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.