The bees knees

Shit. I'm broken again. Again! Seriously.

Toward the end of August my right knee started to hurt. But not really my knee... Sort of the back of my leg on the upper part of my fibula. This was a new pain. Not the IT band, not the sprains, not the shin splints... something new.

Ran on September 4th. Haven't run since. Had three half marathons scheduled between September and December. September didn't happen. November is highly unlikely. Holding out hope for December.

Had anyone told me three years ago that I wouldn't be able to run and that not running would make me cray-zee I would have laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

But, I'm not laughing. I'm grumpy. And sitting on a stationary bike for way too long. Plus, I joined a gym. Because that's where bikes that don't move are located. In gyms. Where you drive to work out. At 5:00 in the morning.

Xray has been done, physical therapy ongoing, MRI done. Results on Wednesday. Fingers crossed. Hoping for running soon. As is the very frustrated doggie. She stares at her leash, then me, then the ice pack. Then rolls her eyes and throws herself on the floor.

I could write for hours about how I am worried I'll become a homicidal maniac in my current non-running state. Or how I'm really worried about the pounds I've added with my limited calorie burn.

But, I can't. Because it's 9:20. And I have to get up at 4:30. To ride a bike that doesn't move.

Oxymorons...

Oxymoron. It's one of my favorite words.

With that in mind, let's talk about clowns. Yes, clowns. I have no idea what the original intent of a clown was. I'm assuming it was an effort at humor. In the least, clowns are creepy. But, really, let's be honest, clowns are down right scary.

Scary. Period.

There is a whole new thing in the US right now. Scary clowns. They're popping up everywhere. Running around scaring people of all ages. Reports of scary clowns in multiple states. Even some arrests. I have no idea what my reaction would be if I came face to face with a scary clown on the street. I'd like to think I'd punch it and run. But, in reality, I'm pretty sure I'd go deer in the headlights and just stand there in total awe of the situation.

But, really... do they need to be classified as scary? Scary clown. While it seems like an oxymoron, it's actually a pleonasm. Yep, I looked it up. In simple terms, it's redundant. Like tuna fish. Why not just say tuna? Why not just say clown? A clown is scary no matter what makeup is on it's face. On it's creepy, creepy face.

Just ask my sister - she's terrified of clowns and balloons. One incident. Creepy clown gets in her face just as a balloon pops.

And, done.

Childhood ruined.

Because. Clowns.



Feel free to visit a previous post regarding my feelings about clowns and jack in the boxes.

If I Only Had a Heart...

When I was a little kid, The Wizard of Oz was only on once a year. On television. On a network. With commercials. We generally tuned in.

We'd sit down in the basement on the orange carpet scared nearly to death when the monkeys came out. And, seriously, if those flying monkeys didn't scare you, you were a child robot. I don't really care for them now and I'm 40.

When I was 10, my mother remarried. She married a Wizard of Oz super fan. The yearly viewing wasn't just sort of mentioned in passing, it was an event. It was NOT to be missed. Singing along was allowed; talking wasn't. Again, sitting on the floor, but now on cream carpet.

I'm a Tin Man fan. The Dad Guy, well, he was a Cowardly Lion guy.

Tin Man.

The Tin Man and I have a lot in common. That whole missing heart thing...  Now, I'm not totally heartless. Maybe I'm more Grinchy and my heart is just too small. Two sizes too small, in fact. Maybe I'm just mostly heartless?

I asked my sister once if maybe I had Asbergers. She was quick to correct me. No, she said, you don't have Asbergers. You have assholers.

Maybe that's more true. Plus, the combination of my directness and sarcasm often makes me seem less caring than I actually am. Or was.

Until recently. I've gotten older, I'm figuring out who I am. I've sort of grown up this past year. Yes, I know that I am an adult. That's a legal definition. Actually being a grown up is a different thing. Maybe turning 40 was the wake up call. Maybe the kids getting older... Maybe the realization this year that life is really, really short... But, it has come to my attention, that I do indeed have a heart. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Because, it kind of sucks. Hearts are fragile. And, as the Wizard said, 'Hearts will never be practical, until they can be made unbreakable'.

This heart thing, it's making my crunchy outside difficult to manage. It's exposing my soft nougat middle. It's making stuff come out of my eyes.

Fortunately, The Wizard of Oz is now on TV all the time and available on DVD and all sorts of digital downloads. I can check in with the Tin Man any time I want. Or feel I need to.

I sit on the couch now though. Because, I'm a grown up.

My favorite ink.

When a man's an empty kettle he should be on his mettle,

And yet I'm torn apart.

Just because I'm presumin' that I could be kind-a-human,

If I only had heart.

I'd be tender - I'd be gentle and awful sentimental

Regarding Love and Art.

I'd be friends with the sparrows ...

and the boys who shoots the arrows

If I only had a heart.

Picture me - a balcony. Above a voice sings low.

Wherefore art thou, Romeo? I hear a beat....

How sweet.

Just to register emotion, jealousy - devotion,

And really feel the part.

I could stay young and chipper

and I'd lock it with a zipper,

If I only had a heart.

Charts and graphs

I'm a bit of a nerd. Never really denied that. But, also fought it a bit too. I mean, who wants to be a nerd? Especially when I was growing up... In the 80's and 90's. Being a nerd wasn't a good thing. Now, well, now, nerds kind of rule the world. So, there.

I like writing. A lot. Being a full time writer would be a fantastic thing. Doesn't pay as well as the nerd thing does. At least the things I want to write. If I could bring myself to write about teenage angst and vampires... I hear that pays pretty well. But, alas, I cannot.

I like shiny stuff. And, I like solving problems - that's why I love my job. I get to solve problems all day. Plus look at charts and graphs. And, oh my God, trends. Numbers are sexy. Super sexy. Winning.

I'm not really a blogger, more of a story teller. I just use a blogging platform because it's easy to share. A true blogger writes multiple posts a day (not 30 a year), has hundreds of thousands of followers and makes a living. I have one follower. One. (And, no, it's not my mom!) The most hits I've ever gotten on one post is 216. I average around 80. Number of hits is directly related to time of day posted. And day of the week. My trouble is that I get so excited to share I post as soon as I'm done writing rather than waiting for the 'perfect' time. Trends be damned!

The added bonus of using a blogging platform to share stories?

Um, charts and graphs.

Middle School

The boy starts middle school tomorrow. Middle. School. Holy. Hell.

It's not just that he's starting middle school, it's all the kids I know are rapidly growing up. Not so much kids any more. (Although, they'll always be kids to me...) I've had the privilege of knowing a pretty big group of kids for a long time. I've coached them, I've laughed with them. I've given an occasional lecture. Some of them are seniors in high school now. Some are freshman. And, my own, and his little buddies are 7th graders. Middle School.

-----

To all the 7th Graders in America (but mostly my own),

This is the big leagues kids. You've got lockers, passing times and electives. And, a good chunk of you will become little assholes. For a couple years. Little hormonal zitty jerks. The awkward phase hits. Nice girls will become mean girls. Cool boys will be jerks. 'Going out' starts... jealousy, gossip and everything else.

That'll all roll through 8th grade too. General Jerkdom.

The awkward phase passes.

In good news, most of you will find your way shortly. You'll regroup in a few years. You'll have some hurt feelings and you'll be sorry for some things too. You'll realize that most of the stuff that happens over those couple early teen years is meaningless. In the moment it's horrible. That thing that happened at the school dance? Yeah, that'll be horrifying for awhile. You'll get teased. But you and everyone else will forget about it. And then one day, that'll be a great cocktail party story. When you're 40.

So, my advice...

Hunker down. Do the work. Play sports. Sing. Dance. Be yourself. Hang with your friends. Forget the small stuff - and remember that most of it is small stuff.

Middle school will be a blur. Then you'll hit high school. That's a whole different story...

You'll be there soon enough. As time seems to be passing at an incredible rate.

Love,

Mom

AKA Coach Staci

When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school, it's a wonder I can think at all.

- Paul Simon

Rainy Days and Mondays

The Duke.

When we were teens, the grandparents loaded Dana and I up in the motorhome and took us on an adventure. To Silverwood. It was, at the time, an 'Old Fashioned Town'. Just Regular Grandma's speed. A step back in time, where we could possibly learn something too. There was no giant wooden roller coaster, no waterpark, no delicious junk food. It was people in old-timey outfits and us watching The Flying Leathernecks at an old fashioned theater. In black and white.

That is not a complaint, by the way.

There was a train and an air show too. I'm not saying that it was a downer or anything. It was actually an amazingly good time.






And, where I learned the words to every Carpenters song.

Every. Song.



I long to be... close to you.

Now, you're probably wondering... what?

Stick with me here...

On the afternoon of our Silverwood adventure, it began to rain. Like really rain. Not the nice Oregon mist I live in now but the heavy, dark cloud, hot summer day in North Idaho kind of rain. We retreated to the motorhome. 30 feet of Winnebago in the pouring rain isn't that exciting...

Crank it.

We were playing gin rummy. Probably getting schooled in gin rummy... We needed some background music to liven the place up. My grandparents, like most, had the suitcase thing of cassettes. In it, there were one million cassette tapes. One had songs with words. One. The Carpenters. Greatest Hits. Available now on eBay for 12.99. I'm almost tempted. But, alas, have no technology in which to play a cassette.

So, I did the only thing I could. I put the Carpenters in the cassette player of the RV and cranked it up. All the way to 11. Now, imagine two teenage girls, rocking to Rainy Days and Mondays with their mid-sixties grandparents playing rummy. In the rain. That, my friends, is a solid afternoon. Enough of an afternoon that I'm writing about it all these years later...

The beauty of the Carpenters is that they stick with you. 25 or 26 years later, I still know all the words. To all the songs. You want to freak out your tween? Sing to the Carpenters. Loudly. Then text a picture of said embarrassment along with the lyrics to your sister, their aunt. Because, nothing makes a day better than knowing you embarrassed your tween and planted an ear worm in your sisters ear - right as she's starting her work day.

It's true that Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

But, don't they get everyone down? If they don't, you might just be on the top of the world. Looking down on creation.

The only ride in 1989.

Yesterday Once More

When I was young
I'd listen to the radio
Waitin' for my favorite songs
When they played I'd sing along
It made me smile

Those were such happy times
And not so long ago
How I wondered where they'd gone
But they're back again
Just like a long lost friend
All the songs I loved so well.

Every Sha-la-la-laEvery Wo-o-wo-oStill shinesEvery shing-a-ling-a-lingThat they're startin' to sing's
So fine.

When they get to the partWhere he's breakin' her heartIt can really make me cryJust like before
It's yesterday once more.

Lookin' back on how it wasIn years gone byAnd the good times that I hadMakes today seem rather sad
So much has changed.

It was songs of love thatI would sing to thenAnd I'd memorize each wordThose old melodiesStill sound so good to meAs they melt the years away.

Every Sha-la-la-laEvery Wo-o-wo-oStill shinesEvery shing-a-ling-a-lingThat they're startin' to sing'sSo fine.

All my best memoriesCome back clearly to meSome can even make me cry.Just like beforeIt's yesterday once more

Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

I sees it. I takes it.

I honestly never thought I'd have to write this post. Mostly because, Ruby appeared to be indestructible. She could eat anything. She could swim for miles, in a swift river or in the ocean and be fine. Her favorite thing to do was to swim out past the breakers and surf back to the beach. She dodged traffic - on her multiple trips around town. She even survived the slammer after the dog cops picked her up on one of her adventures.

But, in the end, she couldn't beat liver failure. It came on her quick.

Now, often when someone dies, they become a 'better person' after death. People tend to forget that they weren't that nice and they end up being a little softer around the edges. I'm here to say, that is not and will not be the case with Ruby. She was truly a bad dog. A bad, bad dog. That doesn't mean she wasn't hilarious. But, when you've got a dog ruled by an over active nose and what even the most amateur psychiatrist would call a serious eating disorder, you end up with a lot of bad dog behavior.

There was really no way to discipline her - it was worth being sent to the garage in exchange for two dozen cookies - even if they were technically for Santa.

Socks! My favorite!

We tried to make her uncomfortable with her decisions i.e. steal socks, wear socks... All we had then was a dog walking around in mismatched socks.... Which in and of itself was hilarious. Even to her.

She was great with the kids and she tolerated dress up, lip gloss and being snuggled with blankets and various stuffed animals. She would then steal one for fun. And, we'd have a crying kid...

Her food stealing skills were to the level of legendary and I'm sure she was a cat burglar in a previous life.



She could steal whole meals without disturbing the plate or silverware.

Some of her favorite foods include, but are not limited to, the following:

They were delicious!

Pancakes
Garlic bread
Frozen chicken
Gingerbread houses
Chocolate chip cookies
Pizza
Birthday cake
Candy melts (that was a really, really bad night)
School lunches
Beer
Cupcakes (especially if they need to be taken to a party)
Hamburgers (she preferred deluxe, with tomato and pickle)
Hotdogs




Now, will it be nice to not have to store cupcakes and cookies on top of the fridge to keep them from her reach?
Yes. Of course.

Will it be nice to not sweep and vacuum up piles of retriever?
Yes. Of course.

Will the house be quieter?
Yes. Of course.


And, that. That is the part that gets you...

Ruby Tuesday.