clear this up for you. Lets start off with bass. Bass are territorial and really don't move all over the lake like lots of fish. They will move in order to eat or follow bait fish, but they will stay in a general area for weeks or even months at a time. The only complicated thing about bass in creeks is where and how deep. Time of year plays a big part in this so you will have to go fishing to learn the better parts of the water, like deep banks, road beds, flats, bends in the creek, and even some of the bigger creeks have sloughs. Fish what you are accustomed to, just like you would in a lake or river. Just remember the further you go up the creek the colder the water will be, which is the key to success. Now lets talk about crappie. These fish will move. You can sit in one spot and catch a hundred and the next day you might not catch even one. The only time I fish for them is in the spring and fall. I will go to the shallowest part of the creek, the shoals, starting in February. Fishing only a couple feet deep with a jig and cork will produce every time you go. Fish the lay downs as you move up the creek to see how far they have moved. Crappie will spawn in faster moving water, but they will do so in the eddies, where the water is backing up or swirling instead of flowing free. This backing up motion can be caused by any type of structure in the water, like lay downs, rocks or even a bend in the creek. Fish these areas out good because they do not like to fight the current. Stripe on the other hand use creeks for spawning, food, and cold water habitat. Starting in March the stripe will start their run to spawn. These fish can move as much as twenty miles in a day. If the water stays the right temp for them to spawn they will go forward; on the other hand if a cold front comes through they will move completely out of the creek. The more you fish the better success you will have. Let me tell you if you hit that magical moment it will be a fish on every cast. The best bait for this type of fishing is a grub with a one-eighth, to one-quarter ounce head, depending on how fast the water is moving. I also fish for stripe in the hottest part of the summer with live shad. And the salts and hybrids are a whole other story that you can get on my website. As far as the rest mentioned, these fish are just an added bonus to what you might catch in the creek. Let me say my favorite creek to fish is Chocolocca Creek on Logan Martin Lake, where the world record red eye bass was caught. So you never know what you might catch. I have also found this is a great way to beat the wind when cold fronts come through. I have fished creeks with the wind blowing twenty miles an hour and never checked up. You might get blown around a little bit, but most of the time it is easy fishing. Just remember creeks have lots of hidden dangers and shallow shoals so be careful and have fun. Any questions contact Ed or me at BamaBassFishing.com.

My Fathers Son

It was one of those excruciatingly cold New England mornings in 1964. A four-day-old snow had turned to ice as it pressed against my bedroom window. In my twelve-year-old sleepiness, I staggered through the dark hallway into the bathroom, hearing the truck’s engine idling audibly outside. Peering out, I saw his figure — a dark shadow moving against the white background, his breath clouding the air when he exhaled. I heard his work boots crunching the hard snow with his giant steps. I saw his dark face hidden beneath a knit cap, the upturned coat collar, the woolen scarf wrapped around his neck and chin. One gloved hand guided the ice scraper across the truck’s windshield; the other brushed the shavings like a crystal beard from the truck’s old weathered face. Daddy. Moving with a quick purpose, driven by a commitment and a responsibility taught him thirty-five years earlier in Depression-era Georgia. Daddy. A silent gladiator who was stepping once more into the hostile arena of the day’s battle. Daddy. Awake while the rest of the world slept. And as he slid behind the steering wheel, driving carefully from the driveway onto the street, the truck was swallowed up by dawn’s dimness. As I returned to the warmth of my blankets — in my own bed, in my own room — I knew I could go back to sleep, to dream, because Daddy was outside facing the cold. Throughout the many junior- and senior-high mornings I watched my father go to work, I never told him how that vision affected me. I simply wondered at his ability to do what he did: keeping the kitchen filled with food, making the payments on my music lessons, covering the car insurance so I could drive during my senior year, piling the Christmas gifts beneath the tree, taking me to Boston to buy new clothes, dragging me to church on Sundays, driving me to visit college campuses on his day off, kissing and teasing my mother in the living room, and nodding off in his easy chair in the middle of a sentence. Perhaps it was because these scenes seemed so ordinary that I never spoke of them, never weighed them beyond my own selfish adolescent needs. And then at college, away from him — when his presence became merely the voice over the phone during weekend calls or the name scribbled at the bottom of the weekly letter stuffed with a ten — dollar bill — I thought other men were more significant than Daddy. Those men who taught my classes in polysyllabic words, wrote articles in journals and explained complex theorems and philosophies. Daddy never did any of that — he couldn’t with only a high school education. My hero worship made me a disciple to Ivy League scholars who ignited my dormant ideas and dead men whose names were printed on book covers, buildings and the currency I hungered to possess. Then, as I traveled to Europe in my later college years, I realized I had seen more, had traveled farther and had achieved greater distinctions than Daddy ever had. I was filled with a sense of self-importance, puffed up with grad-school grants, deluded with degrees and accolades assigned to my name. Then, I entered the formidable arena — the job, the relationships, the creditors, the pressures and the indignities of racial politics. As I reached my late twenties, I looked forward to returning home, talking with Daddy, sharing a ball game, watching an old Western on television, drinking a beer, listening to a story about his childhood days in Georgia and hearing his warm, fulfilling laughter. I rediscovered Daddy again — not as a boy in awe, but with respect as a man. And I realized a truth that I could not articulate as a It was one of those excruciatingly cold New England mornings in 1964. A four-day-old snow had turned to ice as it pressed against my bedroom window. In my twelve-year-old sleepiness, I staggered through the dark hallway into the bathroom, hearing the truck’s engine idling audibly outside. Peering out, I saw his figure — a dark shadow moving against the white background, his breath clouding the air when he exhaled. I heard his work boots crunching the hard snow with his giant steps. I saw his dark face hidden beneath a knit cap, the upturned coat collar, the woolen scarf wrapped around his neck and chin. One gloved hand guided the ice scraper across the truck’s windshield; the other brushed the shavings like a crystal beard from the truck’s old weathered face. Daddy. Moving with a quick purpose, driven by a commitment and a responsibility taught him thirty-five years earlier in Depression-era Georgia. Daddy. A silent gladiator who was stepping once more into the hostile arena of the day’s battle. Daddy. Awake while the rest of the world slept. And as he slid behind the steering wheel, driving carefully from the driveway onto the street, the truck was swallowed up by dawn’s dimness. As I returned to the warmth of my blankets — in my own bed, in my own room — I knew I could go back to sleep, to dream, because Daddy was outside facing the cold. Throughout the many junior- and senior-high mornings I watched my father go to work, I never told him how that vision affected me. I simply wondered at his ability to do what he did: keeping the kitchen filled with food, making the payments on my music lessons, covering the car insurance so I could drive during my senior year, piling the Christmas gifts beneath the tree, taking me to Boston to buy new clothes, dragging me to church on Sundays, driving me to visit college campuses on his day off, kissing and teasing my mother in the living room, and nodding off in his easy chair in the middle of a sentence. Perhaps it was because these scenes seemed so ordinary that I never spoke of them, never weighed them beyond my own selfish adolescent needs. And then at college, away from him — when his presence became merely the voice over the phone during weekend calls or the name scribbled at the bottom of the weekly letter stuffed with a ten — dollar bill — I thought other men were more significant than Daddy. Those men who taught my classes in polysyllabic words, wrote articles in journals and explained complex theorems and philosophies. Daddy never did any of that — he couldn’t with only a high school education. My hero worship made me a disciple to Ivy League scholars who ignited my dormant ideas and dead men whose names were printed on book covers, buildings and the currency I hungered to possess. Then, as I traveled to Europe in my later college years, I realized I had seen more, had traveled farther and had achieved greater distinctions than Daddy ever had. I was filled with a sense of self-importance, puffed up with grad-school grants, deluded with degrees and accolades assigned to my name. Then, I entered the formidable arena — the job, the relationships, the creditors, the pressures and the indignities of racial politics. As I reached my late twenties, I looked forward to returning home, talking with Daddy, sharing a ball game, watching an old Western on television, drinking a beer, listening to a story about his childhood days in Georgia and hearing his warm, fulfilling laughter. I rediscovered Daddy again — not as a boy in awe, but with respect as a man. And I realized a truth that I could not articulate as a child — Daddy was always there for me. Unlike the professors, the books, the celebrity heroes, the mentors, he was always there. He was my father, a man who committed himself to a thankless job in a society that had written him off with statistics and stereotypes. When I reached my early thirties, when I became a father myself, I saw my own father with greater clarity. As I awoke in the early morning hours, compromised my wants, dealt with insults and worked overtime in order to give my son his own room — with his own bed and his own dreams — I realized I was able to do those things because my father had done them for me. And now, at age forty-seven, when I spend precious moments with my own thirteen-year-old son, when we spend fleeting moments together at a movie, on a basketball court, in church or on the highway, I wonder what he thinks of me. At what point will I slip away from his world of important men, and will there be a point when he’ll return to me with a nod of understanding? How will he measure my weaknesses and strengths, my flaws and distinctions, my nightmares and dreams? Will he claim me in the name of love and respect? Sometimes the simple lessons are the most difficult to teach. Sometimes the most essential truths are the most difficult to learn. I hope my son will one day cherish all the lessons and truths that have flowed to him, through me, from his grandfather. And as my son grows older, I believe that he, too, will measure his steps by the strides I have made for him, just as I have achieved my goals because of the strides my father has made for me. When my son does this, perhaps he will feel the same pride and fulfillment that I do when I say, “I am my father’s son.”