Rejuvenation

We've been home close to a week and I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the experiences I had in Colorado. We tried to count how many times we've been and I think it's twelve or thirteen. But this is the first year I really felt like I was able to fully appreciate the majesty of the Rocky Mountains.

First, there's the preparation. Last time we went (2008), I had to pack in the biggest suitcase we had. This year I packed in the smallest. I took just as many clothes...they're just smaller. And I didn't have to fight with the seat belt on the plane. Last time I almost had a melt-down because Ron was telling me to ask for the extender. This year there was plenty of belt to tighten.

Once we got to Estes Park and made our way into the Park to "our" rock (claimed many years ago because we spent so much time there) I was big horn sheep-like in my ascent and descent. It was one of those moments I'll not soon forget.

A couple of days into our stay Tyler and I decided to walk up Old Fall River Road. It's a one-way dirt road that stretches nine miles. We didn't do all nine miles - maybe a couple of miles - but it was a steady incline and we did some off-roading to explore big rocks and caves and waterfalls that most people don't get to see from their cars. We had lunch on a huge rock and I got two great war wounds. And I learned a lesson I'd repeat almost on a daily basis: going back down is often harder than getting up.

Then there's Alluvial Fan. In years past it had been a huge struggle for me to even walk up the pathway to the information marker. I had to stop three or four times to catch my breath, my heart pounding in my ears. This year, I had to stop - to let Tyler catch up to me. It really was indescribable.

Years ago, Ron, Kate and Tyler climbed to the top of Alluvial Fan while I sat perched down below. In the last two or three years, Tyler has made the trip by himself, armed with a walkie-talkie so I could monitor his progress. This year I was determined to go with him. And I did. We climbed for about three hours and got higher than ever before. At one point the water was too high to continue bouldering alongside the river so we had to go up and over a huge pile of fallen trees. We were at about a fifty or sixty degree angle and it was pretty intense. Tyler was a great guide, although I know he was terrified for me.

After the tree pile incident, we wisely decided not to go back the way we came, but rather take the Fern Lake Trailhead back down. All in all, it was about a four and a half hour trek. And, had the weather cooperated, I'd have done it again. And again. As it was, we did scale Alluvial one more time, but rain cut us short and we had navigate some pretty slippery slopes. At one point during our first climb I told Tyler that had I known what it was like up here I'd never, ever have let him do it alone.

I found myself regretting all the things I missed out on for all those years. But, I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to really take in the beauty and serenity that surrounded us. As my grandmother used to say, "How can anyone see this and be an infidel?" And, there's always next year, with new trails to explore and new heights to be gained.

The Joys of an Older Home

I love our home. It was built in 1937, in the midst of the Depression. I'm guessing it was originally a two bedroom, one bath home. Somewhere along the way an upstairs bedroom was added, as well as a large master bath. The remaining attic space was finished off just before we moved in and it's now my office. It's a great space - cozy and comfortable. Except for the HVAC. The duct work they ran isn't very powerful so it's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. Right now I've got four fans going just trying to circulate the air. Noisy, but tolerable.

Our home has wonderful original features like glass doorknobs on all the doors (even on the inside of the closets), original hardwoods (that are in dire need of a face lift), the original return air vent covers and a picture rail in all the rooms downstairs. Our walls are lathe and plaster, so we can't nail into the walls; our pictures hang from decorative cording affixed by hooks on the picture rail. It's a great home.

However ... just like anything that's aging (including me), little aches and pains begin to make themselves known. Last night's torrential downpour brought to our attention (again) that we need to replace the sump pump. It's really loud and - according to Ron - not all that effective. We have a small drain in the basement/garage, but he says we need one of those drains that span the width of the garage door. "Right before we go on vacation?" I ask. Really? Arrrrggghhh.

Another "perk" of owning an older home is a plethora of large, mature trees. We have seventeen trees on our lot, seven of which are walnut. You know how I feel about those trees. Trying to dodge the falling walnuts and the threat of rolling your ankle whilst walking through the yard has made our outdoor space a health hazard. And last night, again in the torrential downpour we lost two monstrous branches laden with walnuts. Ron cut up the fallen limbs last night, which I chunked into a pile. Today after my walk, I got out the wheel barrow and made ten trips to the burn pit, lugging branches, walnuts and other miscellaneous junk across the yard.

I love our home. But there are days when a condo looks pretty good. But only for a minute. Or two.

Dear Diners

Thank you for coming into my restaurant tonight. I know that, for most of you, dining out is a real treat. My job is to make your experience enjoyable and I'm happy to serve you. Please keep in mind that while I'm taking care of your needs, I'm also taking care of anywhere from two to six other parties. That's approximately 24 drink orders, six to ten appetizer orders and 24 entree orders - all at one time. I pace myself so that I can attend to your needs in a timely manner. I check back frequently to refill drinks, bring extra dressing, napkins or replace silverware. Again, I'm happy to do so. And I work hard. I walk an average of six to ten miles during my shift. I don't sit down and I've got sidework to do in the midst of taking care of you.

Here's my point. If my service has not been acceptable to you, please tell me. Otherwise, please tip me generously. The standard is fifteen - twenty percent. And if you're using a gift or discount card, it's customary to tip on the total amount of the bill before the discount.

In the restaurant industry, tips are the bulk of my income. I get paid $2.14 per hour and taxes are taken out of that. I also have to declare my tip income, which is also taxed. I'm a college student and the money I make in the summer has to last an entire year. Or maybe I'm a single mom who relies on tips to buy diapers, food and medicine for my children.

If you can't afford to tip me, then maybe you should stay at home and eat.

Basta!

No, it's not an unfinished derogatory term. It means "enough" in Italian. And I'm talking about the fact that Tori Spelling has deemed it good parenting to get her three-year old a Twitter account. What is this world coming to? I've never really understood what the point of Twitter is. It seems a bit ego-centric to think that the world (or at least those who follow you) needs to know your innermost thoughts. Or your most mundane. But a toddler tweeting? Really? It seems that most celebrities these days go out of their way to shield their kids from the public's prying eyes. Maybe Ms Spelling is feeling a little left out in the cold, not getting enough press and thinks perhaps by exploiting her child she might drum up some copy. I suppose if I followed her on Twitter I might have some more insight into this puzzling development.

Now, I know some could argue that blogging could be considered ego-centric. And maybe it is. After all - in my case - it's just what I find amusing, or thought-provoking or worthy of my considered opinion. I would LOVE it if a thousand people read my ramblings every time I create a post. But I'm realistic enough to know that it might be two or three people who accidentally happen upon my musings and I guess I'll have to live with that. I guess if I tweeted about a new post I might get a larger following. But probably not. My social network is woefully small, especially given the fact that Tori's little darling had 10,000 followers within six hours. Or was it just 1,000? Who cares? Still way more than me.

Tweet, tweet.

Current Fascination

I've always loved watching cooking shows. The first one I can remember is "The Galloping Gourmet" with Graham Kerr, an entertaining British chap who was a silly, silly man in the kitchen. Imagine my delight when I rediscovered TGG on the new Food Channel (formerly Fine Living). And, even more delightful was learning that Julia Child is on right before Sir Graham. What a hoot!

What's so unique about these two chefs (as compared to the likes of Giada di Laurentiss and Ina Garten, for example) is that a lot of their dishes just don't come out right. The other day Julia tried to make an upside down apple pie and it was a complete mess. Looked more like applesauce than a pie. And Graham's stuff is always sticking in the pan or boiling over. And they both just throw things around left and right, tossing towels, pots and pans onto the floor or into some bottomless pit of a drawer. Julia also has an interesting way of staring off camera into the teleprompter (I'm assuming) and it just makes me think that even though she was a groundbreaking chef in so many ways she might have a hard time on "The Next Food Network Star." Of course, I'm pretty sure these two shows were shot live, so there were bound to be missteps. All the same, it's pretty entertaining.

I like Giada because she's so calm. She manages to do three or four dishes per half hour and she pretty much does all the prep work on camera. Julia is forever saying "Let's pretend that I've chopped this onion all up" or "Let's pretend that I've measured two cups of milk and put it in the sauce." Giada takes things nice and easy and doesn't get flustered because everything is always perfect. Now, who knows? It might take twenty takes to get it right, but the end result is beautiful.

Another new favorite is "David Rocco's Dolce la Vita." Set in Italy, there's really not a ton of cooking, but more of an emphasis on the sweet life that is so Italia. He does manage to throw together some pretty authentic Italian fare and it seems simple and delicious. I think the magic for me is that it's filmed in Florence and some other locations we've visited.

Probably my very favorite chef is Jamie Oliver. I would eat anything he prepared, even if it had mushrooms in it. I first fell in love with "The Naked Chef" and have since happily watched Jamie as he trekked his way through Italy and set up shop in his county home. Oddly enough, I've never bought one of his cookbooks (or anyone else's for that matter). I can get the recipes online. What really intrigues me is technique, because once you get the basics down you can apply it to all sorts of dishes.

So there you have it - my current fascination. My day isn't complete without watching at least one of these talented masters of the kitchen. And, even though we're eating much differently than we used to, I like to think I'm getting better and better at tailoring our food to fit our lifestyle. Like the other day. I made my own sundried tomato pesto because we ran out of Dean and DeLuca's. I looked online at a couple of recipes and then made up my own. Tyler says it's delicious.

Come over for dinner sometime and find out if my fascination/obsession is paying off ...

The Dichotomy of Life

More than once in the last few years I've had an unsettling awareness that there are aspects of the human experience about which I have no clue. I know that sentence is awkward, but it's grammatically correct (I think).

For example, last month Ron and I spent an hour or so at Amethyst Place helping plant a garden. Amethyst Place is a not-for-profit organization that provides housing (and much, much more) to women in recovery. What's different about Amethyst Place is that the women are allowed to have their children live with them. As I watched these young women, most of whom are single parents with several children, I found myself thinking about the life experiences that they've had . . . the seemingly insurmountable obstacles they've faced and, quite frankly, will probably continue to face for awhile. Their lives are certainly not easy.

Another example comes in the form of a documentary on HBO titled "Every F---ing Day of My Life." It's currently "on demand" and I would encourage you to watch it. But, I will warn you. It is very difficult to watch. It chronicles one the of the most horrific accounts of spousal abuse ever reported. It's one of those things that you will not soon forget, nor should you. I have absolutely no concept what it would be like to constantly live in fear of my life and the lives of my children. The fact that this woman is still alive is a miracle.

In stark contrast to those two examples is a show Ron and I watched last night called "Selling New York." It's about several real estate firms that specialize in high-end housing in NYC. And by high-end I mean $12.5 million dollars, with the commission being around a million dollars. Town homes that are 11,700 square feet with indoor lap pools and 2,400 square feet terraces (bigger than our entire house). Again, no concept of what life at the upper end would be like. Not a clue.

Earlier I said that the awareness I was experiencing was unsettling. By that I don't mean it makes me uncomfortable, although the thought of spending that much money on a house verges on vulgarity - who really NEEDS to spend that much money, even if you have it? I actually feel more humbled. And grateful (and perhaps a little bit guilty) that my life has been really very blessed.

I don't mind that unsettling feeling because it reminds me to see the good things in my life and to be thankful. And it forces me to think beyond myself and to embrace - if only to a tiny degree - the vast sea of humanity that lives around me. I think that's a good thing.

A Season of Sadness

It's not been a great year. Last August, my friends Tom and Leah lost their ten-day old son, Zeke. In May, scarcely nine months later, their four-year old son, Wyatt, died. In my grieving process I found myself asking God, "Why, why, why?" knowing full well that the answers would be slow (if ever) in coming. My heart aches for this family, who are good and faithful people. Why should they experience such unbearable pain and heartache? Not once, but twice?

"We live in a fallen world" seems like such a flippant explanation. So does "Bad things happen to good people." Both statements are true, but I've found myself needing (wanting) something more specific.

In searching for peace I've read Oswald Chambers. I've read the Bible. I've prayed. I've listened to music. I've slept less. I've been more given to retrospective thinking. And here's what my tiny brain has been able to grasp. There is little - if any - order in this earthly existence. It's mainly chaos and mayhem. Hence the great suffering and devastation. BUT. In God's heavenly kingdom there's an order to things that we can only imagine. There's peace. There's love. And there's joy. I take comfort that Zeke and Wyatt are living in that place. The sadness is still with me, but it's tempered with hope.

Just as I was beginning to feel like my head was an inch or two above the water, my Uncle Bob died. On Father's Day. At first I was bereft at the thought of him dying of Father's Day. But he was a great father and had just spent the weekend with his three sons and their families. And so perhaps it was fitting that he joined his heavenly Father on Father's Day. Even though he had eighty-five full and faithful years, the loss is still keenly felt by those who love him.

So this season of sadness. I'm ready for it to be over. But I realize that it might go on for awhile. Dying is a part of living. Sadness is part of the human experience. It's how we choose to respond and act that determines whether we survive or not. I'm so grateful (such a small word for the magnitude of feeling it holds) that I have faith in God. Seriously.

Back in the Saddle

Ok, I'm going to try again. Me and Oswald didn't seem to fly. And, quite honestly, I felt like I was constantly beating myself up about how spiritually inadequate I am. Kind of like self flagellation, but without the blood and scars. At any rate, I still love Oswald. And I'm still spiritually inadequate, but growing. If you want daily inspiration, why not go buy the book. Good investment.

So, I'm back to my original blog and have high hopes about getting back into the rhythm of writing and exploring this life of mine. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's overwhelming and sometimes it's just downright sad. But, whose life isn't, right? So stick with me and we'll bump along as best we can.

Until tomorrow (or whenever the mood strikes me)...

Half of Me

A year ago I was lying in a hospital bed, having just had gastric bypass surgery. Over the last three hundred and sixty-five days I've lost half my body weight. Half. To be exact, one hundred forty pounds. Actually, I lost 40 lbs before the surgery, so technically I've lost 100 lbs since surgery. I can remember the first painful days following surgery. Having five incisions in your tummy is not fun. I distinctly remember, after an extremely painful attempt at getting out of bed in the middle of the night, making Ron check to make sure the largest incision hadn't burst open. Like a knife, it was.

I remember my first solid food. A few small bites of a scrambled egg. And then some cottage cheese. And refried beans. And water. Lots and lots of water. Those are distant memories, but ones I revisit from time to time to remind me how radically my body and mind have changed. I can now eat a wide variety of foods, although the portions are still pretty small. I still have to stay away from caffeine (soda, chocolate, coffee), and limit sugar and fat. We shop and cook differently, but it's still tasty. Ron's lost 30 lbs and has the body of a 35-year old (I'm not kidding). I didn't realize that my lifestyle changes would affect him, but we're both healthier and happier, so that's a good thing.

I won't lie to you. I got skin issues. Today at my one year check up I got a brochure about plastic surgery. I still haven't decided if I'm going to have any procedures. But in the back of my mind I keep thinking, "It's only gonna get worse!" So we'll see. I think we need to get Ty out of school before I think seriously about it. I do have some tailbone pain. As a beautiful young lady from Arkansas put it, "Honey, you ain't got no trunk in that Honda!" Never in a million years would I have ever thought that someone would say that about my behind! But it's kind of true. There's not a lot of padding left back there and if I sit too long, I get kinda fidgety.

Then there's the walking. I had started walking on the treadmill at home before surgery. I think I was doing about 30 minutes a day. A week after surgery I was back on the treadmill. Then, one day I decided to walk outside. The first day I did a mile and it probably took me 30 minutes. Now I'm up to six miles a day, five times a week. I LOVE it! I put my iPod on and hit the streets. I used to just walk on the track at Shawnee Mission North, but now I have three different routes that take me all the way to the farmer's market in Overland Park to Shawnee Mission East and 67th & Roe. I still do the track once a week, for old times' sake. I've left a lot of pounds around that track.

As I think back over the last year I can't help but be grateful to the Bariatric Center of Kansas City. They have a top-notch team and an equally impressive program. I had to meet with a nutritionist, cardiologist, pulmonologist and a psychologist to be cleared for the program. It took six months from the time I went to the initial informational meeting to my surgery date. The hospital staff at Shawnee Misison Medical Center were also tremendous. But my biggest thank you has to go to Ron, whose support has never wavered. He has encouraged and cheered me on every step of the way and I could not have been successful without him. Kate and Tyler have also been great supporters, as have my mom and dad (although they think I'm too thin!)

So, what's next? I have no idea. We'll just have to wait and see. Whatever it is, it will be fabulous.

A Weekend of Fun

Ron and I have become experts in the art of being home bodies. We just like hanging out at our house, Ron puttering in the yard, me - well, you don't need to know what I do (because it's SO boring). So, when we have three days in a row with planned events, it's kind of a phenomenon.

Friday night we went out to the "K" to see the Royal play the Cardinals. It was an outing sponsored by Ron's office and he says the only reason he wanted to go was to see the Cardinals (die hard fan, don't you know). So we went. We had to park in Egypt, and could have seen the Promised Land if we'd had binoculars. It was quite the trek. We passed loads of tailgaters - I have to admit that I didn't realize that tailgating was as big a deal with baseball. See? I don't get out much.

Ron had told me that I couldn't take my water in and I briefly considered citing a medical condition to make them bend the rules. But I just figured that I'd buy some inside. What I didn't figure on was the stupid price of FOUR DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS for a 20 ounce bottle of water. I was livid. But I caved and bought it anyway.

They did a very cool pre-game thing . . . a dozen or so new army recruits were given the oath of allegiance right there on the field, in front of thousands of people. It was quite moving. Regardless of how people feel about the war, it was apparent that there was unwavering support for the people who are in - or about to be in - the trenches.

The stadium is very nice, but highly distracting, what with all the people, fountains, pyrotechnics and media bombardment. I had to keep reminding myself that there was an actual game going on. Between every pitch there was a burst of musicality, to which the seasoned game goers would respond. I felt awkward not knowing which chant to chant.

We only stayed for a few innings. The Cardinals were whomping the Royals' behinds and Ron and I have found that since we've shed some pounds our butts don't take to hard surfaces too well. On the way out we got a pretzel . . . holy smokes. Ten bucks for a bottle of water and a pretzel. Being a sports fan could lead to bankruptcy.

As we started our long journey back to Egypt, Ron reminded me that we were in Section C11. We snaked our way back through the maze of cars - there are STILL too many SUV's on the road, folks - and ended up wandering around for - seriously - thirty minutes before we found our car. We lost each other a couple of times, which was kind of scary, actually. Ron was walking around with his hand in the air, pushing the panic button. I was trying to remember which cars we'd passed on the way in, which ended up being an effort in futility. Finally, finally we found our car, which was not unlike finding a lost child. I even kind of hugged the little thing.

On our way home we popped by Union Station and got out to watch the fountain. I could have stayed for hours. The sounds, the smells, the rhythm and variation - all spellbinding. It was a good end to the evening.

So, that's Day One of our Weekend of Fun. Stay tuned for Day Two . . .

Family Photo Shoot

Several weeks ago, Jessica Roark, owner and photographer extraordinare of epagaFOTO, did some family shots of us. Here are some of my favorites . . .

Happy Birthday to ME!

Take a look at my birthday shoes! They were designed and "painted" by Kate's roommate, Morghan. I keep telling her that she could be the next Kate Spade with these rockin' tennies. Unfortunately, they are EXTREMELY labor intensive so each pair would have to cost about $500. So, I'll just count myself privileged to have a pair of these ultra funky, highly original, very colorful shoes.

Now each of you can turn your own, favorite shade of "green with envy." Heh heh heh.

Little Bits

Oh, I'm such a sluggard for not posting more. I have nary an excuse as to my slothfulness. I'd love to say I've been so busy I haven't the time, but 'twould be a lie. Let's forget the past, shall we, and move on to the future . . .

I have to brag on Ron - for many things. First of all, since last fall he's dropped almost 35 pounds, thanks to a change in his eating habits and a healthy commitment to working out. I must say, he looks fabulous! He hasn't looked this good since college and I find myself stealing looks at his muscles - hee hee!

Second, the Habitat for Humanity playhouse that his company (Kiewit Power Engineers) sponsored - which he had a large part in designing and decorating - won the Judges' First Place award and sold for $1,000!

Finally, our yard is SO beautiful! He's been spending a lot (and I mean A LOT) of time outdoors, mowing, trimming, planting, redistributing and puttering and it's definitely showing. He also installed three rather large rain barrels and derives a great deal of satisfaction in being to recycle the water.

In other matters . . . have I ever posted about how much I ADORE dogwood trees? Specifically, pink dogwoods? We'll, I'm positively gaga about them. So much so that IF I ever got another tattoo, it would be of dogwood blooms. We've purchased multiple dogwoods in the past and they've all died, which broke my heart. So, when we saw them on sale (almost 1/2 off) at Family Tree this year, I was hesitant. But, Ron got the skinny on how to make them survive and hopefully the one we bought last week will live a long and healthy (and beautiful) life.

One last little bit . . . Tyler told me the other day he defriended Ashton Kutcher on Twitter, which I thought was hysterical. Apparently, Mr. Kutcher Twitters so much that his posts dominate the status page and no one else's Twitters are able to be viewed. Obviously, this young man needs to get a life . . . or a job.

Involuntary Wormslaughter

My all-time favorite Gary Larson "Far Side" cartoon goes something like this . . .

The scene: a worm cocktail party. A worm couple sitting on the couch, getting cozy. Two worms in the corner, surveying the room.

The caption (paraphrased): Hey, check it out. Vinnie's over there on the couch trying to put the moves on Zelda Schwartz, but he's talkin' to the wrong end.

Now, is that a riot or what?

Given my affinity to this particular cartoon might lead you to presume that that same affinity exists for the real, live worm species. In that presumption, dear reader, you would be mistaken. I HATE worms. HATE, HATE, HATE them. I'm sure part of this detestation is a direct result of a traumatic experience I had in junior high. I was waiting at the bus stop with a bunch of other junior highers one rainy morning when one of them (he knows who he is) threw a worm at me. Which was bad enough. But to make it even more icky gross, the darn thing went down my shirt! I ran screaming back to my house, fell into the bathroom and ripped off my shirt, sobbing uncontrollably, I'm sure. Oh, the scars, the scars.

Lately I've come in contact (although not so literally) with a whole army of worms. After a good spring rain they are thick as thieves on the track at SMNorth. Big ones, little ones, fat ones, thin ones. Worms of all kinds leave the shelter and safety of the grass to wriggle across the rough surface of the track. I try very hard to walk around them, because, you know, I don't want worm guts on my shoes. But on Monday I'm sure I committed wormslaughter. More than once. And, I'm sad to report, I witnessed a worm suicide. Tragic thing, it was. And it was a giant worm (fat, fat, fat and about five inches long). I'm sure it had a wife and wormettes at home. I was on my seventh lap when I noticed it. It was headed straight for the drainage strip the rings the track. Sure enough, on my eighth lap it was nowhere to be found. Sure, it could have been an accident and had I been a nicer (or completely insane) person I could have picked it up and moved it to safety. Ok, so I wasn't Kevorkian, but I didn't do anything to prevent it, either.

Is that karma? Or just plain old revenge? Whatever it is, I'm just glad I didn't have to look at the slimy thing on my ninth lap. I'm tellin' you. The scars are deeeeeeppppp.

Drumroll, Please . . . .

As of today, March 21, 8:00 a.m. CST, I have lost a total of ONE HUNDRED pounds! In seven months. Forty pounds pre-op, sixty post-op. I'm extremely excited and extremely terrified. Excited because, well, that's a lot of weight. Terrified because I don't want to become complacent (i.e. cocky, because that's what happened last time I lost a bunch of weight). I'm still about 25 pounds from my goal, although I keep changing it. Statistics say that most bariatric bypass patients lose the majority of their weight in the first six months, but may continue to lose for up to eighteen months. So I may change my goal again!

One drawback (if you can call it that) is that my clothes keep falling off. I bought a bunch of stuff from LL Bean a couple months ago and now it's almost all too big. And I've only worn it a couple of times! I feel like a baby, only in reverse. I need to find a resale shop and FAST!

This journey has been really amazing. I was watching a show on Discovery Health about a woman who was having gastric bypass and I realized that even though it's only been four months, the whole surgery and recovery is kind of a blur to me. I kind of remember the hard times and days when I questioned the wisdom of my decision, but those moments have been so few and far between that it's easy to forget them. I've settled into an easy routine that doesn't seem foreign or intrusive or sacrificial and that's such a blessing - a HUGE blessing.

Hallelujah!

A Lil Bit Loopy

I've got another cold. The second one in four weeks. I'm taking three multivitamins a day. And at this point I'm kind of wondering "why?" Tyler was home for a few days and he had a cold. He's fine now. He says he thinks he actually saw it leave his body and enter mine. Creepy.

I could tell it was coming on yesterday morning when I woke up. My chest just felt kind of full. By last night I was coughing a bit and today I've got the cough, runny nose, chills and itchy ears. Usually I take some Nyquil at bedtime and sleep pretty soundly. Last night, though, I took it and settled into my office chair to watch some telly. Not very comfortable, but I can put my feet up on my desk and lean back. About half an hour later I woke up. Yes, I had fallen asleep in my office chair! When I got up I was very wobbly and barely made it to bed. Today when I told Tyler about it he reminded me that Nyquil has 10 percent alcohol. And I'm not supposed to drink alcohol since my surgery. I can only imagine the state I'd be in if I had a glass of wine or some other adult beverage! It's a YouTube video waiting to happen.

Reality Bites

I'm five days away from my fiftieth birthday. And yes, I'm kind of freaked out about it. That's half a century! A hundred years ago 50 was probably pushing the life expectancy figures. Twenty years ago fifty seemed old. Together Ron and I have over a hundred years of life experience (so why aren't we any better at it?).

Tonight when we went to Hy-Vee for a few items I was watching the screen where all the purchases are listed. The total was seventeen bucks. Then I looked again. Now it was sixteen something. I thought that was odd since we hadn't brought in any of our canvas bags (we get five cents back for every bag we bring in). Then I saw the last item on the list: Senior Citizen discount . . . WHAT? I hadn't even whipped out my AARP card. I must LOOK old! Sigh.

I'm sure I'll enter into my sixth decade (that's right, isn't it? I tried to do the math) with grace and dignity. Seriously, I've been graceless and undignified for far too long. Time to turn over a new leaf and fly right. Ok, I'm STOKED!

Fire in the Hole

So last night the Ron-man and I were watching the second season of "The Tudors" (fabulous show - amazing costuming and set design, not to mention the crazy plot twists and turns) and also enjoying a wonderful fire in the fireplace. Because that's just how we roll.

I think it was shortly after a rather vigorous love scene (on the telly) that we begin hearing a quiet roar. I looked over at the fireplace and could see the little chain that's attached to the damper slowly lowering. The roaring got louder and louder and all of the sudden Ron leapt off the couch - nearly dumping me on the floor, I might add - and started yelling "We have a fire in the chimney! Call 911."

I just sat there.

Ron ran outside and apparently saw flames shooting out the top of the chimney, along with a multitude of sparks raining on the roof. He ran back inside, yelled at me to call 911 again. I calmly handed him the phone. He was now in full panic mode and I was a model of serenity. I think I'm adrenaline-deprived.

Ron told me to go get some water to put the fire in the fireplace out, so I got our purified water jug from the fridge and doused the fire. By this time there was quite a bit of smoke in the house and I could hear the fire engines approaching. They were really quick. The cops blocked our street off - it was quite the scene. I think there were two fire engines and about nine firefighters.

A word about the firefighters - very polite and thorough. And really big. Their uniforms and boots and hats - at one time there were three of them in the living room and they looked like giants.

They ended up spraying some kind of dry chemical down the chimney to put out the fire. Obviously we need to get the chimney swept. I wonder if Dick Van Dyke is available. He and his crew seemed to have such a good time up there on those London roofs in "Mary Poppins."

I know I'm downplaying the seriousness of the situation. We are extremely lucky. We live in a 70+ year old house and dramas like this often end up very differently. Had the sparks that were hitting the roof caught fire we could have lost the whole house. So I'm very grateful that we caught it in time, that we live about three blocks from the firehouse and that Ron knew immediately what was wrong.

Amen.

Life in the Fast Lane

A few days ago Kate was telling me about a race she and Morghan ran last year. Ok, Morghan ran and Kate walked. Kate was laughing that it took her twenty minutes to walk a mile. I told her that wasn't so bad - I do a twenty minute mile (actually, now it's about 17 minutes -woohoo). She then informed me that, at age 26, she should be able to walk faster than her decrepit mother. She really didn't use those terms, but that's how I heard it. Talk about getting the wind knocked out of your sails. My shoulders, which had previously been thrown back as I boasted my capabilities, were now slumped as reality set in.

Today, however, I have vindication. Kind of. As I was doing my six laps at the SMNorth track, I noticed another walker enter the track. She was about a half a lap ahead of me. And she wasn't going very fast. All of the sudden I transformed into a greyhound and she was the little fake rabbit they run around the racetrack. I picked up speed. Yep. I was gaining on her. I must tell you that I'm ALWAYS getting passed by people who are jogging on the track. I try not to let it dissuade me, but just once I wanted to pass someone. And here was my chance. "Catch the rabbit, catch the rabbit." Sure enough, after a lap of accelerated walking I PASSED HER! It was then that I noticed that she was about seventy. But I didn't care. As I was doing the victory dance in my head, I came to the realization that now that I'd passed her I had to keep ahead of her. It was AWESOME! This is what it feels like to win a race!

Not even kidding . . . about five seconds later I got passed by a chubby teenager. Scared the crap out of me - I thought it was granny running by me. I guess a kid who's at least thirty years younger than me should be able to pass me.

Ah, it was sweet while it lasted.

There's Wisdom in Menopause?

That's what Kate said when I told her I'd purchased a book with that title yesterday. I laughed and said, "Yes, there's more than just craziness." I'm not sure she's convinced.

Not that I'm in the throes of menopause. Perimenopause, yes. But so far the symptoms have been fairly benign. Knock on wood. But last week a discussion on Oprah (again, I must assert that I rarely watch her show, but the topic intrigued me) about hormone replacement introduced me to this MD who wrote the aforementioned book. I thought I'd be a smart consumer and health advocate so I bought it.

After the author's second reference to tarot cards (in the first chapter) and one reference to her reliance on psychics and astrologers I began to question whether this was wisdom I really needed. I decided "not" and asked Ron to return the book, which he did (thank you). I think I'll rely on old-fashioned conversations with my doctor and a few hours searching the internet for answers so I'll be ready if and when the time arises that I need my hormones adjusted.

Stay tuned . . . 'cause you know I'll keep you posted.