Thumper Thinks Out Loud

31 January 2012

2012-01-31T16:48:00.000-08:00

This is one of several Susan G Komen shirts I own; I have a couple of sweatshirts, t-shirts, even a backpack. But this one has a resonating tone, which is why I bought it.

Everyone deserves a lifetime.

It's a wonderful ideal; do whatever we have to in order to raise money to eradicate a disease that still takes far too many lives every year.

Apparently, though, the Susan G. Komen Foundation has agreed, in theory, that everyone deserves a lifetime EXCEPT people who have to rely on--because they don't have insurance and can't afford a mammogram or basic breast health care--Planned Parenthood.

One of the things I appreciated about SGK was that they stood up to the far right wingers who decried the fact that money was going to a place that performed abortions. In this, I don't care about pro-choice or anti-choice or whether Planned Parenthood hands out condoms and birth control pills; what mattered to me was that women who needed it had a place to go to get a breast exam and paid-for referral for a mammogram. Funds from the Komen Foundation did not go towards abortion; the money went wholly towards providing mammograms, breast cancer prevention and education, and basic breast health care. For a woman with no resources, PP was a place to go that would get them pointed in the right direction.

This IS a pro-life thing. Women without access to basic care still have the right to life. Their lives are just as valuable as anyone else's. Even if you believe abortion is wrong, you can't deny that any individual has a right to the continuation of their life as much as you believe that fetus has a right to its life. And today the Susan G Komen Foundation buckled to political pressure and pulled funding for Planned Parenthood.

It amounts to a loss of nearly 200,000 breast exams each year. Doesn't sound like a lot? TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND women need breast exams from Planned Parenthood every year.

My knee jerk reaction is to say that unless they change their stance, I won't be walking or crewing for them again. There are alternatives: I can walk in the Avon Walk this year instead; same basic principle, walk until you feel like your feet are gonna fall off, then get up and do it again. But unless SGK reverses this horrible, politically motivated decision, I'm fairly sure I won't participate in a 3 Day again. And that's sad, because I've met the nicest people and made the greatest friends doing this.

But...

I'm pissed off. I am mad as hell. I didn't raise money and walk my ass off to deny care to anyone. I did it to make care more accessible. For that lofty ideal of EVERYONE deserves a lifetime, not just everyone with good insurance.

30 January 2012

2012-01-30T17:22:00.000-08:00

He's waving at you.

Really.

28 January 2012

2012-01-28T17:59:00.000-08:00

He has a sense of humor, I'm sure of it.

1:30 in the morning, just as I was falling asleep, he wandered down the hall meowing his little head off. In the quiet of night, it was a huge sound, bold-type-faced MEOW MEOW MEOW.

I've learned that sometimes he's just looking for company, and if I call to him, he'll come into the room, get a few head skritches, and then he'll curl up and go to sleep.

Last night he turned around and walked the other way.

At 2:30... MEOW MEOW MEOW.

Big, bold, loud. But again, he didn't come when called, so I rolled over and tried to fall asleep. And I think I did, finally, but was pulled out of sleep at 3:30.

MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW

By then I was less interested in making him happy than I was in getting some sleep. I sat up, seethed, "Max, just be QUIET, all right?!?"

He stepped into the doorway, stopped, and very quietly:

Meow Meow Meow?

I swear to God that cat laughed his way back down the hall.

27 January 2012

2012-01-27T21:41:00.000-08:00

Well, that was odd and out of the blue LOL

It's also why I love my friends... ;)

26 January 2012

2012-01-26T22:27:00.000-08:00

Since we needed to head in that direction in search of end tables this afternoon, the Spouse Thingy and I decided to have lunch at Panera, because today is Thursday and on Thursdays they have cream of chicken and wild rice soup, and it is TeH Awesome.

Today it was particularly tasty, and since we didn't find the right end table at the nearby stores in which we looked, that made the trip worthwhile.

Before we left, as I an wont to do because I am the Queen Of OMGIGottaPee, I decided to use the facilities before we left there, and as I opened the door I could already hear the sounds of frustrated motherhood coming from one of the stalls.

No, no, no, I said no!

She said no; I said "heh," albeit under my breath.

No, no...I mean it. No!

I made some noise, lest she think she was alone in there with her kid, because she really did sound stressed and part of me thought she might haul off and whack him one, and I'm just not down with people whacking the snot out of little kids.

No...No...No...

Heh.

No, that's not clean--don't--no, no no DON'T LICK THE WALL!!!

I had to flush to cover my own laughing.

Oh God, don't sit, that floor isn't clean...STOP LICKING THE WALL!!!

Ya know, I don't think I ever had a problem with the Boy licking bathroom walls. He liked to touch stuff even when told not to, but to his credit, not once did he lick anything in a public bathroom.

Well, not when I was with him. I have no idea what he's done as an adult.

And drunk.

But I'm betting he hasn't...

23 January 2012

2012-01-23T03:57:00.000-08:00

Odds & Endz #864729, because it's 3:30 in the freaking morning and I can't sleep.

I never thought I'd miss stabbing myself with one of these every night. And I did, from April 2003 until July 2011, a .1ml shot of growth hormone, because my brain hasn't made any since 2002. I stopped because I was encroaching on 50 years old, and the older I get, the higher the cancer risks, and HGH just makes cancer grow faster.

Still...going off of it means added body fat, less lean muscle mass, and an unhappy me when I get on the scale. The 50 pounds I lost? Half of it is back. It was expected, but that doesn't make me feel any better about it. But the real drawback is that your body uses growth hormone to repair muscle, and without it, all those little nicks and tears you get just by existing take longer to heal.

= = = = =

Because I do not engage in much forethought, I decided that the front room--where the spiffy gym equipment has lived, mostly unmolested--really needed to be painted. It was two shades of beige, one medium, one dark, and since the house doesn't get a lot of natural light, it felt like a cave. So I decided it needed to be the nice, soft yellow that the kitchen and the family room is. Yesterday I put up a coat of primer, and a coat of yellow; it needs one more coat but I ran out of light, and I need about a half gallon more paint.

Here's the thing about painting a room that has 10 foot ceilings: you go up and down a ladder a lot. You bend over, kneel down, twist and turn and stretch, all while moving that paint roller back and forth. It's an ouchy kind of thing.

Today...today I got up and I don't think there's but 2 square inches on me that isn't sore. And I think those 2 inches might just be numb.

When we moved in here three years ago, I painted. I turned the library red, two of the bedrooms blue, and I was able to paint several days running. Today I did not go buy more paint, nor did I even contemplate getting a couple of walls finished. Nope, I sat in my chair and watched TV and played online, and said multiple bad words every time I had to get up to pee.

On a scale of 1 to 10, the ouchiness is about a 7.3... If I was still taking HGH, it'd probably be a 3, and I'd have finished the room.

Meh...not really worth whining about since I know I'll feel fine in a couple of days. It's just the idea of it all. I start out most days achy, I don't want to pile more on.

Plus, I'm really sleepy but the freaking wind and rain is keeping me awake, so I whine.

Here's your cookie for reading this far.

= = = = =

Part of my online play today was looking at other peoples' tattoo pictures; I've been doing this a lot, mostly for the hell of it. But I came to the conclusion that if I got every tattoo that makes me go ooooh neato the only area not inked would be that 2 square inches that isn't achy right now.

I like tattoos, but I don't think I want to go that far...

= = = = =

I miss having Borders to go to for people watching and writing. The closest reasonable substitution I've found is Panera, but if I think I weight too much now? Sheesh, in the time it takes to wrote a book, I would easily add a hundred pounds to that.

= = = = =

The extent of my social awkwardness? I still haven't talked to Siri on my iPhone.

= = = = =

There's chocolate in the kitchen, and I can hear it calling my name. I'm trying to ignore it, but it keeps whispering that middle-of-the-night chocolate is calorie free. I think the chocolate is lying to me.

= = = = =

At 3:42 a.m., that sounds really funny. I'm pretty sure that at noon I'll look at this and think, "WTF is wrong with you?"

= = = = =

And finally, something spiffy...

A sea cave in Florida.

Ok, almost 4 a.m., time to try to sleep again...

20 January 2012

2012-01-20T18:19:00.000-08:00

I think he means it, too...

14 January 2012

2012-01-14T15:09:00.000-08:00

I've been talking with a soon-to-be-published new writer online off and on over the last couple of years. It started with a forum post about NaNoWriMo and just kept going. Other people chimed in, we all joined hands and sang Kumbaya, discussed killing adverbs, overuse of literary cliches, and came to the conclusion that we might all be better writers if we started drinking heavily.

New Writer Person had a lot of faith in her writing, deservedly so, and took her NaNo story, chipped away at it, polished it, chipped some more, all the while showering agents and publishers with query letters and book proposals. And it paid off. She landed an agent who sold the book and got her a small advance that she should easily be able to out-earn.

The book is slated for a third quarter release this year; she posted the news and I posted back a genuine I-am-happy-for-you congratulations and promised to buy a copy on the day the book drops...to which she responded, "Thanks! If you ever get published I'll buy yours too!"

11 January 2012

2012-01-11T22:39:00.000-08:00

This is my spiffy recumbent bike. It's been shoved into the back of the garage since we moved here, and was in the back of the garage in the house before this. Probably the house before that, too, but given how often we moved before we bought this house, that's not an appreciably long stretch of time.

I've had an itch lately to ride it, so yesterday the Spouse Thingy took it to the local bike shop to get it tuned up, brakes adjusted, chain greased, everything checked out. And today he picked it up, and rode it home.

The front fork is bent.

Not just a little out of line; that sucked is bent. He says it's rideable if I push hard on the bars to keep it from swaying to one side, but I want to ride, not push. If I want to push, I'll get on the Trikke or Strider.

It's not fixable, most likely.

I can use it inside on the bike rack thingy, the one I have the Strider on now for indoor use, but that's not riding. That's watching TV while pretending to exert myself.

I'm not sure I want to buy a new bike just yet, so it'll have to do.

Still....bummed, I am...

10 January 2012

2012-01-10T16:32:00.000-08:00

6 January 2012

2012-01-06T16:05:00.000-08:00

Hmmm...I may have inadvertently screwed up a life lesson for the 10 year old ahead of me at Walmart when I gave him a quarter to cover the tax he didn't know he'd need. It wasn't until after then that I realized Mom was nearby, in sight, watching closely...and that she might have sent him through the line alone on purpose and with intent. So instead of learning that just because you have $1 in your pocket, that doesn't mean you only need a $1, he learned that if you're little and buying stuff by yourself, some old lady will cover your difference...

4 January 2012

2012-01-04T22:04:00.000-08:00

Found this posted on reddit... It's California Street in San Francisco...

click to biggify...

I stared at this picture and thought several times, one thought right after another, I freaking walked up this more than once. On purpose.

Now I think I need some retroactive Ibuprofen. Or vodka.

Damn, I wish I had some vodka...

31 December 2011

2011-12-31T13:55:00.000-08:00

This time last year I was fighting some pretty serious pain in my lower back, looking at beginning one year in as much pain as I was ending the other. This year...I'm ending 2011 fighting back pain, looking at ending it the same way I began.

Last year I also had issues with my shoulder and having torn the bejeezuz out of it, though. It's 99% better...I just hope this round with my back isn't an omen as to how I'm going to spend the last week of every year from here on out.

This was a pretty good year, all in all. I had fun training for the SGK 3 Day Walks, even if I did grumble about it; I turned 50, even if I did grumble about it; stepped way outside of my comfort zone and went to Atlanta to walk with friends and had a blast, even if I did grumble about it...

Yep, I grumbled a lot. I felt like crap a lot, fought pain a lot, let a few people irritate the crap out of me, but overall it was an awesome year. We spent a lot of time walking around San Francisco, which is probably my favorite place to wander, we walked around Six Flags a lot, I went pink in a major way, and we capped it off with a trip to Disneyland. We had a lot of fun, and had it together.

The Spouse Thingy and I have been together more than 30 years (counting dating) and there's still no one else I'd rather kick back and have fun with.

Here's to hoping next year is just as good.

But, you know, without the back pain and stuff...

30 December 2011

2011-12-30T13:23:00.001-08:00

29 December 2011

2011-12-29T16:01:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning feeling a little off; I’ve been sick the last three days and my back decided to chime in on the fun, so initially I thought that was it. But after convincing Max to get off of me and sitting up, I realized that wasn’t it. Physically, I felt better. My back still hurt, but that wasn’t it.

It took me a few minutes to come to grips that the feeling didn’t have anything to do with whatever minor bug has been making me feel like crap since the day after Christmas, and it had nothing to do with the pain radiating from my back.

It was sadness, just sadness.

And with that came the cold slap that today marks the tenth anniversary since the wonderful Moe Brennan passed away. I still miss her, and I’m still angry that she died, because she didn’t have to. Her husband should not be making his way through life without her, and the world is still a little dimmer without her.

Moe used to sign off on message boards and email with “Half Full, Half M.T.” But she was never half of anything. She was All That, and then some.

Ten years.

I don’t think I’ll ever not miss her. And I don’t think I’ll ever be not angry about how she died. I don’t think I’ll ever not be at least a little sad on this day every year.

But I’ll also suck it up and shake it off by tomorrow, because as formidable as she was, I’m pretty sure she’d find a way to kick my ass even now.

24 December 2011

2011-12-23T23:18:00.001-08:00

22 December 2011

2011-12-22T14:44:00.000-08:00

We weren't planning on putting up a tree this year, but with a spastic black kitty finally calm and lounging by it while he stares with a This is all mine, right? look, I think getting a small one was pretty much worth it.

20 December 2011

2011-12-20T23:06:00.000-08:00

Does it look like we had a good time? We did, we had a really good time. We also did it the right way, because it turned out I really did need to just stop and go back to the room periodically, and for an extended time on Day 2; we went to California Great Adventure on the second day, and I was feeling fairly crappy, overly tired and pretty achy, with my back and feet fighting for Most Awful Feeling, so we headed back and I was able to rest up. We intended to go back to Disneyland to be in the park for the fireworks, but that never happened, mostly because right about the time we were thinking about heading back, it started to rain...which didn't really matter because our room had a perfect view of them.

The nice thing about going to Disney without little kids? You don't have to get up at the buttcrack of dawn because they're pinging off the walls and wanting to get there already. You get to sleep in and take care of all the aches and pains and medication issues, and wander over when you feel like it.

On Day Three I don't think we hit the park until after 11 a.m. and the first thing we did was hit Space Mountain to get a Fast Pass, and then we wandered for a bit, mostly so I could get a feel for how I was really feeling. By the time we could go back and bypass most of the line I was feeling pretty good, and man, that is my absolutely favorite ride.

We rode it on Day One, of course, and decided to go back to it later again on Day Three, because I must have my Space Mountain! And while we waited, the Spouse Thingy mused about how he would really like to see Space Mountain with the lights on.

So we really shouldn't have been surprised at what happened less than a minute into the ride.

Mike broke Space Mountain.

Right before we should have gone into a wicked turn, the ride stopped and the lights popped on, and there was an announcement that a ride attendant would be right with us. This was actually kind of cool, getting to see what it really looks like, and getting to watch as other cars were released manually and then pushed down the track. One good shove by this girl I probably could have snapped in two with my thumbs literally shoved each car along, let go, and we watched as one by one they picked up speed and headed to the and of the line.

Since we were so high up, we were the last car to be released and had the longest ride in the light, which was pretty trippy. In the light Space Mountain is kind of a lame roller coaster, just a couple notches above the kind you see in the little-kid areas of theme parks. But it was still fun, and when we got to the end, they left us all on and let us ride through again.

It's definitely a trip I want to take again. Or maybe try Disney World in FL. But next time I think we'll fly...the drive kicked my ass, and on the way home we got a screw in one of the back tires, and ya know what? There are no full-service stations along I-5. It took a few places, but Mike finally tried a truck stop with semi service, and while they couldn't plug the tire for us--because they just didn't have a plug kit--the kid there jacked the car up and put the spare on so that Mike didn't have to, and pointed us to Bakersfield.

For free.

We headed to Bakersfield about 35 miles from where we were at, very slowly, to an America's Tire, where we waited nearly 3 hours all in all (9 cars ahead of us...but what we were going to do?) and they plugged the tire, put the spare back in the well in the trunk, mounted the good tire, reloaded our luggage back into the car and got it all arranged for us so that we didn't have to worry about it.

For free.

Seriously. For free.

We got home 3 hours later than we expected, but hey... in a warped way it was worth it to experience just how nice people really can be.

More pictures up at Flickr. I don't have them organized well or descriptions on most of them yet, but they are there for your perusal if you so choose ;)

And yanno, Disney is a lot like a SGK 3 Day. People stop what they're doing when they see you taking a picture, and offer to take a couple so you can be in it together.

Very cool.

12 December 2011

2011-12-12T18:38:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, we're heading out for the first real vacation either of us can remember, and because we're all grown up and chit, we're heading to Disneyland.

We went to Disneyland 21-22 years ago, when the Boy was little. We knew we would be leaving CA and didn't know if we'd ever get another chance to take him, so we whipped out the credit card and willingly took on a little debt in hopes that we'd give him a few happy memories. I think it took us 3 years to pay it off (yeah, minimum monthly payments, not such a bargain) but it was worth it.

He's been back a few times, but we haven't. And since the Spouse Thingy actually is getting some time off close to Christmas, when the park will be lit up, we want to go back and have some fun and enjoy the decorations. I'm not sure how many rides we'll get on--unfortunately my back just doesn't do well on a lot of them now--but for the 3 or 4 days we'll be there I'm betting there will be a lot to see.

And instead of the CheepAss Motel a couple miles down the road, we're staying at the Disneyland Hotel. We'll be able to walk to the park or hop on the Monorail, which means if we need or want to, we can take an extended break during the day and not feel like we're missing anything.

And yeah, I know I'll probably need breaks. Sure, I can do the 3 day and walk the 20 miles a day, but when you do that you're not standing in lines for freakishly long stretches of time, and standing kills my back. Plus, I've been babying my foot in order to be able to make this trip, but that also means I haven't been walking, and my endurance tends to evaporate pretty fast these days.

I was also reminded when I went to Atlanta how exhausting traveling is for me. That first day I was floored; since we're staying right there, if I'm too wiped out, it's not a big deal. Hell, if he wants to, while I splay myself out on a bed and drool, the Spouse Thingy can wander around the park by himself for a while.

And something else I feel like I have to explain... I know there are several people in the area that mentioned wanting to get together while we're down there but I haven't yet made plans. Please don't be offended. I really don't know what we'll be doing and when, and I don't know if I'll suddenly need to stop in the middle of the day. I still have health issues that might get in the way; that's not going to change, but because this really is the first vacation we've taken in forever, we're going to be selfish and do what we want to do when we want to do it, with no restrictions on the clock.

Basically, we want to spend some time alone.

Old people still do that, you know ;)

10 December 2011

2011-12-10T13:50:00.000-08:00

I needed a few things from Walmart so I headed over there, and was happy to see that it wasn't crowded and I would be able to zip in and then zip out.

While I gathered up the few things I needed, a thought ran through my head, something like, "Well, they never have it here so I'll go over to Safeway."

Five minutes later I was in Safeway.

Five minutes, five seconds later, I realized I could not remember what it was I was there for.

Googled "My Memory Sucks" and got this. Eh?

I wandered up and down the aisles, hoping to trigger my brain, but no. I did pick up two cans of cat food, flavors Walmart never seems to carry. But after aimlessly wandering around the store for ten minutes, I decided it must not have been that important, so I paid for the cat food and left.

Once I got home I realized I needed to do laundry, so that I would have some clean clothes to take to Disneyland next week. That included the pants I was wearing. So I put some shorts on, shoved the two pair of jeans I have that actually fit into the washer, and decided to sit down for a few minutes before diving into all the things I need to get done this weekend.

And then I remembered...I needed to pick the Spouse Thingy's meds up from the pharmacy.

At Walmart.

If this is how my brain works at 50, I dread 60.

And now I have to wait for my pants to finish washing and then drying, so I can go back to Walmart and get his meds.

Maybe I'll get lucky and remember what I needed so badly from Safeway...

8 December 2011

2011-12-08T00:01:00.000-08:00

It doesn't look bad, but it stings like a farker. And you can only see about half of it...those scratches are actually teeth marks and there are two puncture wounds above them from his upper teeth, and a couple of other punctures higher on my arm from his back claws.

Buddah bites.

Seriously. Buddah.

There are times I think that cat is--at the risk of being offensive, though it's definitive in his case--slightly retarded. While I often make jokes about Max eating my face off, if it ever happens Buddah will be the more likely culprit, and it will be because he wanted to be picked up and held, and then without warning decided 2.4 minutes of it was .0001 minute too long, but instead of meowing and wiggling to get down, he attacked.

Tonight he wanted to be cuddled. I obliged. He loved it--until he didn't--and then went apeshit crazy on me. He bit hard, I put him down on the counter, he started meowing like HE was the one who had been wronged and kept moving towards me... I thought he was going to leap and rip my throat out.

I actually took a step or two back, just in case.

He does this; it's not the first time. He acts sweet and cuddly, then goes nuts, and then howls when he's being told No. We don't hit the cats, but that index finger being pointed at him and waggled while telling him no...you'd think we were beating him, he gets so upset.

If he's sitting on top of the fake fireplace and you walk by and try to pet him, you need to be prepared to pull back a bloody stump.

If you're wearing shoes he's never seen before, he freaks out. Most of the time he runs, but once in a while he'll go after your feet.

But if you're sitting here in the chair with the computer on your lap, he'll jump up, plop down between the keyboard and your torso, and get head and chin skritches until your hand is ready to fall off. Then he's sweet and gentle...but that could change on a whim.

So yeah, if my face gets eaten off by a ticked off kitty, dont just assume it was Max.

Max bites, but he does the very soft warning bite, and if he's told no he either slinks off or he sits there and gives you this "You're a dork" look. He's a grump, but I'm not afraid of anything he'll do.

But in all honesty, sometimes?

Buddah scares the shit out of me.

I guarantee, though, once he's gotten the little freak out of his system he'll be his dorky sweet self again. Until the next time, which could be ten minutes from now or ten days.

He's either got mental issues, or he's a farking genius.

7 December 2011

2011-12-07T11:46:00.000-08:00

Apparently I was part of a class action lawsuit against eBay, something about listing fees for the selling of vehicles. Not really sure what. I listed two cars on eBay in the past, one sold and one listing was pulled because I mentioned the word "cash." That one ticked me off because the bids on it had reached my minimum price point, and it was a giant WTF moment. I didn't ASK for cash, it was more like, "...if you're a local buyer and want to pay cash..."

I don't even remember the point I was trying to make in the listing. Just that eBay pulled it right before the auction was supposed to end.

But the other day I got this thing in the mail because I was part of a class actions suit I didn't even know about. I almost tossed it because the envelope looked like another You have a VA loan on your house and we want your business and even though you've never heard of us, we're going to offer you a killer interest rate that's actually 1% more than you're currently paying! letter. But I opened it, and there was this!

A check!

For thirty five cents!

Yay!

So tell me...what should I spend it on? I have to cash it before the 22nd of December. WHAT TO BUY??!?!?

5 December 2011

2011-12-05T11:11:00.000-08:00

Random Memory Monday:

Pets are family; I don’t care if you think it’s nuts, but for us, they are. So they’ve always been a consideration in the places we’ve lived, the way furniture is arranged, and the purchasing of vehicles. Face it, when you have a 120 pound Golden Retriever, you might be able to haul them to the vet in the back seat of a Mazda Protégé, but cross country? No.

With just two years left to retirement, the Spouse Thingy got orders moving us from California to Ohio; not too long before those orders popped up we’d traded in a station wagon on a Protégé. It was a four door, so we were able to get Hank the Dog in and out, though he was less than thrilled about it and his arthritic hips hated it. The station wagon had to go, though, because the transmission was on its way out and we just didn’t want to deal with it anymore. We thought we were staying in California for the rest of the Spouse Thingy’s military career, but one dickwad who started playing chess with the nurse anesthetists changed that.

Hank might have been able to ride around town every now and then in the back seat of the Mazda, but it seemed cruel to even think about hauling him 1800 miles in it. So the Boy sold his car, we gave him the Mazda, and we bought a pickup truck. That way Hank had most of the bed of the truck to travel in (harnessed in place in case of accident…) and we would even be able to shove his bed back there.

The problem, we discovered quickly, was that Hank was an older Golden and with his bad hip, he couldn’t just jump into the back of the truck. He could get his front paws on the gate, and one of us could then lift his back end up, but that hurt him. He never whelped or whined, but it was there on his face: this hurts.

We bought a pet ramp, and with a little work, he figured out how to walk up it and get into the truck, and with a little more work he was able to walk down. He needed more help than the average dog even with that—for whatever reason Hank was terrified of stairs and to him this was just a weird staircase—but with reassuring hands on him, he would suck up the fear and brave it.

We also had a pass through window installed between the cab and the bed, and bought a topper, so that Hank was not only protected from the elements while riding back there, but he could also stick his head through the window and be with his people. So off we went, heading to Ohio with a geriatric Golden Retriever who drooled through the pass through window and a pissed off Psychokitty who howled for 6 solid hours the first day.

Somewhere along the way, probably on day two, we stopped at a rest area and unfolded the ramp so that Hank could get out and pee, then stretch his legs and walk for a bit. Across the large parking lot was a guy standing in front of his van, watching. As Hank tentatively made his way down the ramp, the guy started walking towards us; I didn’t think anything about it. For all I knew he was heading for the restroom.

But when he was about five feet from us, he said—almost a little choked up—“Thank you for that.”

We both looked up from Hank.

“I had a dog just like him, and I miss him so much. Thank you for thinking about that ramp for yours. It’s special.”

That was my random thought this morning; I saw a picture online of a trailer-hitch step-up platform for dogs, and I heard that guy’s voice in my head.

We never thought it was special; it’s what you do when a family member needs something. Hank needed help getting in and out of the truck, and that was no different than the Spouse Thingy walking me back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the house six days after I’d had surgery. I needed to move, but I needed help.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem special; it’s just what you do.

Still…I saw that step-up and I could perfectly see Hank carefully inching his way down that ramp in a rest area parking lot, and how some random stranger was reminded of his own long-gone friend, and how to him, it was special.

And right now, I really miss Hank.

A lot.

4 December 2011

2011-12-04T15:14:00.000-08:00

I record Doctor Oz throughout the week, and watch episodes when there's nothing else worth bothering with on TV. If I don't get to them during the week, I watch (sort of, I mostly have it on for noise while I play online) during the weekend, presuming I don't have HGTV on while I ignore it in favor of JigZone or Bookworm.

Today I decided to watch an episode while I had lunch. And dammit if the whole thing wasn't on hunger in America, and I sat there with my chicken salad sandwich while listening to people talk about the realities of being broke and trying to feed kids... yeah, I had to choke the sandwich down. I wanted to grab those kids through the screen and cut them loose in my kitchen. There are some less than stellar choices in my pantry right now, but hell...it's food. And I have a phone. Order pizza! I just wanted to feed every last one of them.

We've been broke. When the boy was a baby we measured anything we considered purchasing against how much formula the cost of that would buy. That book? No, not gonna get it. That would pay for two cans of Similac. Pack of new underwear? Three cans. Let's go commando instead. He needs vaccinations? Cripes, the one shot would buy 5 cans of formula. What to do? Sell the coveted 12 string guitar, for one. That'll cover shots AND a lot of food.

We ate a lot of generic macaroni and cheese because it was only 10 cents a box, bought generic canned vegetables by the case when they were on sale, and had weeks on end of peas or corn or green beans. Every now and then the Spouse Thingy's mom sent care packages that included blueberry muffin mix, we were thrilled.Sometimes we made the mac and cheese without butter and cut the milk needed, but the muffins? They got every drop of the 1/3 cup the mix required. MUFFINS!

A night with mac and cheese, peas AND muffins? That was a farking feast.

Meat? When we were lucky, we'd catch tubes of 70% ground beef on sale. Seriously, hamburger in a tube. It sliced into freezable patties nicely, and with some creativity was pretty freaking good. It took a jar of generic spaghetti sauce that would usually only be enough for 1 meal into 3, AND we got to have hamburgers every now and then.

We had parental help here and there, so we never truly suffered. We didn't go to bed without having had dinner. Our son always had food, even though he refused to eat it half the time. Those parents I watched while I tried to swallow past some chicken-laden guilt, they're suffering. Their kids are hungry, and they're doing everything they can to put food on the table for them, but today's realities mean that sometimes they go without.

Kids are going hungry. These kids are so hungry that if given food they hate, they'll choke it down.

And it's unconscionable that this happens in the U.S. It sucks that it happens anywhere, but in a land of abundance, no one should go hungry.

Ever wonder why so many people who are on food stamps, who stand on street corners holding signs asking for change, who seem to skip lunch every damned day are overweight?

The food they can afford, when they can afford it, is packed with simple carbs. Pasta is cheap. Ramen noodles are cheap. They're also calorie dense. So yeah, you can be very, very hungry and gain weight. During the years I ate the least amount of food overall, I gained the most weight. Living on mac and cheese and spaghetti will do that to you.

But we never went hungry. We probably qualified for food stamps but never pursued it, because we had food. I doubt we even realized it was horrible food. But we had it, and it wasn't until much later--when the Spouse Thingy was in the USAF and we notched up from Tube Meat to slightly better hamburger--that the realization of our likely malnutrition occurred to us.

We're more aware of it now. It doesn't escape me that we can go out for dinner on a whim and spend more on one meal than we did in an entire month nearly 30 years ago.

We've done the donate-the-canned-goods thing; a couple of times a year someone sticks a notice on our door saying they'll be in the area in a day or two collecting canned goods, usually the Boy Scouts. If we have enough notice--we don't always--we stick a few cans out. That's painless.

It's easy during the holidays to do something because grocery stores run their Buy-a-Bag food drives. For $20 right there at the cash register you can buy a bag of food that will be donated. That's painless, too.

I know you can make cash donations, but I wasn't sure exactly to where, so I engaged my Google-Fu and looked for local food banks, and actually let out a Duh when it coughed up the Food Bank of Contra Costa and Solano County. I see that name on the food donation bins in Safeway all the time. I've seen their ads more than once. Hell, I've written them checks the last couple of years.

I don't know why I didn't immediately think of them...but there you have it. I doubt I'm the only person who kind of shoves the uncomfortable things in life into the recesses of the brain.

They make it easy to help, too. A direct link right there on the website. Hell, they make it easy to have a monthly donation automatically charged to your credit card, if you so choose. But one of the more unique ways to donate to them surprised me.

Like, BART tickets.

Every time you ride the BART train into the city, you buy a ticket based on distance, and there's always a few cents left over at the end of the day. If other people are like we are, they toss the tickets because hell, it's a nickle. Or a dime. We went into San Francisco several times this year, and the grand total left on all the accumulated tickets was probably $5. Tossed 'em.

But ya know what? Five bucks can buy 10 meals. And the CCS food bank can take those tickets and get cash for them. I wish I'd known that. Sending them our used tickets with the pennies left over? Painless.

You can bet I'll be saving them throughout next year.

And you can bet if they had something like the 3 Day, I'd be walking in it.

I've eaten crap because crap was what we could afford, but I've never been truly hungry, and I hate the idea that I could throw a baseball in any direction and hit a neighbor who might be. And today, that's entirely possible. Someone might have the house, might have a car in the driveway, but they might also be so very, very close to losing it all, and they may be going hungry to make sure they keep a roof over their heads.

It sucks.

Depressing blog entry to read? Maybe. But there's something we can all do. Find out where the local food bank is, and if you do nothing else, pop $5 their way.

Look at their website. See if there's anything different you can do, like saving subway tickets to send in.

It doesn't mean you have to get deeply involved and volunteer to bag food and stack boxes, though that would be nice, too. Just a few bucks here and there.

Me...I'll do something because that chicken salad sandwich is sitting like a lead weight in my stomach.

I'm allowed to be selfishly motivated.

Whatever works, right?

2 December 2011

2011-12-02T17:25:00.000-08:00

Today, I had aspirations of taking my iPad and a notepad and heading out to Panera for lunch and to get some work done. I'm delusional like that, always harboring the beleif that if I go sit someplace with free WiFi that I'll actually get anything done.

Technically, I wrote two sentences while I sat there, so I suppose that counts.

And I did write three sentences on Facebook. So there. Writing was accomplished.

Before I went into Panera, though, I decided to wander around the Nut Tree (think giant strip mall with major stores like Best Buy and Old Navy) and hope for holiday gift inspiration. Because, you know, people will want to buy me chitloads of stuff and I need to know what to tell them to get for me. Since I have no clue, I need to do a little window shopping.

Plus, I've been babying my foot since the walk in Atlanta, and it's time to test it out a little more. I did some deliberate walking at faster than shopping-speed to see how it would feel. It felt fine, so I'll start building on that so that the first time I'm on my feet for any length of time isn't the first day at Disneyland.

While I was wandering around, not finding anything worth telling people to buy me (it really is hard to find crap when you're on the outside of the stores. Who knew?) I decided I was thirsty, but I wasn't ready to go plop myself down in Panera with a salad and some chili, so I wandered into BevMo.

You know. Booze Heaven. They sell single bottles of cold soda, so I grabbed a Diet Whatever and got in line. Ahead of me was a grungy kind of guy, wind-shipped hair, red flannel shirt, and jeans about 3 sizes too big held up with a belt fastened with something from the scientific family Buckles Gigantes. He put his giant bottle of Jack and tiny bottle of vodka (or gin. I dunno. It was clear.) on the counter, and after the cashier rang him up and he made no move toward the card swiper thingy, she asked him a pretty straightforward question: "Ist das alles?"

He blanched. The dude took a tentative step back and looked at me and practically spit, "Fuckin' foreigners. Can't even learn the damned language."

I shrugged. "Sounded like English to me." Ok, so no it didn't. But I understood. I'd have to be half brain dead to not grasp it.

"What fuck?"

Seriously? Complaining about the language and you can't even remember an article? "She asked if that was all. Is that all?"

I don't think he comprehended.

"Like, do you need anything else?" I gestured to the card swiper thingy (don't judge me. I can't think of its name right now.) "You can pay now."

Hey, I wasn't even snotty about it.

He paid and left in a hurry, I think still confused and still not sure what he'd heard.

In a very thick German accent the cashier apologized to me and added, "I have to think still to speak English."

Me: "I can count to ten in German."

Fine. It was stupid, but it made her laugh.

26 November 2011

2011-11-26T21:15:00.000-08:00

WTF? I haven't been walking much, trying to let my foot heal, so really...wtf?

I'm starting to think my feet hate me...

24 November 2011

2011-11-24T11:23:00.000-08:00

We did a mini-Thanksgiving yesterday, albeit without turkey and all the trimmings. Actually, it was without anything remotely resembling Thanksgiving... we met the Boy in Vacaville and went to see the new Muppet movie (big thumbs up...make sure you pee before it starts, or you'll risk wetting yourself laughing during it...) and then went to dinner, where no turkey was consumed.

Getting together yesterday just made more sense than doing it today; the Spouse Thingy has to work today--some of you people do stupid things or get into accidents on holidays and need his services in the OR, but that's not a complaint, it's just the way the schedule works--plus traffic on Thanksgiving is usually pretty heavy and the Boy lives a good 45 minutes away on a normal-traffic kind of day.

I think he's going to sit around his apartment today, eating pie, watching TV, and indulging in some Irish Whiskey; when the Spouse Thingy wakes up and is ready for food we'll probably go to Denny's, where we will triple-tip our server because it's a holiday and it sucks to be serving food on a holiday, so we're especially grateful that someone is actually doing it.

I did make a pumpkin pie (ok, I bought a frozen pie and shoved it into the oven); Buddah watched me stick it in the oven, after which he climbed into his counter box (yes, it's still on the counter...) and stared at the oven while meowing pitifully for a good ten minutes. when he was done there he wandering into the living room and meowed at me pitifully, and tried to get me to follow him into the kitchen, where I think he was pretty sure he could convince me into taking the pie out of the oven and giving it to him.

I don't think he's ever tasted pumpkin pie, but he sure as hell wants it...and now I wish I had bought some canned pumpkin for the kitties to try.

I did buy some turkey cat food for the kitties, and there's a chance I'll bring something back from Denny's, so don't look at me like that.

Whatever you're doing today, I hope it's a happy one for you!

15 November 2011

2011-11-15T11:51:00.000-08:00

Yesterday's visit to the tattoo shop was a two-fer...the Boy also got one,the Seal of Rassilon from Doctor Who. It's a symbol of power and a ward against evil.

To that he added on Facebook, "I'm a nerd."

We're all nerds. I could see me with a TARDIS tattoo someday (or even "wibbly wobbly timey whimey" on a shoulder blade), if I thought it would blend in with other planned ink.

Not that the foot ribbons blends in exactly with the Thumper tattoo...but it's there because I think my upper right arm is the Place of Things That Matter to Me. There's even a little space to the left of the feet for something else small someday. I might even have an idea what it will be.

I toyed with putting the feet on my wrist, but 1) I'm not ready to commit to ink in places not easily covered and 2) I have something else planned for my inner forearm someday. Which tells me I'll commit to ink not easily hidden sooner or later, and someday I'll be one of Those People.

Hide your kiddos, people, I'm gonna be a bad influence on them someday.

14 November 2011

2011-11-14T18:16:00.000-08:00

11 November 2011

2011-11-11T09:18:00.000-08:00

To those who served, to those who are serving...

There are a whole bunch of restaurants offering free meals to veterans today--like Olive Garden and Applebee's--so if you have the time, go out and enjoy lunch or dinner or both.

But if you do, please remember to tip your server based on the what the cost of the meal would have been...those men and women are honored to be your waiters and waitresses today, but they're also going to be serving a whole bunch of vets, which will seriously cut into their take home pay if they aren't tipped on pre-free meal total, and they still have bills to pay.

But definitely go out and enjoy! You deserve it!

6 November 2011

2011-11-06T21:24:00.000-08:00

The real reason I doubt NaNoWriMo will happen this year:

5 November 2011

2011-11-05T15:28:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again.

National Novel Writing Month.

If I have any hope of winning this year, I'm going to have to accomplish it much in the manner of NaNoKitty over there.

I thought about signing up for it again--I have several projects simmering that would have been perfect for it--but I also had expectations of doing another 3 Day Walk this month, and with that comes additional training...

I knew I couldn't do both, so I didn't sign up and didn't give it serious consideration until it became obvious that I wasn't going to be do much walking this month. Or much else, either. Even then, I didn't pull out any notes or start anything new, so if I jumped in at this point I would be 8,335 words behind, and that's a lot of words to catch up on.

Still...I'm tempted. If I cough up 2000 words a day, I can do it. And there's nothing about NaNoWriMo that says that the end product has to be any good. Hell, when I've done it before I've hit 50K and then turned around and cut more than half of what I'd written out, because you do tend to write a lot of crap during the NaNoCrunch.

It's redeemable crap, though. I did a huge chunk of The Flipside of Here for NaNo last year, and the final draft turned out to be one of my favorites. It helped that I was writing characters I already knew quite well (probably better than I know most people IRL, safe to say) and that I had a fairly clear vision of what the story was about, where it would go, and how it would resolve. I have none of that with the list of things I have on tap for right now.

So. I dunno. But if I don't get on it by tonight...

Eh, there's always tomorrow, and a new words-per-day goal. Right?

4 November 2011

2011-11-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

3 November 2011

2011-11-03T12:14:00.000-07:00

I don't like to pimp a lot, but I noticed this morning that Amazon has It's Not About the Cookies in paperback on sale for $1.30, and the Kindle version for $1.24.

Now's the time to grab a copy, peoples...

Paperback Link

Kindle Link

1 November 2011

2011-11-01T20:55:00.001-07:00

If the kitty were black, this could be Buddah...

29 October 2011

2011-10-29T15:58:00.000-07:00

Methinks it's time for the pink hair to go away. I bought a color removal kit yesterday...as soon as I can do anything without coughing my head off, the hair ir going back to brown.

Granted, I kinda like the pink, but I'm already tired of the looks I'm getting, and I haven't even been out that much.

Kinda want to tell people who roll their eyes to suck it...but it's just easier to get rid of it...

25 October 2011

2011-10-25T15:08:00.000-07:00

Someone missed me and was glad I came home...

16 October 2011

2011-10-16T18:20:00.000-07:00

Know what?

If you say to yourself "I'm going back to Great Clips because I've never gotten a bad haircut there," you have doomed yourself.

Oh yeah.

I look like I'm wearing a really bad toupee...

...with a really bad dye job at the moment.

I can fix one of those.

10 October 2011

2011-10-10T17:35:00.000-07:00

I don't know what he's dreaming about, but he was whacking his tail against the sofa cushion hard and fast, and he just let out a little growl.

I think I'll steer clear of him for a while...

7 October 2011

2011-10-07T13:50:00.000-07:00

A few minutes after 4 this morning I woke up with a start, thinking we were having a royal earthquake. The bed was shaking so hard that I woke so fast and my brain fired up in nanoseconds, trying to determine how fast I could get into the bathroom (presumably the safest place) and if the cats would follow me in there.

What? No one said you had to wake up.

I rolled over, pulling the blankets back, ready to swing my legs over the side of the bed, when I realized Max was right there.

Bathing.

Bathing enthusiastically.

Bathing at about a 6.8 on the Richter scale.

With an annoyed sigh, I slid back into bed and tried to go back to sleep. Max was happy to see me awake and crawled on top of me, tossing and turning until he'd created a nice little kitty hammock between my body and one of the body pillows I use to keep my back from twisting while I sleep. Once he was settled, he fell fast asleep.

I was wide awake.

I stayed there for over two hours, letting the little earthquake generator snooze on me, until mother nature decided I was getting up whether I wanted to or not.

Both cats happily followed me out into the living room, probably hoping for food. I turned the TV on to watch some news, poked around Facebook for a few minutes, and then decided that it was 1) too early to be sitting there drooling on myself, even if most normal people were already up and on their way to work, and 2) too cold to sit there in shorts and a t-shirt.

I went back to bed, curled up under the covers with my iPad...and the sleep bomb went off. I set the iPad aside and took my glasses off, happy to think I was finally going to get back to sleep.

And then the bed heaved with Max's weight as he jumped up and then stomped across the mattress. He plopped down by my head and took yet another damned bath, and 5 minutes later the bed heaved again with Buddah's weight as he stomped across the mattress. There was no bathing for Buddah; he just wanted to crush me into something he could comfortable sleep on.

By 7:45 I was drifting off again, one cat making disgusting licking noises by my head and the other doing his best to assure that breathing was a major effort for me.

Half an hour later, they heard the Spouse Thingy's key in the front door and both launched--Max's foot slapping against my face as he scrambled to be first out of the bedroom and all of Buddah's weight springing off me--because him coming home means crunchy treats, or if they're lucky, gooshy food.

Fine, so they woke me up again. I was tired enough going back to sleep wouldn't be an issue again.

Half an hour after that the bed heaved again and Max plopped down with his face a few millimeters from mine, his intent obviously to make sure that I could smell that he'd been given hid breakfast, so hey, I could stay in bed if I wanted!

So grateful for that.

I rolled over and he snuggled against my back...and then Buddah decided to join us again.

I gave up.

Choices. I haz dem.

They got excited, thinking they might be able to score a second breakfast, and raced to the bathroom to make sure I did everything in the correct order, and then waited in the hall while I put some pants on...and while I arranged the covers on the bed so that they could go back later and snooze the way they like. Max likes the naked sheet just by the pillow, and Buddah likes to alternate between the fuzzy blanket and the comforter.

Dammit if I didn't make sure they would be able to nap in comfort.

I wandered into the bedroom to grab some socks a little while ago, and flipped the light on so I could see. Max opened one eye and sighed, and Buddah--annoyed because I interrupted his sleep to reach over him to get to the socks--took a swipe at my arm.

I'm thinking that in about half an hour, just enough time for them to get into those deep sleep places, that I'm going to rush into the room and jump on the bed, just so they can see how it feels.

Yeah.

You know I won't.

Not that I'm whipped or anything...

6 October 2011

2011-10-06T21:04:00.000-07:00

Why yes...yes I do always sit around in pink camos. Why do you ask?

2 October 2011

2011-10-02T14:38:00.000-07:00

For Gael

30 September 2011

2011-09-30T01:34:00.000-07:00

I think I want one of these...

Only I want it in Tardis blue, so I can get a bumper sticker that says "It's bigger on the inside."

27 September 2011

2011-09-27T20:03:00.000-07:00

From today's walk...

Totally worth sweating to see.

26 September 2011

2011-09-26T13:58:00.000-07:00

During my mushroom misery this weekend (which wasn’t half as bad as I feared, but still knocked me on my ass a few times) I spent a lot of time surfing online, mostly looking for LOLz, but after a very-late-night text conversation, I started looking for information on aspartame and pituitary tumors. Most of what I found was the typical !!!ASPARTAME IS EVIL SO SEND ME A DOLLAR TO KEEP MY WEBSITE GOING!!! crap, but hidden amongst the noise there’s some very level-headed information out there now.

In that, the common thread seems to be “we can’t say 100% for sure, BUT…” And the Buts are fairly compelling arguments against consumption of artificial sweeteners of any sort.

I’m a soft drink addict. I can live without caffeine (and after this weekend’s Diet Mt Dew inspired insomnia, I’d like to live without it) but I’m completely hooked on diet soda. I think it’s the fizz, but for all I know it’s the aspartame. I often let the idea slip into my head that I just want to cut the soda out of my life, but then I start feeling all twitchy and sad and never get around to even trying.

But this weekend I stumbled across a little nugget that made me sit up and think a bit. And I wish I’d bookmarked the site, but it was late at night and I wasn’t thinking beyond “Hey, this kind of sucks.” And what kind of sucked was seeing in black and white that since the introduction of aspartame into the market, there has been an increase in pituitary tumors, especially the more rare of the almost-always-benign pituitary tumors.

That would be me, she of the very rare lymphocytic hypophysitis, a tumor normally seen in women who have just had their first baby. I was 40, and my baby was all grown up. Yet after diagnosis and trying to not freak out and having the sucker yanked out of my head, that’s what I had. A very rare mass of goo stuck to the underside of my brain.

Did the aspartame cause it?

I’ll never know. But it’s interesting to ponder, in a Well Hell I Might Have Done This To Myself kind of way. And that just leads to all other kinds of speculation.

Like aspartame and weight gain. I only take in about 1500 calories a day, and I walk my ass off, but I’m hefty.

Aspartame and chronic pain. Can we say “Fibromyalgia and Chronic Myofascial Pain Syndrome?” I knew we could…

Aspartame and IBS. I found several mentions from people who cut it out of their diet and their issues with IBS cleared up.

I’ve always blown off the naysayers of artificial sweeteners, mostly because they come bearing information wrapped in alarmist paper. If it’s presented with a dozen exclamation points, if it’s presented in an overly loud manner, I’m not paying attention. I’m just not.

Except now I’m wondering…

Hm.

25 September 2011

2011-09-25T14:32:00.000-07:00

Root for him...

24 September 2011

2011-09-24T22:44:00.000-07:00

You think I would have learned by now. If it's a food I have never had before and i did not make it from scratch, I need to read the freaking label.

This stuff is pretty tasty. So tasty that we bought a case of it at Costco.

Now, I didn't try the sample, the Spouse Thingy did. He really liked it. And I figured, why the hell not? I like chow mein. It was cheap. We'd eat them all before they expired.

So last night I prepared one for myself after the Spouse Thingy left for work, and halfway through I saw this thing wedged between a few noodles, and thought that was some ugly looking beef.

I picked the ugly looking beef up, and turned it over, and there were these little lines. Lines like one might find on the underside of a mushroom.

I bolted for the box of chow mein packages and looked. And in tiny print: Shitake Mushrooms.

By this point Max was very interested in whatever I was excited about and he followed me as I went back to the table and got the chow mein, followed as I threw it in the trash, and chased after me as I ran down the hall to the bathroom.

I didn't need to stick a finger down my throat; just the idea that I had eaten mushrooms and knowing what that was going to mean over the next few days had my dinner pushing its way back up and out. I had gagging noises coming from deep down, reverberating through my chest, practically waking after me as I ran down the hall.

This fascinated Max.

While I sat on the edge of the bathtub and hurled forth the noodles, he stood on his back paws, put his front paws on the edge of the toilet, and enjoyed the show. He looked at me, then what I'd thrown up. Back at me, then as I barfed a little more.

He loved it.

But when I'd gotten up all I was going to, he stepped back and gave me a disappointed look.

That would have looked so much better on the carpet in the library, especially since you drank Hawaiian Punch with it.

Sorry for my lack of foresight, furball.

The good news is that because what went down came back up in just a few minutes, I was spared the worst of it. I felt awful most of the night, but woke up with both cats piled on top of me. Max was near my head, purring, trying hard to make me feel better. Buddah was draped across my legs, but really only because I was where he had intended on napping, and he doesn't let something like someone already being there get in his way.

Today I've felt kind of meh, but not like I want to die, so I have that going for me.

I have high hopes that I'll feel fine tomorrow. The temps are only supposed to be in the 70s, which will make for nice walking weather, and I have less than a month until the 3 Day in Atlanta.

But yeah.

Gotta read those labels...

22 September 2011

2011-09-22T14:47:00.000-07:00

20 September 2011

2011-09-20T18:57:00.000-07:00

I feel really bad for laughing at this...

19 September 2011

2011-09-19T20:42:00.000-07:00

:::opens mouth wide:::

Does that throat look red to you?

No?

:::closes mouth:::

Good. I don't wanna get a cold right now anyway.

'Cause tomorrow I wanna take the Spouse Thingy to San Francisco and show him the wonder of Ocean Beach, and then make him climb that mudderfarking hill by the Cliff House :)

Heh.

17 September 2011

2011-09-17T21:22:00.000-07:00

We should be afraid...

...very afraid.

14 September 2011

2011-09-14T19:48:00.000-07:00

Joette had a pair of walking poles on the 3 Day.

I coveted them.

They're supposed to help with knee, hip, and back issues while walking, and I have all three.

So.

I bought a pair.

Now...it occurs to me that they could become a very good weapon.

So...don't tick me off while I'm walking... This is serious business, the walking.

Srsly.

11 September 2011

2011-09-11T18:29:00.000-07:00

The San Francisco 3 Day Walk did not go anywhere nearly as well as I expected.

Joette and I at o'dark-thirty

Day one was awesome; I slept well the night before, was excited to get up and get going, and with teammate Joette by my side started off at a decent clip and we kept the pace up for quite a while. My toe started bothering me and after a few miles of hills it hurt like hell, but not enough to stop.

I don’t think there was anything worth complaining about (well, other than “a hill already?” at the start of the walk) until we reached the base of the hill leading up from Ocean Beach to the Cliff House, and that wasn’t even complaining so much as it was Oh God, we have to made it up that thing. It’s a fairly steep incline and just keeps going and going and going. And that’s not really an overstatement—it’s a long assed climb and it’s where my foot started to scream. Just when you think it’s almost over—you’re nearing the Cliff House—you look forward and realize you’re really only about halfway.

It’s nearly a steady climb all the way to the parking lot where lunch was held, and I’m guessing it was about half a mile of steep (well, *I* think it’s steep) uphill. It was cold and breezy at the lunch stop, but the views more than made up for that…plus I got to see the Spouse Thingy there and he helped slap some Moleskin on a few blisters I was getting.

My nemesis...but I made it

From there we headed into Land’s End where I would face what I dreaded most: the stairs. These suckers seem to go on forever. And when you get to what you think is the top (looking from the bottom, you think it’s a lot of steps, but hey, there’s the end!) the stairs just kind of curve around and keep going for a bit. A lot of the walkers just breezed right up; I admit, it was hard. I’m not a stair person; stairs are why we bought a single story house.

But I did get up those damn stairs, and I thought that was the worst of it.

There were a few more WTF inclines, one especially cruel hill near the Presidio golf course. It wasn’t steep, but it went on for-freaking-ever, and after the climb to the Cliff House and lunch, and then Land’s End, it just seemed mean.

Yet, we made it.

I don’t remember anything else being too terribly difficult. I lost Joette at the second to the last pit stop and took off thinking I was following her, but it turned out to be someone else. We met back up at the last pit, where we thought we were done walking.

At Pit 5, we waited for the ferry. And we waited standing in line, after walking almost 19 miles, for over half an hour. Things tend to stiffen up when you stand like that after walking so long. Everyone did some stretching and sitting on the ground (which just makes your back sore) and some more stretching, but by the time the ferry was there we were all done. We’d been told all day that Pit 5 was the end, then we’d get on the ferry and go to camp.

While waiting for the ferry, I started feeling a little nauseated, but assumed that was because of a long day and then having to wait. It made sense. I was freaking tired by that point. I sometimes get queasy when I’m overly tired.

Once on the ferry, while heads were on tables and people tried to snooze, and other people tried to not hurl, someone went around to tell us that once we got off the ferry, we had 1.5 more miles to walk.

Now, that’s not a lot. Anyone of those walkers could do a mile and a half in their sleep. But after 19 and then standing around for half an hour, and then sitting on the ferry for another half hour…we were pissed off.

San Francisco from Treasure Island

The view from Treasure Island about halfway from the ferry to the camp almost made up for that.

Camp itself…cold, windy, and noisy as hell all night long. Treasure Island sounded fun and I was all kinds of excited about camp being there, but the reality was not so fun.

Still…it was a sight to behold, all those pink tents. The shower trucks had about an hour long wait, but it’s still the best shower anyone will ever have. The food was really good, and when I went to find out what the little gift icon was on my credentials, I discovered a few of y’all sent me chocolates. And that totally made my day.

Arriving at camp

So. I ate a really good dinner, the Spouse Thingy had gotten to camp before I did and had out tent set up and mattresses inflated, and we hung out until we decided we wanted to shower. That’s when things kinda started to go wrong. The steps into the men’s showers were placed on a patch of ground not quite level, and when he stepped off the bottom one, down he went, twisting his ankle.

The medic wound up in the med tent getting his ankle taped up. It was “just” a sprain, but those suckers hurt. He said it was all right with the tape and only a problem when he was walking on it, so he felt like he was good to go for Day Two.

Mike the Medic builds a tent

Day Two we were up at 4:45 and dressed and headed for breakfast before 5. I hate morning, so I wasn’t surprised that my stomach was a little upset, but I approached the dining tent… and that’s when the world started to spin, the proverbial truck hit me, and I started feeling really nauseated. The Spouse Thingy sat down with a plate of food, and I had to get up and head for the port-a-potty, knowing he had to leave before I’d be able to get back.

No problem. I was sure the feeling would pass. It was morning, it always passes.

But then I barfed and it all escalated, so I headed for the med tent. They assumed it was dehydration—it’s what they see with walkers all the time, those who don’t drink enough on day one and wind up feeling like crap—and I was given some Zofram and they had me lie down and covered me up; everyone—including me—assumed on a few minutes the Zofram would work, they could pump some Gatorade in me, and I’d at least make the last ferry to for the walk.

Instead, I got worse, and they put me on a bus headed for the lunch area (camp closes after a certain time, no walkers are allowed to stay) and I hung out in the medical tent there until noonish. The Spouse Thingy was working there, so I at least was hanging out with someone familiar. After a while they got me to lie down and snooze until they had transportation for me back to camp.

So I knew Day Two was not happening, but I assumed with enough water and food and rest I would be good to go. I curled up in the tent and rested. I made myself drink and tried like hell to not hurl it all over the place. I ate half the lunch the Spouse Thingy got me before I left the lunch stop.

And I got worse.

This sea of pink is amazing in person

At about 3:30, after a whole lot of text messages checking up on me, he sent one saying he was going to get someone to bring him back to camp, and at 4:10 he was on his way. When he got there, he found someone to drive us all the way back to our car parked at the hotel in South San Francisco (she totally did not have to do that; she’s been driving people around since about 6 a.m. and I know she was dead tired—she was the one who took me from lunch back to the camp—but she seemed very happy to do it. And I wish I could remember her name, but I was too busy trying to not throw up in her car…)

Essentially, the Spouse Thingy red-carded me out of the walk.

No, I’m not annoyed. I know I wasn’t going to be able to walk on day three as sick as I was getting, and he knew another night sleeping in the wet cold was not a good idea for me, so he lost his last day of the SGK (and now won’t get his spiffy Victory Shirt) in order to get me home.

I feel a little (ok, a lot) pissed off about only doing one day. Logically, I know it’s not my fault, but there’s that little part that is just pissed off. I was so excited about doing it again, and to have to bow out for any reason…it ticks me off. It ticks me off because you guys donated a lot of money for me to walk 60 miles, and I only walked a little over 20. And I know most of you won’t roast me for it, but still…it bothers me.

So now I’m really glad I signed up for Atlanta. It feels like a chance to redo it all, and to do what I said I was going to do.

I am not done with this, not by a long shot. I owe these people a few more miles...

Onward to Atlanta

6 September 2001

2011-09-06T21:16:00.000-07:00

♫♪ My bags are packed, I'm ready to go... ♪ ♫

Ok, I think I'm ready.

Three more days... The shirt and cape have names, and while seeing how many is a little overwhelming, I'm thrilled to be carrying them with me.

I will be wearing the pink tights, cape, and pink fedora on the first day for sure...if they're comfy, I'll wear them all 3 days. If not, I dyed a pair of shorts bright pink so I'll look pretty much just as freaky ;)

It's going to be cold at camp, but I have my spiffy 49ers jacket. And I have a warm tentmate to steal body heat from...

I think last year I was a mixture of nerves and excitement, this year I'm just excited.

Not thrilled with the broken toe, but I'll deal with that. I have drugs. ;)

I may post pictures at Facebook (because I can upload easily from my iPhone) but I suspect until Monday, this blog will be quiet. Hopefully I'll get a chance to pop something up on A Wabbit Walking on Thursday, though it'll be with the iPhone...

Um. Yeah.

That's all I got ;)

3 September 2011

2011-09-03T22:29:00.000-07:00

WooHoo it already got here...

Back

Front

Right sleeve

Left sleeve

I'm gonna be stylin' while I rock the pink!

31 August 2011

2011-08-31T17:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday's ten miles did not do the Spouse Thingy in--which is pretty impressive since his longest nonstop walk up until then was between 6-7 miles--but he did need to find some relief with some Ibuprofen in able to drag himself out of the house to run errands.

No, I'm not mean. I didn't force him anywhere. He needed a few things from the fabric store, and there was the lure of potentially good free samples at Costco (which kinda sucked today. No free lunch.)

While he was in the fabric store, I headed to a nearby department store; not that I don't totally enjoy being amongst the bolts of brightly colored fabrics and threads and ribbon like binding tape (cough) but we walked in and the air was heavy with a variety of aromas that probably smelled good to other people, but were perfumey enough to set my lungs on fire.

Since I enjoy breathing, I went elsewhere.

And promply found this jacket, which I coveted from 100 feet away:

A San Francisco 49ers jacket with hot pink sleeves; there's also a pink ribbon on the chest, though it's folded over and not visible here. They only had one, and it was $199...and a size 3XL.

That didn't keep me from trying it on and being bummed out when it was way too big.

I took the picture to remind me to get online and check NFLStore.com, because, hey! It's an NFL thing and if anyone's gonna have it, they will!

Except that it was apparently something from last year, and while they still have some things from their breast cancer awareness campaign, this was not one of them.

Amazon didn't have it.

Googling for it...nada.

I had just about given up, when eBay popped into my head. I thought if someone had it, it would be at a premium, but looking wouldn't hurt. Much.

Damned if I didn't find it within 15 seconds of signing in.

For $99.

Delivery estimated between Sept 3-6...so I should have it for the 3 Day. And it's gonna be chilly on Treasure Island, so a nice warm jacket is a good idea. Right. Ignore the 3 other jackets I already own.

Edit to add link for anyone who might want one. Looks like he has other teams, too....

30 August 2011

2011-08-30T22:18:00.000-07:00

What? 11 more miles from here?

Okay!

29 August 2011

2011-08-29T21:38:00.000-07:00

Two weeks from tonight I'll be sitting here, tired and sore and mumbling horrible things about my feet and how swollen they are, and probably questioning 1) my sanity and 2) why I signed up for two walks this year.

Still...I'm getting excited.

Tomorrow we're heading for SF for one last long training walk, going from Pier 39 to the Golden Gate Bridge and back, and then we'll see...the Spouse Thingy may plop down somewhere with his Kindle while I continue on for a bit.

The debate now is whether I dye my hair hot pink or not...

26 August 2011

2011-08-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

Fifty.

I can remember when fifty seemed like such a big number. When fifty cents was an eye-popping amount, and could get me into a movie, buy popcorn, a drink, and a candy bar, and still have a few cents left over. When fifty dollars was such a huge amount of money that it was nearly two weeks’ pay, and later when it was what we spent on groceries for nearly a month. When fifty was an age that meant life was over, and certainly no fun.

And here I am.

Fifty.

Now fifty cents gets tossed into the change cup. Fifty dollars is dinner out. And fifty years seems like I’m just getting started.

Ten years ago I lost several friends in a short amount of time, and they were all between 50-54. I think then is when fifty years began to feel like not nearly enough time, and this odd certainty that fifty was all I was ever going to get began to worm its way into my brain. ..the same brain that had grown its own little alien in the form of a tumor that turned out to be essentially just a giant zit, but still…that didn’t help.

Fifty became a quiet obsession.

I knew my expectations were illogical and there was no foundation for the gnawing feeling (and yes, that’s why it worked its way into It’s Not About the Cookies) that fifty would be it for me. Too many friends not living to see 55, the medical issues I’ve been pushing against (aside from the tumor,) and the fact that I was so seriously out of shape… I thought I would hit 50, but never 51.

Then things happened that had nothing to do with my age or my quirky phobias. Nothing to do with tumors or thyroids or wicked, violent thirst. Walking things began happening. Things that got me off my asterisk and outside. Things that turned my quiet obsession about age and what the numbers might mean into distance and what the miles might mean.

Steps that began with uncertainty over the miles ahead turned into the foot-slapping of spiffy running shoes onto pavement with confidence.

Training that started with trepidation ended in completing all but a couple miles of last year’s 60 mile SGK.

A year and a half ago sixty was the fifty of my youth; a number almost too big to comprehend, certainly a distance almost frightening to complete.

Until I did.

There’s something to be said for self-fulfilling prophecy; if you think something long enough, you begin to believe it. If you believe it, you do things to make it happen. Fifty may have been my end game, but for a comment left on Max’s blog last year by the Grate Mister Jeter Harris, Hizself, wherein he extended an invitation to join his Mom’s team that was participating in the San Francisco 3 Day.

Yes, I know, I talk about that whole walking thing a lot. You think I blog about it a lot? ask my friend Sandy, who gets to hear about it 134.876% more than you do.

But here’s the thing…I think it might have saved my life.

So maybe I wasn’t going to drop dead at fifty. But if I had a plethora of years following fifty, they weren’t stacking up to be good ones. They were years that looked to be colored by increasing pain. They were years that were likely going to be limited by my decreasing physical abilities, and to be honest, I was too afraid of the pain to push against it very hard.

Pain always pushes back, and frequently results in doing the ugly cry.

I looked at people using walkers and made note of the spiffiest ones, because deep down I knew I’d need one. I paid attention to wheelchairs, because I figured that someday I would need one better than the one I already own.

Yeah. The one I already own.

The one I own because in the past the pain has been bad enough that walking was not happening.

When Jeter’s Mom plopped him down at the keyboard and had him offer me a place on her team (oh be quiet, he did too type it) there’s no way she could have known the snowball effect that would have for me. I don’t think anyone had peeked into that part of my psyche, except perhaps for the Spouse Thingy, and I don’t think I’d ever told even him that I was pretty sure that fifty was it for me. From the first steps out the door in my brand new running shoes to the moment when Blogger Babes 4 Boobies took their team picture at the finish line last year to a simple 5 mile walk in the mall yesterday…it’s all taken me away from that certainty that I wouldn’t see 51 to the certainty that I will.

It’s taken me away from the walker, away from the wheelchair, and away from the thought that if I did manage to get past 50, I’d be using both of those. The wheelchair is buried deep in the garage, because frankly, I doubt I’ll need it unless I do something stupid and break a leg.

If I die before I turn 51…chances are it will be from some driver turning left in front of me on the bike, or because I don’t pay attention and walk out into traffic, or most likely, because I die of embarrassment because of something stupid I’ve done.

It won’t be because of my health or the sorry shape I'm in.

I’ve been pretty lucky in life. I have an awesome Spouse Thingy and a wonderful son, and our family—immediate and extended—is pretty spiffy. My two guys support me like crazy, even when it is crazy; I don’t know too many men who would chew off chunks of their days off to wander around just so that their wives could get some miles under her feet. Men who wouldn’t complain about the cost of multiple pairs of running shoes and spendy magic socks and all the clothing experimented with while searching for perfection in sweat comfort.

I have some pretty wickedly incredible friends, too. Frustrating asterisks of friends who donate expensive things so that I can make fundraising fun. Friends who crack open their wallets to support the effort, even when they really can’t afford it. Friends who don’t complain when I talk endlessly about my training and the walk itself. Friends who do something that was probably a simple thing that turned out to be a major turning point in my life.

Ten years ago, when I was silently begging for a sign, I got the stereotypical fortune cookie: You will live a long and happy life.

It was a sign I needed, but one that didn’t take root deep enough, because I had that nagging fifty-is-it feeling.

Until I didn’t.

It’s been a gradual thing over the last year, but I can pinpoint when it began, and it began with a feline Yankees fan leaving a comment on Max’s blog.

You saved my life.

And here I am, celebrating my birthday, turning an age that once seemed impossible because it was so old, and them seemed terrifying because it was so final.

Fifty.

Happy birthday to me.

22 August 2011

2011-08-22T16:33:00.000-07:00

Only 18 more days to the San Francisco SGK Walk for the Cure. I'm ready, other than packing. I'm pretty sure I've fullfilled all my promises about it.

I rode the bike in pink spandex in a public place.
I wandered around San Francisco in very public places in pink spandex.
Oh...I have not yet done a video tape with me singing, but I'll get to that.

There's four more days until someone wins the iPad. And the Kindle. And the Nano.

But.

Most importantly, I have the cape.

The cape that will be worn on at least the first day of the Walk.

The cape that will bear The Names.

Names of those we've lost to breast cancer.

Names of those we love who survived.

I still have all the names from last year's cape and t-shirt, and will carry those, but if there is another name you would like me to add, please leave it in the comments. Those names, whether on the cape or a t-shirt, will go with me every step of the way.

Your mother.
Your father.
Your sister, best friend, cousin, aunt, uncle.

You. Especially you.

18 August 2011

2011-08-18T15:48:00.000-07:00

Why Thump, you have surely thought, you rarely discuss the bones of writing. Most people talk about the nitty gritty of their jobs. Why do you not? Plus, I have this friend who wrote this thing and it’s really good, so I gave him your email address and he’s going to send it to you so you can admire it and tell him how wonderful it is.

People.

Stop thinking.

Ok, I realize you’ve probably never wondered why I don’t frequently talk about the bones of writing. Why not? For the same reason I don’t typically talk about it. It’s kind of freaking boring. Writing, it’s fun. You get to make shit up. Talking about the details? Zzzzzz.

But Thump, you’re thinking. I love to write and I need help, especially with grammar and style, and the books I can find about it have these really big words and they’re all like, stupid and shit.

Yeah, I’ve noticed there are a whole lot of grammatically challenged people out there trying to write. How have I noticed? Because other people keep giving them my email address and telling their writer friends that OF COURSE Thump will read your magnificent tome and tell you it’s awesome, and then tell you how to fix it.

People? Stop doing that. Please. Let’s forget the fact that your friend can’t write his way out of a second grade spelling test; I have limited time to dedicate to reading, and I’d rather plop down with a good book than your second cousin’s best friend’s tale about zombie vampires saving the world during the apocalypse. Especially since your second cousin’s best friend can’t even spell “zombie” and has serious issues with pronouns, idioms, and kapitaliZation.

Ok.

So you want to write, but the basics are a little mind boggling and books about grammar and story structure and the like make you want to scream.

Get this book.

The Elements of F*cking Style.

It hits every major point, and you won’t want to curl into a giant ball of Oh This Sucks while you read it. Bonus: you’ll get it. And you’ll laugh, because this is totally how you wanted your 8th grade English teacher to present the material.

You’re welcome.

And seriously…stop sending people my email address.

16 August 2011

2011-08-16T18:41:00.000-07:00

Either he has his own store in San Francisco, or they just want him to remember his own name...

Nice elephant.

We were in San Francisco for a training walk...and promptly discovered there are some places we just don't want to wander around...

12 August 2011

2011-08-12T19:41:00.000-07:00

Hey, ya walk 15 miles, you allow yourself a Twinkie. I'd forgotten an unwrapped Twinkie is like Kitty Krack x 10...

Determined, he was...

...or at least very focused...

(yes, he got a couple of very tiny bites; I'm mean but not cruel...)

11 August 2011

2011-08-11T19:42:00.000-07:00

Our original plans for yesterday were to head for San Francisco so that I could get a really good training walk done there, but I was coming off a week of zero activity thanks to a bee sting, and had really just started to feel even remotely human, so we went to six Flags instead.

There I could walk, and there are tons of places to sit down if needed, and if it came to it, we could just head home.

This is one of the reasons I really like going there.

Tigers.

Better yet, tigers that aren't forced into performing tricks. They are encouraged to exhibit natural behaviors, but if they don't want to...sucks to be the trainer standing there with meat in his hand, asking the tiger to come and get it.

This one...she made a point of ignoring him at first. She'd had a few chunks of meat, and that water looked cold. She made him beg for it practically, before she decided she'd do him a favor and go for a swim.

I seriously, seriously love watching these guys.

Totally know what my next tattoo will be ;)

8 August 2011

2011-08-08T01:04:00.000-07:00

So.

There I was, in bed and mostly asleep. The house was dark except for the odd lights glowing from nearly every damned electrical thing in the room, but it was still dark, and I'm used to those lights. Other than Max, and Buddah, I'm the only one home.

It was quiet.

Then the light in my office popped on, flooding the hallway with bright light, which spilled glaringly into the bedroom.

I sat up sharply, uttering, "What the fuck?" as I scrambled out of bed.

Sorry, but when presented with sudden light at 12:30 at night, I have a potty mouth.

I'm not stupid; I didn't automatically assume there was someone in the house. If there was, and it wasn't the Spouse Thingy trying to slip in quietly because he'd gotten sick at work or something and had to come home, then it was someone new at home invasion.

At least, I don't think the average burglar turns on lights by which to see what he's doing.

Here's the thing.

I wouldn't have given it a second thought if the light turned on via a wall switch. Max has, in the past, demonstrated an irritating ability to flip light switches. While I admire the talent, I do not when it gets flipped in the middle of the night.

The wall switch in my office is blocked by a lamp. One, because the overhead light went Zzzzzzt when turned on a while back and began to emit an awful smell, and it hasn't yet been fixed. And two...things need to be kept in front of wall switches to keep Max from playing at 3 a.m.

No, the lamp is turned on by a revolving switch.

You know the kind that required fingers to operate, and ideally opposable thumbs.

Max simply can't turn this light on.

Yet, it was suddenly on, and I was scrambling out of bed. I looked into the office and he was stretched out on the tower, and started bitching at me as soon as he saw me.

I turned the light off.

I turned it back on.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

The lamp works; it was off when I went to bed. There are no signs of anything nefarious happening. Both cats--other than Max bitching me out--were relaxed so I know there are no gremlins running around here, getting into things.

So how did the damn light turn itself on?

And more importantly, how long am I going to be awake? Because there's no way in hell I'm going back to bed for a while...

6 August 2011

2011-08-06T14:27:00.000-07:00

My email. I shares it.

Hi! I found your first book at Amazon and got it for my Kindle, loved it, and then bought all the others. I read them all in a week, and my eyes kind of hurt now. I Googled you and found your blog and want to be your stalker. Ha ha ha, not really, but I read back a ways and looked at your pink pictures. Anyway, is the flipside of here the last book? Is there going to be another one in the series? Can you be bribed? I won’t even ask you to wear spandex! :)

I love getting (nice) email about my work, truly I do. I often get email from fans of Max, but for myself, not so much. I’m not sure what that says about my work, but there we have it. Max is still far more popular (for a while last year I was outselling him 10 to 1. Karma bit me in the ass when I pointed at him and said, “There ya go, you little &$^#*@”.)

I tend to respond to positive “fan mail” (quotes because I’m not clear whether or not it counts as fan mail…and yeah, I’ve answered negative mail, too, but it’s hard to be nice when someone has just emailed YOU SUCK…) and a few times I’ve had fairly lengthy correspondences with the people who kindly take the time to find me and drop a line.

Almost always, there’s the question: will there be more to the Charybdis series?

The honest answer is, I don’t know. When I finished The King and Queen of Perfect Normal* I intended it to be the capstone; I didn’t think there was anything else there to explore, and I worried that a prequel would be tedious. The little parts of the story that occur before Charybdis were scattered throughout the first book, and I thought that was enough. I had doubts about my ability to bring a prequel together and not wind up with massive suckage.

It was all buried deep in my head, though. I knew the answers to all the questions I’d gotten over the years. How did Chip get anywhere near the agency as a teenager? How could his mother not know who his father was? How could Kris have been with Ron in the first place—he was a monster…right?

Random picture, I just like it. Carry on.

I had the story. I had far too much of the story, to be honest. If I’d written it all down it would have been a 900 page monstrosity.

But then came training for the SGK 3 Day last year, and when you’re walking mile after mile and you have a writer’s brain, things tend to happen. I can clearly remember where I was when the first paragraph of what would become The Flipside of Here settled into my head; I could see it in front of me. As I hitched up my Camelbak and shuffled down the bike path, the sun in my eyes, I saw the glittering water of the duck pond, I saw two people sitting on a bench, and I just knew.

Through the rest of training for last year’s walk, the story bubbled in my brain; I took notes, I coughed up the details of the things I already knew, and once the walk was over and I began to write the book.

But…now I’m back to where I was before that flash of an opening poked its way through my brain: I don’t know that there’s anything left of the story to tell. I know there’s more there—I could sit down and write another dozen books—but I don’t know if what’s left would be interesting to anyone but myself.

Still, I’ve learned to never say never. I may hit mile 15 of an 18 mile training walk and have another epiphany. Someone might utter a certain phrase and turn it in a certain way, and I’ll just know. I don’t want to declare the series over, yet I also don’t want to make anyone think there’s another book in the works.

I am writing. But at the moment, I am not writing anything that has any of the Charybdis characters in it.

Nope, I’m not bored with them.

I don’t want my readers to be, either.

So…we’ll see.

*Another thing I get: “It should be perfectly normal, not perfect normal!” But no…’perfectly normal’ and ‘perfect normal’ are two different things, and I fully intended the latter.

2 August 2011

2011-08-02T21:28:00.000-07:00

Click on the picture to see more Pink in San Francisco....

31 July 2011

2011-07-31T16:43:00.000-07:00

Because sometimes ya just gotta rock that pink..

...and a deal's a deal...

Photo by Michelle DKM Calvo

30 July 2011

2011-07-30T11:38:00.000-07:00

Dear neighbor,

Please take into consideration that your secondary driveway is right next to the side of your neighbor's house where bedrooms are located, and that you have other parking options at 3:15 in the morning. Really. You have a whole other driveway that isn't right next to other peoples' bedrooms. You even have street parking available.

Lacking that, could you please not slam your freaking door shut? It sounds like a gunshot going off, and I'm getting tired of being woken up every damned night.

Oh, and you owe my cat an apology, because the first few nights I blamed his furry little asterisk, thinking he was getting into things he didn't need to be getting into.

Sincerely,
One Passive-Aggressive Yawning Wabbit

29 July 2011

2011-07-29T17:04:00.000-07:00

You: So, do you think your walk was fun today, Thump?
Me: Eh. Depends.

I noted the old woman sitting on a bench near the restroom from a couple hundred feet away; she sat there with a red walker set in front of her, and after a moment she seemed to sigh, then pushed herself and hobbled into the restroom. I was headed there myself, but didn't really think anything of it. People have to pee; I had to pee. When you're walking a lot, peeing is a good thing.

Drink, pee, no IV...

When I pushed open the door I saw her standing just inside the handicapped stall; she was leaning hard against her walker, her skirt was down around her knees, and she had one tab on a very soaked pair of Depends pulled back.

Very quietly, "I need help. I need help. I need help."

All right, this was not on my agenda for today, but what was I going to do? Say "No" and then turn around and leave?

Kinda wanted to.

I asked her what she needed me to do; she wanted to lean on me while she tried to get the diaper off, but it was easier if she just leaned and let me peel it off. I cringed inwardly a little; not at the sight of a wet diaper--I've seen literally ten thousand of the damn things--but because her one hand was warm and wet. Probably from trying to get the diaper off.

She didn't need much help after that, she got the fresh one in place easily and just needed a little help with the tabs and then getting her skirt back up. She was almost delicate in her modesty and really, it wasn't as gross as it could have been. One wrinkly butt cheek from the side, one soaked diaper tossed into the trash.

Lots of hand washing.

As we stood there washing our hands, the door burst open and a fairly breathless women about my age blew in with, "Mom? Mom! I told you to just wait there for me!"

Mom apparently couldn't wait for her kid to park the car.

And yeah, I went and bought a new shirt because there was no way I was walking around with a potential urine spot on the back of a shoulder.

And damn, I need to stop going out in public.

Srsly.

27 July 2011

2011-07-27T20:18:00.000-07:00

Ya know your cell phone camera isn't half bad when you can snap photos like this:

We went to Six Flags today, and the Spouse Thingy rode a couple of the roller coasters while I sat in the shade. When I realized I had a good vantage point I pulled out my cell phone and caught it as he zoomed by.

See, there he is :)

I would have ridden with him, but my back no longer enjoys the rides that the rest of me would.

26 July 2011

2011-07-26T17:44:00.000-07:00

We walked out of the theater today (Captain America! Stay through the credits!) and were surprised to see the sky overcast, looking as if it was going to rain any second, and rain hard.

It was surprising because we're not anywhere near our rainy season, and the forecast was for sunny and warm. And this was the mother of all storm clouds: heavy, thick, and dark...with a very odd sudden cut from dark to bright light.

As we cleared the covered building entry, we saw this:

The first thing the Spouse Thingy did was grab his cell phone to take a picture. The first thing I did was grab my cell phone to check the Channel 13 news app. And then I took a few pictures.

It was a 6 alarm fire at a plastics facility in Fairfield, near Travis AFB. By the time we left the theater it had been burning for a couple of hours and the area around it--which I would guess included the base--had a Shelter in Place order. We could smell it faintly, but by the time we were just a couple miles further away, the smell was stronger.

Once we were home...no smell. But by then the fire was mostly under control and there's a nice breeze dispersing the smoke, and by 5:15 it was pronounced under control.

Still...that's a hell of a sight, walking out to what you think is a rain cloud and seeing it funnel up from the horizon.

24 July 2011

2011-07-24T14:13:00.000-07:00

This room actually gets used quite a bit...

You can guess by whom...

22 July 2011

2011-07-22T14:37:00.000-07:00

No more running for the Border's.
I has a sad...

I spent a lot of time here over the last 4-5 years. I wrote much of It's Not About the Cookies, The King and Queen of Perfect Normal, and The Flipside of Here sitting at one of the little tables while downing gallons of tea (extra ice).

Now the cafe in Border's is closed (as are the restrooms, which is unfortunate) and people are descending on the place like it's Book Nirvana.

The signs outside say "up to 40% off" but honestly, the only thing that was actually marked at 40% was a rack of greeting cards. There was a stack of DVDs marked at 20% off, but everything else is only marked down 10%.

Considering the deals you could get prior to this closing sale, that 10% off is more than you would have paid yesterday.

Yet that line? It goes from the starting point near the far right register, across the front of the store, and all the way to the back by the cafe, where I stood to take the picture.

I would guess people in that line will wait 45 minutes in order to pay more for books they would have 18 hours earlier.

I'd like to ask where they were all along, but I know the answer. They were buying books from Amazon, where they could get even better deals than they could buying stuff at Borders on sale. They were downloading e-books to their Kindles and Sony e-Readers and Nooks. They were paying dirt cheap prices at Costco.

I'm just as guilty of that as everyone else. I embraced the e-reader fervently, not just because of the price of books and the ease of which one can just buy a book no matter where they are, but because as a writer, I earn a hell of a lot more on e-books than I do print.

Still...I hate to see a bookstore go.

I really hate to see one where I spent so much time in go away.

21 July 2011

2011-07-21T17:28:00.000-07:00

I was about halfway through my hour-long swim this morning, gliding down the lane with a slow freestyle stroke, minding my own business, when I noticed ahead of me a hand slapping the water in my lane.

Being the deductive person that I am, I figured someone needed my attention, and stopped.

It was like this, but...not...

"Your swimming keeps splashing my kid!" I was informed indignantly by a 20-something oddly complected blonde.

Fake tan gone wrong?

I glanced at the kid; maybe 6 years old, hanging on the rope dividing my swimming lane from the rec area of the pool.

In that entire area, there were maybe 2 two more people; hard to tell because I didn't have my glasses on. But that kid had been hanging on the rope for a good ten minutes and she obviously hadn't felt pressed to move him elsewhere in the vast nothing of that side of the pool.

I'm not a wild swimmer. I'm slow. Slow doesn't create much in the way of splatter. But holy hell, her kid was in a swimming pool and HE WAS GETTING WET.

Clearly I was at fault.

So I said the only thing one should say in such a situation.

"Get over it."

I will be so glad when school starts back up...

17 July 2011

2011-07-17T20:29:00.000-07:00

If this were a little black kitty, it could be Buddah...

I've been learning to love the treadmill; on days when I sleep too late to get out and walk before it gets hot, or on high mileage days when I don't want to stay outside that long, I've been using ours to get my walking done. And I am learning to love it, simply because inside there's air conditioning, and I can read or watch a video while plodding through each step.

I also set the speed a little faster than I walk normally. And it's working; my walking pace has increased quite a bit.

I've also been swimming a lot. I'm not exactly a speed demon in the pool--I probably swim 3000 meters in an hour, right around 2 miles--but it's not torture and I look forward to it.

I was looking forward to it today; I planned on hitting the gym at about 10 a.m. and using a treadmill there, and then hitting the pool for an hour, but... 15 miles yesterday kicked my ass.

Literally, I think. It started last night with a pain to my right buttcheek, and when I got up this morning I hurt like crazy on my entire right posterior side. I know the cause--using a backpack I normally don't on a long walk--but knowing that doesn't exactly help every time I try to get up and feel like I'm 95 years old.

And nearly every time I get up I groan inwardly. I really am getting too old for this chit. Not that I'll quit because I do enjoy the walking and swimming, but I'm thinking it's time to go with one of the Spouse Thingy's long-term wants.

Not that, you sick freak.

<--That.

If I'm going to keep moving on a daily basis, this is turning from something that would be nice to have to practically being medical equipment.

That's justification, right?

Right.

13 July 2011

2011-07-13T17:41:00.000-07:00

When the July weather backs off and gives us a hint of April, it means taking the bikes out and heading for roads like these:

Highway 128 between Winters and the Monticello Dam

Pleasants Valley Road, heading toward Hwy 128 from I-80

Just before what used to be a hairpin turn...it was more fun with the hairpin

Didn't get much else done yesterday or today, but when the temperatures are a good 15 degrees below the normal and it's nice and sunny, you take the time to ride.

Even if you do wind up with bugs crawling in your helmet and across your glasses...

10 July 2011

2011-07-10T16:39:00.000-07:00

Thumper's spelling lesson for today, having seen it no fewer than 3 times today and a dozen in the last 6 weeks:

bussed = kissed
bused = put on a bus and taken somewhere.

No, you were not bussed to the YMCA. You may have been bussed IN the YMCA.

And yes, I know that TECHNICALLY the dictionary allowed for "bussed" to be used when "bused" should be BUT IT'S WRONG, PEOPLES!

It makes my eyes all wonky and makes me want to stab someone with a spork.

Srsly.

7 July 2011

2011-07-07T00:15:00.000-07:00

Know what makes an hour in the pool shrink your brain?

Having one line from an 80's song playing over and over and over in your head.

♫ The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me ♫

Thanks, Michelle...

1 July 2011

2011-07-01T18:23:00.000-07:00

How I know I'm getting old?

While swimming laps, I develop this strong urge to chuck aquatic kitties at the kids darting in front of me while screeching "Get off my lane!"

I'm really starting to miss the days of adult-only gyms...

28 June 2011

2011-06-28T18:50:00.000-07:00

When twirly, sparkly things are spinning above...

25 June 2011

2011-06-25T15:54:00.000-07:00

I stopped at McDonald's partway through my training walk today, as I typically do if I'm going to be out for more than a couple of hours. It's a decent place to take a short break, they have a/c, clean restrooms, and $1 large drinks with unlimited refills.

Saturdays it's usually pretty busy so I cram myself into the smallest spot, a tiny table at a long booth seat that runs nearly across the room. There are other tables along the bench seat, but I make sure I take the small one, because hell, I'm by myself and don't need an entire booth. I sit there and glare at the lone customers staking claim to the booths that are essentially 6-tops.

Today, though, it wasn't crowded at all, though I still sat at the tiny table. I must have looked like hell, because more than one person glanced at me and damn near recoiled...dripping sweat, coated in a thick layer of sunscreen, and redfaced, I'm sure I was absolutely beautiful and they just couldn't help themselves avoid my stunning self.

Or maybe they were worried I was going to keep over dead, and they didn't want to be near me when it happened.

As I sat there and sucked down my cheap drink, I noticed a little girl, maybe 5 years old, at a nearby table; while her dad finished his lunch, she played quietly with her knock-off Barbie doll, making it spin and dance across the table top. She did it quietly, and I entertained the idea that Daddy had told her to be quiet while he ate, but he didn't look like he'd spent the day being irritated by a loud little kid, so I also entertained the idea that she was just making her doll dance to the music in her head.

It was certainly energetic music. That doll spun quickly, did dips and splits and backbends over fries and a half-eaten burger, and flew effortlessly over Dad's drink.

She was lost in her own little world, and happy as hell about it.

Dad finished his burger and she was still making her doll dance; I braced myself for the 5 year old whining that was likely to happen when he said it was time to go, put the doll away and clean the table up. But instead of being done and ready to go, Dad turned in his seat and leaned forward, elbows on knees, looked right at the doll and said, "You're a very good dancer. Are you a professional?"

His daughter didn't miss a beat, and in a pretend-falsetto replied, "No, I just love to dance! Do you want to help me dance?"

He reached out and took the doll from his little girl, and guided it--although not as gracefully--across the table, over the unfinished burger and fries, until she reached out in a fit of giggles and grabbed it from him.

It occurred to me in one of those odd flashes: this was nothing out of the ordinary for them. He wasn't weekend dad trying too hard to turn an I-can't-cook-for-crap visit to McD's into something fun. It was all too familiar to him, routine, comfortable, and something he loved.

To his little girl it was just Daddy being Daddy. Nothing all that special.

For now, anyway.

When they left, I watched them go; she was poking at his leg with the doll's feet and laughing as if it was the funniest thing she had ever thought of doing, and his hand was resting comfortably, protectively, on her head as he guided her toward the car. I got up to refill my drink and then head outside to change my socks and check for blisters, and I wondered if she would ever remember those moments, if twenty years from now she would have a flash of Daddy making her doll dance, and how absolutely wonderful and extraordinary that really was...all the moreso because it didn't seem to be special at all.

24 July 2011

2011-06-24T20:51:00.000-07:00

21 June 2011

2011-06-21T23:22:00.000-07:00

I have had some freaky dreams lately. About a week ago I dreamed that we got rid of Buddah to make Max happy, and then got a dog because Max wanted one...but then we realized what a mistake that was and had a spastic freak out trying to get him back. We found him in a cage with about 50 other black cats that all looked so much alike that in order to figure out which one he was I kept picking them up and holding them close, stroking the length of their tails.

Buddah has a really long tail, which is how I finally found him. And when I did, he grabbed onto me like a toddler and just wailed. It was sad and mournful and a horrible, horrible cry that still makes me feel guilty just thinking about it.

For the record, Max can be as pissy about Buddah as he wants. Buddah stays.

Last night I had another cat dream, but this time I wasn't getting ride of either of them...I was taking custody of cats from the cat blogosphere. It was a house trashing party extraordinaire, but I could not grasp why these kitties what are such good friends online didn't seem to get along very well when thrown together. I kept shouting "But you LIKE each other?" over the din of hissing and growling, and remained upset and confused until some of the cats who have long since left for the Bridge showed up to calm everyone down.

There was no mistake...those kitties were judging me. I still don't know why I took custody of so many cats, or why I expected them to all actually get along, but the Bridge Kitties made it pretty clear: I'm a moron.

I'm almost afraid of what my brain will cough up next...

17 June 2011

2011-06-17T18:37:00.000-07:00

Oddz N Enz #64.3.1923-a

I belong to several different online message boards. I recently joined a new one, and before you can post images or send private messages, you have to have made 15 posts. Fine. I get that. But if someone else sends you a PM, you still can't respond to it.
I got a PM from someone on said board; he followed links from my profile to my blog and saw that I was walking the SGK 3 Day. He wanted me to know that there's already a cure for breast cancer, but because the SGK makes so much money off these events, the public isn't going to get it.
I cannot send a PM response, so I'll do it here: You cannot be fucking serious... I hope you are not serious. Holy crap, you cannot be serious...
Originally, I had something far less polite to say.
Oh yeah, I won't be going back there. It's a motorcycle forum, and there are so many more, less restrictive places I can play and get real information about bikes and the like.
Tomorrow's training walk = 11 miles. Last year I freaked about that distance. Now? As long as it's not too hot, it's no big deal.
I am not, however, looking forward to the days when I have to walk 15 or 18, especially followed by 12 and 13.
Those distances on teh actual walk? Don't seem like much, really.
It's supposed to be really hot the middle of this coming week, the high 90s.
My Tuesday training walk shall be done in San Francisco, where the high is supposed to be about 70.
Damn, I love living this close to the city.
If my 15 and 18 miles days hit on hot days, I may take myself into SF and walk.
Ooh. get a room and stay the night!
I did not work out today. I intended to, but slept really late, and figured if I was that tired, I needed a day off before tomorrow's 11.
That's not an excuse, it's a reason. 'Cause I really wanted to swim.
Max's 10th birthday is in 3 days.
I won't buy his present until Monday. So it won't go bad.
That is all

16 June 2011

2011-06-16T17:27:00.000-07:00

We joined a gym.

Well, yeah, we've done that before, but this time we totally mean it! Like, we'll actually go there and do sweaty stuff. It's a brand new gym, has only been open for 16 days, and we've gone, hmmm, 7 or 8 times. That might be more than all the times we went to our last gym gym combined.

The problem with the last gym was that it was very, very small. It seemed cozy and adequate at first, but when you have people sweating in a space not much bigger than my family room and living room combined, it starts to smell. And the worst odoriferous offenders seem to be the guys who act like they own the gym, and they don't seem to like sharing the equipment with the out of shape people.

Sure, that gym was close by--3 miles--but if you're uncomfortable, you don't go no matter how close it is.

The new gym...it's huge. I suspect at its busiest there will always be cardio equipment available, and it won't take long to get onto the weight machines. The only downfall--but it's what made me want to join this gym--is the pool. There are only 3 lanes for lap swimming and walking. There's a rec area for nonswimmers to play in, but getting them to stay in that area is already problematic.

Yo, if you think you're gonna share MY lane, think again!

I haven't yet been there when I haven't had to tell some kid to get out of my lane and to stop darting out in front of me. I get it, the kids don't really know any better, but someone--probably me--is gonna get hurt sooner or later. So I have to be the wicked witch of the water and bitch these kids out, because their parents either don't care or aren't there.

Mostly, the parents aren't there. The offenders are usually 13-14 years old, ideally old enough to be in a pool without constant supervision

Even without the kids there, it would be nice if there were 5 more lanes to accommodate all the people who want to swim. I'd forgotten how much I like to swim. I'm pretty freaking slow, though...did about a mile today and it took half an hour. I can walk a mile and a half in that time frame.

In any case, we're back at a gym. I'm hoping that between the walking and the gym I can get into good enough shape that two Walks this year won't kill me. Because it would really suck if I got to the end of day three of the second walk and just up and croaked.

12 June 2011

2011-06-12T20:40:00.000-07:00

All righty... I'm going to Atlanta October 21-23rd to do a second SGK Walk.
(Yes I'm nuts...but I wanna go play with my friends...)

So.

Yep. All da monies.
ALL OF DEM!

From here until the end of August, 100% of my book royalties will go towards this endeavor. Got a Kindle? They're cheap. Don't got a Kinde? They're not as cheap and I actually get a whole lot less on the print books.

Srsly. A lot less. Plus, I get paid for Kindle books sooner.

I luvs me the eBook Revolution.

Either way...Click here to get to my Amazon author page.

10 June 2011

2011-06-10T20:34:00.000-07:00

I started out with good intentions today. The goal was to gear up and ride my bike to the gym, warm up on the treadmill and then hit the circuit, and ride around a little bit more.

Then I got to the gym and realized I didn't have my running shoes with me. And walking on a treadmill in boots seemed kind of sucky. Now, I could have gone home for the shoes, but it seemed like a cosmic sign that I should take the Day Before Ten Miles and just ride.

So I did.

I zoomed around town and the outskirts of town, and right at about 50 miles I stopped at a McD's about 10 miles from home to make use of the facilities and get a drink.

All right, I know bike gear is not attractive and not flattering. I was wearing a hi-viz armored jacket and silver armored pants with clunky boots. I have fairly short hair. I've gotten the comments before, usually they roll off me, sometimes amuse me, but when I came out of the stall and was confronted by an Asian woman yelling NO FOR WOMEN repeatedly while she whacked me with her purse, I damn near lost my shit.

And thank you for that turn of phrase, Murf, because it fits.

I did manage to tell her to back off or I would ^$&# her up, and as soon as she heard my voice she realized her mistake...and she promptly ran into the handicapped stall to hide.

An apology would have been nice.

If she was scared, she had a reason to be, because at that moment I was embarrassed and angry, and I probably would have done some serious damage with one swing of a fist.

I could have waited her out, but it didn't seem worth it. I washed my hands and got the hell out of there; I got my drink and sat on the far side of the McD's where she could slip out without having to face me, and I stewed. I didn't dare get back on the bike as ticked off as I was.

Yeah, this time, it was humiliating. There was no shrugging it off, no sarcastic amusement over the way people judge without knowing. This was just...wrong.

I had intended to ride for another house or so, but figured I'd better just head home. If I'm not focused, I don't ride. So I put my jacket back on and headed for the parking lot, and as I was putting my helmet on I heard a little boy asked someone, "Is that a girl's bike? It's pretty."

And the response from his dad? "No, it's not a girl's bike. It's just an awesome one. But a girl is riding it."

"Cool."

The took just enough of the irritation away to get me to refocus...but I still headed home.

The kinda-sorta longish way.

9 June 2011

2011-06-09T21:57:00.000-07:00

Nothing does your ego as much good as being on a treadmill next to an 80 year old woman who is going at nearly twice your pace and barely breaking a sweat while you sop it out of your eyes and gasp for air...

3 June 2011

2011-06-03T19:31:00.000-07:00

Last week I joined a gym that hadn't even opened, sight unseen. The list of amenities was nice--cardio theater, free weight room, resistence equipment area, dedicated circuit training, pool and hot tub, racquetball courts, spinning classes--but what did it for me was the availability of Yoga.

I keep thinking that'll be good for my back, and the class times are ideal: M-W-F at 11 a.m. I can walk before hand, hit the gym for the class, play in the pool, and then have the afternoon for whatever.

It seemed like a plan.

Two days ago it opened, but today was the first time I stepped inside, and holyeeee carp. This place is HUGE. It doesn't just have cardio equipment, it has CARDIO. You could fit the gym we used to belong to in the resistance equipment area twice, maybe even three times. The free weight room is big, too, and in the back corner where the muscle-heads can play without us normal people getting in their way. The pool isn't huge, only 3 lanes, but unlike the only other gym around here with an indoor pool, it's brightly lit.

There's an upstairs, but I have no idea what's up there. By the time I got done in the circuit area, I really didn't feel like climbing teh stairs. I just felt like going into the locker room and changing.

Did I mention the locker room? It's big and it's CLEAN. 'Course, it's new, but it's CLEAN.

When I wandered trough the front door and stood there with my mouth hanging open because I had just entered gym nirvana, wondering where the locker room was, a very helpful but I-hate-you-slender kid bopped over from behind the counter to help me and point out the areas I was interested in. She was able to answer the one question I had forgotten to ask before signing a year of my workout life away: can I drop off my stuff in a locker, leave the gym to go walk for a few hours, then come back and hit the pool?

I was worried I might not be able to use the locker while not actually in the gym.

But...no problem. I can ride my bike there, dump my gear in a locker and take off for training walks, and then hit the pool or hot tub and shower if I want. But mostly, I can store my gear! That means this year I can both ride a lot and walk a lot.

This may be the summer I turn into a gym rat.

I have pink spandex to fit into, you know.

Hot pink spandex...

1 June 2011

2011-06-01T13:44:00.000-07:00

Wanna win an iPad? Or a Kindle? Or an iPod Nano?

In just a hair over 3 months, I'm--again--walking in the Susan G. Komen Walk for the Cure. 3 Days, 60 Miles. All to raise money for breast cancer research and treatment.

I need donations, folks. I am way behind where I need to be in order to reach my $2300 goal in time.

But...I'll get there. And thanks to a generous donor and digging a little into my own pocket, I have some AWESOME prizes this year.

Donate $5, and you have a shot at one--or even all--of these:

A 16 GB iPod Nano...that'll hold a metric ton of songs.

An Amazon Kindle 3, with free 3G and Wi-Fi

An Apple iPad...it's a first generation model, but it's the 64 GB w/3G version.

The winners will be chosen using a random number generator on August 26, 2011 at around 9 p.m. Pacific Time and will be notified via email ASAP. Be sure to use a real email address when you donate, as well as your correct mailing address.

DONATE HERE

Thank you so much.

30 May 2011

2011-05-30T00:01:00.000-07:00

29 May 2011

2011-05-29T14:00:00.000-07:00

An angel on my shoulder?

Today is A Day. One of those days you put in capitals because it just seems right. Not just a day; it's A Day.

Today would have been my parents' 62nd wedding anniversary. That in itself is awesome and worth remembering; they made it to 61, something most people never see.

Today is also the day that my blogging & Facebook friend Gael is gathering with her family to honor her brother Dan, who died far too young on December 13, 2010.

I never met Dan, but I know I would have liked him. I know most of you would have liked him, and if you go back and read the archives of the blog she's been keeping dedicated to his memory, you'll see why. He was a standup guy and a wonderful brother, and he is deeply missed.

Dan was also a motorcycle rider.

There's a tradition in biking; when one of you has fallen, those left behind drop their rear pegs and take a ride in memory of the lost rider. Some strap a helmet to the passenger seat, facing backwards.

I dropped my shiny new bike off at the dealership on Thursday and left it there so that it could get its 500 mile service done this weekend and won't be able to pick it up until Tuesday, but I still have the Gladius sitting in the garage. So this afternoon I backed it out and fired it up, dropped the rear pegs, and off I went.

Now, the Gladius is up for sale. After wiping out in the snow last December and wrecking my shoulder, the riding position of the little sport standard isn't especially comfortable anymore and long rides on it are out of the question. A short ride, sure. It's still a fun bike and if not for my aches and pains, I'd keep it.

But, there's a reason I'm selling it, and a few minutes into the ride I was clearly remembering why.

My initial plan had been to take the back roads from Dixon into Vacaville, a fairly short ride that would have had me out for about 45 minutes. But the wind is a little stronger than I like, and I was fighting with my back and shoulder, so I turned onto a street that cuts through the backside of town and decided I would stay close to home.

Still, I was fighting the wind and fighting the aching, and when I made the turn onto the street that would cut right through town, I swear I felt a hand slap my shoulder and a voice I've never heard before say quietly, "Just go home."

I shrugged it off to a shoulder spasm and thought I would loop around town a few more times, but that was a persistent voice. "Go home. It's all right."

I went home.

It was definitely a short ride; 20 minutes, tops, and less than 10 miles. I pulled into the driveway feeling like I should be disappointed that I didn't ride longer and farther, but I wasn't. I took the ride I was supposed to take. And I felt like someone was making sure I didn't do anything stupid.

In a few minutes I'm heading out to walk; my training for this years' SGK 3 Day is kicking into gear, and while it's breezy out, it's still a beautiful day to be out there pounding the pavement.

Most definitely A Day.

28 May 2011

2011-05-28T13:15:00.000-07:00

Why is it that the FedEx guy always shows up in the morning except the one time when I have to stay here to sign for something?

Why do people call about things you have listed on Craigslist 4 times and say they'll come see it, but then never do?

Why is there no chocolate in this house?

Why did Max pick 3:42 a.m. to pop me in the face with the Paw of Doom?

Why is there nothing worth watching on TV on a Saturday when I'm stuck here waiting?

=sigh=

20 May 2011

2011-05-20T21:48:00.000-07:00

If you're old enough, you remember the political posturing over the Equal Rights Amendment in the late 70s and early 80s.

Section 1. Equality of rights under the law shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of sex.

bullet Section 2. The Congress shall have the power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article.

bullet Section 3. This amendment shall take effect two years after the date of ratification.

That was it. Congress passed it, but it fell short by three states needed for ratification.

Not surprisingly, the Mormon Church opposed the ERA. Not surprisingly, either, some members of the church had issues with that. One, Sonia Johnson, chained herself to the gates of the Seattle LDS Temple (among other things...she really championed against her church for the cause) and those actions brought a lot of notoriety.

The LDS church embraced the controversy. Welcomed it.

Why?

Because controversy breeds curiosity. Curiosity brings questions. And questions bring seekers of truth, and the LDS Church had a lot of their version of the truth to share. People speaking out against the church, picketing at the Republican National Convention, chaining themselves to temples...it brought in new members. They knew it would.

And now?

Ok, maybe the kitties will be Raptured...

Now we're all sitting round waiting to prove Harold Camping and his Rapture-Is-Tomorrow followers wrong. We're having a hell of a lot of fun with it--and why not? I suspect God has a healthy sense of humor--whether there's an underlying belief that someday this will happen, or not.

(And for the record, I don't think that finding this funny is a slam against those who believe that someday there will be a Rapture and accountability. You can believe in it and still find this whole thing so absurd that humor is the only way to address it.)

Like the whole ERA fight in the late 70s and Johnson chaining herself to the Temple, bringing an influx of members to the LDS church, I suspect that even though we're all going to stay put tomorrow, the entire controversy is going to cause a whole bunch of people to take a hard look at their lives and ask What if? It will likely bring as many people to faith as the distaste of hard line evangelicalism has turned away...and hard right leaning conservatives have pushed a lot of people away from faith.

If you're one of those, suck on it. You screwed up. And though it won't be tomorrow, someday you will be held accountable for that. Don't be surprised to find yourself stuck here with the rest of us when the End Times truly begin.

But.

In a distasteful, money grubbing manner (and I suspect it's all been about the money) Camping and his group may actually get a few people to really investigate what they believe and why, and may spur some faith in a few.

Whether that's a good thing or bad, that's up to you to decide.

I think anytime someone steps up and defines for themselves what they believe, what they truly believe--as opposed to what they were taught as children or have adopted out of anger and disappointment--it's a good thing. It's a foundation to build upon.

And when you have that foundation...nothing people like Harold Camping say will have you selling your house and cars, quitting your job, drinking the Kool Aid.

You won't need to.

Because you'll know...

15 May 2011

2011-05-15T18:31:00.000-07:00

Oddz N Endz #1947562-4852.9/b

You know the dude who started the whole "The Rapture begins on May 21, 2011"? Some preacher who says he's studied the Bible back and forth and using math determined that that's the date? aside from the fact that he predicted the same thing about 15 years ago and when it didn't happen was all "Oops, I made a math error?"

Well, I'm thinking he's working from a Bible with a few pages torn out. Mr. Preacher, turn to Matthew 24:36--Concerning that day or hour nobody knows, neither the angels of the heavens nor the Son, but only the Father.

I'm thinking that if God hasn't let Jesus in on it, he's not letting some marginal cult leader in on it, either.

My new obsession:

I traded in the MP3 scooter on it; not that I didn't like the scooter, I did. It was tres spiffy but had some issues that made me increasingly uncomfortable to ride it. The alarm for the hydraulics kept going off, and the dealer shut down so I couldn't keep taking it back to be checked (and they seemed determined to not find the problem...probably because they were getting ready to go out of business) and rather than have the front end lock up at 75 mph, I traded it in on something fun.

And since I don't need two bikes, the Gladius is for sale.

You want it, you know you do.

I would like a new back, thankyouverymuch.

I got nothin' else...

6 May 2011

2011-05-06T12:29:00.000-07:00

Last night I walked past my office and noted that Max was curled up on my desk chair, contorted into one of those weird positions that only cats seem to find comfortable; head resting on one paw, back twisted, belly up, two other paws sticking straight out to the side and the last paw almost pointing up, but not quite.

I wondered how the hell he could sleep like that, but hey, whatever works for him.

An hour later he was still there, still in the same position.

Two hours later, as I was heading back to go to bed, he was still there. He hadn't moved. So I stood there and watched, looking to see his chest or belly rise and fall with each breath...only nothing was moving.

I waited a little longer, still nothing.

I stepped into the room, not quietly, and he didn't so much as twitch, and I could feel dread beginning to pool around me. He's ten years old, he's seriously fat, he's not breathing, this is not good.

So I decided to out my hand on his chest, hoping to feel what I couldn't see. And people, my fingers barely brushed his fur when he jumped like I had shot him; he rolled over onto his back, glaring at me, and began meowing in what I can only assume was a string of expletives regarding my parentage, my brains, and the odors surrounding me that displease him.

Oh yeah, he looked a lot more annoyed than that.

I thought about offering him some crunchy treats by way of apology, but when he was done cussing me out he stretched and rolled over facing away from me.

I only feel bad about laughing when he jumped.

2 May 2011

2011-05-02T19:20:00.000-07:00

Look, if ever there was someone who needed a good killing, it was Osama bin Laden. And when the news broke my gut reaction was, "Ooh yeah..." And I get the initial reaction, the want of celebration, but folks, at some point it crosses the line from being glad that justice was not denied into something...wrong.

If you're out in the streets firing a damned gun out of joy...yeah, there's a special kind of stupid. And so very wrong.

And if you're hell bent on turning it into political oneupmanship and engaging in propagation of conspiracy theories, refusing to just freaking believe for once...don't know why I even know you, to be honest.

It's not over. The whole damn thing isn't finished. We're no safer today than we were yesterday, before we knew. But hell yeah, give the President his and the military its due, be glad that there's one less dark spot on the planet today, and holster your damned gun before you kill someone who really doesn't need a good killing...

30 April 2011

2011-04-30T20:08:00.000-07:00

I keep telling myself I need something to do, something new to work on. Flipside has been put to bed, I have nothing left to do with it other than some half-hearted promotion (because I suck at it) here and there, so it’s time to start something new.

I pulled up the file of something I started before flipside popped into my brain and demanded to be put first. What I had amounts to only about 5 single spaced pages, and in reading it, I kept thinking, “Hey, this is pretty good!” But then I got to where I stopped and I realized I have no idea where I was going with it. Not a clue.

So I decided to mull it over, letting it percolate in the back of my brain while I distracted myself with other things.

Porn.

BMW F650 GS -- contender #1

More precisely, motorcycle porn.

I’ve spent the last week looking at pictures of bikes, reading about bikes, surfing different online for a for peoples’ opinions about bikes. I even dragged the Spouse Thingy to look at a bike, and was bummed to discover a bike I had really only had in my peripheral vision was no longer being shipped to the U.S. As soon as I couldn’t have it, I kinda wanted it.

But.

Suzuki V-Strom 650 -- contender #2

What I’m really looking for is a spiffy bike with upright seating and anti-lock brakes. The MP3 sits in the garage mostly unridden, other than obligatory trips to keep it in operating condition, and while the Gladius is absolutely beautiful, its forward position is killing my back and shoulder. So I want to trade the MP3 in (easier than selling it because of the loan on it) and then sell the Gladius (because I won it outright, I’ll get more than trading it in) and get something that will (theoretically) work until I need to move to a ride with 3 fixed wheels.

I’ve narrowed it down to two bikes. And let me tell you, I can waste an incredible amount of time poking around online looking for information on just those two bikes. I can waste other peoples’ time by picking their brains about them. I even managed to waste someone else’s afternoon by getting her to test ride one of the bikes because her friend owns one and was willing.

Still, in all that information vacuuming, I still haven’t figured out where the story I was working on was headed.

Clearly, I need to look at more porn.

24 April 2011

2011-04-24T00:06:00.000-07:00

Sweet. The new file has been uploaded to Amazon, and is live. So it's safe to get a copy of The Flipside of Here for your Kindle...

I thought I'd have the proof for the print copy today, but apparently UPS does not honor overnight delivery on Saturdays. Boogerheads.