The other day I nearly had an out of body experience while I was in the shower. I was washing the goo off my face when my spidey sense started tingling. I turned around and there was a gigantic spider trying (and failing) to climb up the side of the tub. My initial response was to jump out of my skin and drown him, but then I remembered that I think everyone deserves a second chance so I took a deep breath and opened the window next to me. Then I got a tube of body wash (aka soap) and let the spider crawl onto it.
After the bug was safely ensconced on my tube, I carefully conveyed it to the window where I shook it to the ground. Or the maw of some waiting predator...It occured to me later that the spider could have easily jumped off the tube ( I hate when they do that) and lowered itself on a web. In which case, it could have easily gotten stuck to my wet skin.
If that had happened, I would have run full tilt boogie, stark raving naked out my front door into my front yard, screaming. My neighbor would have called the police and when they showed up, I would have had to explain to the cop what the hell I was doing naked and wet in my front yard with a spider stuck to me. That would have been embarassing. And cold.
Nevertheless, I still believe in second chances. Like this weekend, I was watching football and I actually found myself rooting for Michael Vick. Yeah, the same Michael Vick who tortured dogs and ran a dogfighting kennel. He was convicted and spent a couple of years in prison. I personally think he got off kind of easy, but he did the time he was given and he's out now.
Michael Vick is an athlete and has found himself a job as an NFL quarterback. He's probably getting paid a buttload of cash, but that's what people in his line of work get paid. He shouldn't be given a pass for his horrific crimes and he wasn't. But he should get a second chance. Like my spider.
Here's the deal, though, if that arachnid ever shows his face in my tub again I might have to squash him into a pile of eight legged gunk and wash him down the drain. How will I know its him? Well, spiders are territorial and it takes a lot of spider chow to grow one of them up to the almost tarantula size this bad boy had attained. Odds are good that my spider is the only one of his size in the immediate vicinity. So I'll know if its him.
And if Michael Vick ever gets more agressive with a dog than giving it a belly rub, his football career should be squashed and he should be washed down whatever passes for a drain in the penal system. Maybe he could have to pick the dead, wet spider off me. If that ever happens for real.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Been Around That Block...That One Too!
Last night I was happily sitting on the floor watching TV when the hub said "Your blog is old - you need to write something!" Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, the problem is that I've been just a teeny bit focused on baseball of late what with my beloved Giants becoming WORLD CHAMPIONS and all...Plus, I've been told that my musings might be a bit baseball-centric and I should branch out. So after the next paragraph, I will. I swear.
The hub, daughter unit and I got up early on Wednesday to go to the Giants' victory parade. It was so early, I think heard dawn actually crack. We took BART to the City and, with over 1,000,000 like minded peeps, we yelled, waved and shook stuff at our heroes as they passed by in motorized cable cars. It was cool to see them even though Tim Lincecum was waving out the other side of the car and the freakishly handsome Javier Lopez was in the middle of an interview inside the car when he went by so we couldn't see them. That's OK, they were having fun and we were happy to get the chance to celebrate. Plus we went out to Yank Sing's afterward for some dim sum that was so good I think my socks actually rolled up and down.
I got to thinking on the way home that everybody needs a parade or its equivalent at least once in their life. A few weeks ago, I was watching the Today Show and they celebrated a mom whose kid had cancer. They gave her a special song. That's like a parade. I had a kid with cancer - its hard to watch. The chemo makes them nauseous and they cry a lot. This lady's kid survived, as mine did, but the lady was changed. Me too! I still take Paxil so I don't bust into a cold sweat and start drooling and making grunting noises when I get stuck in traffic.
Once when we were at a Giants' game, there were some people from Donate Life on the field. They got to throw out the first pitch and carry around one of those really cool over sized checks. It was very parade-y. They were promoting organ donation. I know a lot about that since my cancer surviving kid had a heart transplant! Always an over achiever, that one! She couldn't have gone for a downstream organ like a liver or a kidney (she lost one of those during the cancer fiasco...) no - my baby went heart. And she's doing really well now. I'm still on Paxil...
There was also an Awareness Day for dyslexia and ADHD. I totally identified with those parade subjects. That same kid again... Same prescription for me. I gotta say, though, that the dyslexia gave me the opportunity to read some of the books I had skillfully avoided in school. Since she read slowly I got to read some of her texts and literature books to her through high school and college. I don't like to go against all those years of history, but what is the big deal about The Catcher in the Rye? I thought it kind of blew. Also discovered I'm not a big fan of Hemingway. The son unit put it well when he said "He just writes about spoiled rich people who drink too much and think they have problems." Yup. He was kind of a pig. Totally loved Ray Bradbury, though, and Richard Bradford. Maybe its the "Brad" in their names. I like people named Brad. There should be a Brad parade.
Eating disorders are the topic of many parade-ish shows on TV. I have one of those - well, not a diagnosed one, but if you have a mom who always tells you that you need to lose weight - even when you're a sylph-like teenager, you're liable to develop an unhealthy attitude about food. I grew to be a fatty and my mom warned me (almost daily) about the danger to my heart of excess weight. "You could have a stroke or a heart attack" she would say.
So I did. It was an itty bitty heart attack, but a real stroke which knocked me out of commission for a while and ultimately, I think, resulted in me being fired. Actually, I think that my mom made me have the stroke. She passed away seven months before I had it, but I think her spirit continued to roam the earth, unable to complete her journey until she made sure I'd lose weight. I think if you look at the path of the stroke in my brain, it probably resembles my mom's finger (with a red polished nail). I'm skinny now. Thanks Mom. Now I'd look good in one of those awesome red dresses celebrities parade around in for heart health...
Anyway, I think I need a parade. Or a visit to Ellen, who is my favorite celebrity. Or I could throw out a first pitch. To Ellen. Whatever. The person who really deserves the parade is the daughter unit. That cancer surviving, dyslexic, heart transplant survivor. I'd march in it...
The hub, daughter unit and I got up early on Wednesday to go to the Giants' victory parade. It was so early, I think heard dawn actually crack. We took BART to the City and, with over 1,000,000 like minded peeps, we yelled, waved and shook stuff at our heroes as they passed by in motorized cable cars. It was cool to see them even though Tim Lincecum was waving out the other side of the car and the freakishly handsome Javier Lopez was in the middle of an interview inside the car when he went by so we couldn't see them. That's OK, they were having fun and we were happy to get the chance to celebrate. Plus we went out to Yank Sing's afterward for some dim sum that was so good I think my socks actually rolled up and down.
I got to thinking on the way home that everybody needs a parade or its equivalent at least once in their life. A few weeks ago, I was watching the Today Show and they celebrated a mom whose kid had cancer. They gave her a special song. That's like a parade. I had a kid with cancer - its hard to watch. The chemo makes them nauseous and they cry a lot. This lady's kid survived, as mine did, but the lady was changed. Me too! I still take Paxil so I don't bust into a cold sweat and start drooling and making grunting noises when I get stuck in traffic.
Once when we were at a Giants' game, there were some people from Donate Life on the field. They got to throw out the first pitch and carry around one of those really cool over sized checks. It was very parade-y. They were promoting organ donation. I know a lot about that since my cancer surviving kid had a heart transplant! Always an over achiever, that one! She couldn't have gone for a downstream organ like a liver or a kidney (she lost one of those during the cancer fiasco...) no - my baby went heart. And she's doing really well now. I'm still on Paxil...
There was also an Awareness Day for dyslexia and ADHD. I totally identified with those parade subjects. That same kid again... Same prescription for me. I gotta say, though, that the dyslexia gave me the opportunity to read some of the books I had skillfully avoided in school. Since she read slowly I got to read some of her texts and literature books to her through high school and college. I don't like to go against all those years of history, but what is the big deal about The Catcher in the Rye? I thought it kind of blew. Also discovered I'm not a big fan of Hemingway. The son unit put it well when he said "He just writes about spoiled rich people who drink too much and think they have problems." Yup. He was kind of a pig. Totally loved Ray Bradbury, though, and Richard Bradford. Maybe its the "Brad" in their names. I like people named Brad. There should be a Brad parade.
Eating disorders are the topic of many parade-ish shows on TV. I have one of those - well, not a diagnosed one, but if you have a mom who always tells you that you need to lose weight - even when you're a sylph-like teenager, you're liable to develop an unhealthy attitude about food. I grew to be a fatty and my mom warned me (almost daily) about the danger to my heart of excess weight. "You could have a stroke or a heart attack" she would say.
So I did. It was an itty bitty heart attack, but a real stroke which knocked me out of commission for a while and ultimately, I think, resulted in me being fired. Actually, I think that my mom made me have the stroke. She passed away seven months before I had it, but I think her spirit continued to roam the earth, unable to complete her journey until she made sure I'd lose weight. I think if you look at the path of the stroke in my brain, it probably resembles my mom's finger (with a red polished nail). I'm skinny now. Thanks Mom. Now I'd look good in one of those awesome red dresses celebrities parade around in for heart health...
Anyway, I think I need a parade. Or a visit to Ellen, who is my favorite celebrity. Or I could throw out a first pitch. To Ellen. Whatever. The person who really deserves the parade is the daughter unit. That cancer surviving, dyslexic, heart transplant survivor. I'd march in it...
Monday, October 4, 2010
Awesome Weekend
It was the best of weekends; it was the worst of weekends - and all for the exact same reason. Some weeks ago, the hub looked downcast because baseball season was almost over. So, being the understanding wife I am not to mention a rabid fan of the game, especially the Giants, I got us tickets to the last game of the season. Plus, the hub had gotten us some tickets to the Giants' Oktoberfest which was last Wednesday.
The Giants won that game and the next one, and as I was re-watching the good parts on TV on Friday, the announcers got me all whooped up about the fact that my Gigantes could become Western Division champs with one win over the Padres who came to town that very night! Ignoring common sense and budgetary constraints, I jumped right online and scored two (sort of) reasonably priced tickets. They were bleacher seats but who cares! I'd never seen a team win a championship and all pour out on the field jumping and hugging, and I really wanted to. And they were bound to win - Matt Cain was pitching and it was his birthday, for Pete's sake!
What I hadn't counted on was that 1. Matt Cain (he of the adorable ginger curls, sweet expression and powerful arm) had a gnarly bad night and 2. It was Singles Night at the park. Because of number 1, the Giants lost and because of number 2, there were large numbers of skankily dressed young women and horny young men staggering drunkenly around in the bleachers trying to score. I'm not absolutely sure they were going to wait til they left the park. There was a kind of sweaty desperation in the air. Plus, the stadium lights are blinding in the bleachers and you can't really see the ball. Not that any of the drunken singles could focus anyway.
There was also some form of ooze on the floor. At first I thought it was dew or mist in the air that formed on the ground, but there was none on the seats or rails which were made of aluminium just like the floor. After the third tipsy single person did a slip and fall right next to my seat, I began to wish I was a personal injury lawyer. I also got pretty good at catching people by the arm and putting them back on their feet.
When I went to the bathroom, something puzzling yet hilarious happened. I was heading back to my seat when I heard a voice from above me. No it wasn't the Almighty, it was a tall, young (really young) man who slurred " Are you a Giants fan?" Well, I was at a Giants game and I was dressed in as much orange and black as I could cram onto my body, and I had an orange rally rag hanging out of my pocket. I thought "Is this larvae flirting with me?" but I said "Yes." And I kept walking. Then he said "That's my girl!" Girl?! Obviously, he hadn't seen my 55 year old face. I lifted my chin so he could see past the bill of my baseball cap and smiled at him. He grinned back. I high fived him and beat feet out of there. Either his beer goggles are in serious need of adjustment or he is kinky in a way I do not want to know about.
We moped around that night and the next morning. I mean, the Giants only had to win one of three games to win their division and they lost the first one which seemed like a sure thing! That afternoon, during the second game of the series, I sent the hub next door to watch and I read my book. I love my mighty Gigantes, but I can't watch their sad faces when they lose. And lose they did. Ugh!
So we went to the last game of the series and the season yesterday. Got new rally rags and everything. Nobody hit on me, The Giants played wonderfully - Jonathan Sanchez was the winning pitcher and he hit a triple! Buster Posey hit a home run!!! Coolest game ever! The lady I sat next to looked like a nun, but talked like a stevedore. Plus, she was older than me and had a mad crush on Brian Wilson - the 28 year old pitcher not the geezerly Beach Boy. Apparently,there's a lot of that May/December stuff going around at the park... And I got to see the players pour out on the field jumping up and down and hugging when they won. They even took a victory lap around the field and slapped hands with the fans. We were in the second level and, though I was tempted to vault over the rail to the first level, I'm a big fat chicken - and didn't want to get arrested.
Now the Giants are the Western Division Champions. They are so cool. And totally worth all the coronaries I've almost had watching them. They have this habit of going right to the edge of the cliff and then leaning back at the last second. In an ordinary person this would drive me nuts. I would avoid them, and yet I pay to watch the Giants...weird.
Anyway, we're going to the first game of the playoffs on Thursday. I hope they just outright win instead of toying with me - and I'm staying out of the bleachers!
The Giants won that game and the next one, and as I was re-watching the good parts on TV on Friday, the announcers got me all whooped up about the fact that my Gigantes could become Western Division champs with one win over the Padres who came to town that very night! Ignoring common sense and budgetary constraints, I jumped right online and scored two (sort of) reasonably priced tickets. They were bleacher seats but who cares! I'd never seen a team win a championship and all pour out on the field jumping and hugging, and I really wanted to. And they were bound to win - Matt Cain was pitching and it was his birthday, for Pete's sake!
What I hadn't counted on was that 1. Matt Cain (he of the adorable ginger curls, sweet expression and powerful arm) had a gnarly bad night and 2. It was Singles Night at the park. Because of number 1, the Giants lost and because of number 2, there were large numbers of skankily dressed young women and horny young men staggering drunkenly around in the bleachers trying to score. I'm not absolutely sure they were going to wait til they left the park. There was a kind of sweaty desperation in the air. Plus, the stadium lights are blinding in the bleachers and you can't really see the ball. Not that any of the drunken singles could focus anyway.
There was also some form of ooze on the floor. At first I thought it was dew or mist in the air that formed on the ground, but there was none on the seats or rails which were made of aluminium just like the floor. After the third tipsy single person did a slip and fall right next to my seat, I began to wish I was a personal injury lawyer. I also got pretty good at catching people by the arm and putting them back on their feet.
When I went to the bathroom, something puzzling yet hilarious happened. I was heading back to my seat when I heard a voice from above me. No it wasn't the Almighty, it was a tall, young (really young) man who slurred " Are you a Giants fan?" Well, I was at a Giants game and I was dressed in as much orange and black as I could cram onto my body, and I had an orange rally rag hanging out of my pocket. I thought "Is this larvae flirting with me?" but I said "Yes." And I kept walking. Then he said "That's my girl!" Girl?! Obviously, he hadn't seen my 55 year old face. I lifted my chin so he could see past the bill of my baseball cap and smiled at him. He grinned back. I high fived him and beat feet out of there. Either his beer goggles are in serious need of adjustment or he is kinky in a way I do not want to know about.
We moped around that night and the next morning. I mean, the Giants only had to win one of three games to win their division and they lost the first one which seemed like a sure thing! That afternoon, during the second game of the series, I sent the hub next door to watch and I read my book. I love my mighty Gigantes, but I can't watch their sad faces when they lose. And lose they did. Ugh!
So we went to the last game of the series and the season yesterday. Got new rally rags and everything. Nobody hit on me, The Giants played wonderfully - Jonathan Sanchez was the winning pitcher and he hit a triple! Buster Posey hit a home run!!! Coolest game ever! The lady I sat next to looked like a nun, but talked like a stevedore. Plus, she was older than me and had a mad crush on Brian Wilson - the 28 year old pitcher not the geezerly Beach Boy. Apparently,there's a lot of that May/December stuff going around at the park... And I got to see the players pour out on the field jumping up and down and hugging when they won. They even took a victory lap around the field and slapped hands with the fans. We were in the second level and, though I was tempted to vault over the rail to the first level, I'm a big fat chicken - and didn't want to get arrested.
Now the Giants are the Western Division Champions. They are so cool. And totally worth all the coronaries I've almost had watching them. They have this habit of going right to the edge of the cliff and then leaning back at the last second. In an ordinary person this would drive me nuts. I would avoid them, and yet I pay to watch the Giants...weird.
Anyway, we're going to the first game of the playoffs on Thursday. I hope they just outright win instead of toying with me - and I'm staying out of the bleachers!
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Tying Up a Loose End
In my tirade about the crappy state of organized religion, I left a major end dangling and I feel the need to tie it off. Remember several posts ago when I mentioned that the hub would be performing a wedding? You know for the couple who have the world's cutest baby girl? The daddy is my friend's son who was huge at birth and went to Iraq the same time my daughter had her heart transplant. Remember? No? Well, you must be new to my blog. Or you've been in a coma. I hope you're feeling better - now get caught up!
Anyway, on August 20th, the hub, the daughter unit and I went down to Carmel and checked into our hotel. Well, first we stopped at the pub across the street for some refreshment. This would be a recurring theme over the weekend. When we got into our room, we discovered it had a kitchen with a full sized refrigerator! I thought this was standard for all the rooms, but after giving the rest of the wedding group tours of the room, I realized our was the only room with cooling capacity. The fridge rapidly filled with wine, beer, and a couple of bottles of hard liquor which I know don't need refrigeration but seemed happy to be among friends.
The hub wanted to take a walk to bank a few calories because we knew that there was eating on the horizon. And all that booze...We got into our sneakers and opened the door to find one of the other wedding guests about to knock on our door seeking access to the fridge. More people started gathering and bottles started being opened, glasses passed, cigars smoked. It got fun fast. We forgot about the walk and decided to socialize instead. These are nice people and they buy good wine. We made a good choice.
Later that night, after the wine-a-thon, we proceeded to the hotel's conference room where my buddy had arranged the mother of all rehearsal dinners (Oh, yeah, the wedding party had a rehearsal, but the rest of us stayed at the hotel "waiting for stragglers" and sucking down more wine). The dinner was a buffet, and I gotta say, the beef was so delicious it actually melted in my mouth. There was salmon and veggies and polenta, too. And wine. The dinner was fantastic, and the flowers were so pretty I wanted to eat them but there were some delphiniums and those are poisonous so I just took home a bouquet instead. Like their daughter's wedding, we laughed, toasted, cried, and ate like pigs.
The wedding day dawned foggy but not terribly cold and we had high hopes for some sunshine before the ceremony. The day was spent walking around in Carmel, which is the only thing you can do in Carmel that won't require a second mortgage.I did find a pair of earrings on sale which matched my dress so I considered that a major score. When we got back to the hotel, we discovered that there had been some family drama, lots of tears and door slamming. In other words, the usual wedding stuff.
At about 5pm we headed for a really cool little wine bar for wine and hors d'oeuvres. At 7 we all walked down to the beach, shed our shoes and crossed the sand to very near the water. We created an aisle out of seaweed and the hub got ready. As the girls arrived on a cool trolly, the guys met them and escorted them to the assembled masses. The bride's sister is 15 and possesses the voice of an angel. She also plays the guitar beautifully and serenaded us with a love song as everybody came together. I forgot to mention that as we were waiting for the couple to arrive we realized that the tide was coming in so we moved our assembly back. Twice. That water can move!
The bride was gorgeous, the ceremony lovely, and the hub did a great job. There were more tears, hugs, and crashing waves. Plus, just in time for the bride to show up - the sun came out! It was like a wedding in a romance novel! When it was time for their first married kiss the groom picked his bride up and swung her in the air! It was so romantic. Which is kind of surprising since they do have the aforementioned baby, and its not their first time at the rodeo, if you know what I mean...
We walked back to the restaurant and indulged in more delicious food, wine and conversation. when it came time for cake, there was a really pretty three tier wedding cake with flowers on it. It looked like a regular wedding cake but it was CHEESECAKE inside. There was chocolate and caramel sauce an strawberries on sticks. I want to live there and eat that food forever. Yum! More wine later, we walked back to the hotel (probably burned off a whole calorie! Maybe two...).
The next day we went out for brekkie with my buddy and her hub. Petted some dogs (Lots of Standard Poodles in Carmel), talked to some nice people, looked at some really expensive real estate, then headed home. It was a seriously fun weekend and such a beautiful and meaningful wedding.We got to hang with my bud and her hub. Plus we found out their daughter (the June bride) is pregnant!
I told my friend, though, that if her kids don't stop popping out babies and getting married, I'm going to turn into a fat alcoholic. A happy one, though...
Anyway, on August 20th, the hub, the daughter unit and I went down to Carmel and checked into our hotel. Well, first we stopped at the pub across the street for some refreshment. This would be a recurring theme over the weekend. When we got into our room, we discovered it had a kitchen with a full sized refrigerator! I thought this was standard for all the rooms, but after giving the rest of the wedding group tours of the room, I realized our was the only room with cooling capacity. The fridge rapidly filled with wine, beer, and a couple of bottles of hard liquor which I know don't need refrigeration but seemed happy to be among friends.
The hub wanted to take a walk to bank a few calories because we knew that there was eating on the horizon. And all that booze...We got into our sneakers and opened the door to find one of the other wedding guests about to knock on our door seeking access to the fridge. More people started gathering and bottles started being opened, glasses passed, cigars smoked. It got fun fast. We forgot about the walk and decided to socialize instead. These are nice people and they buy good wine. We made a good choice.
Later that night, after the wine-a-thon, we proceeded to the hotel's conference room where my buddy had arranged the mother of all rehearsal dinners (Oh, yeah, the wedding party had a rehearsal, but the rest of us stayed at the hotel "waiting for stragglers" and sucking down more wine). The dinner was a buffet, and I gotta say, the beef was so delicious it actually melted in my mouth. There was salmon and veggies and polenta, too. And wine. The dinner was fantastic, and the flowers were so pretty I wanted to eat them but there were some delphiniums and those are poisonous so I just took home a bouquet instead. Like their daughter's wedding, we laughed, toasted, cried, and ate like pigs.
The wedding day dawned foggy but not terribly cold and we had high hopes for some sunshine before the ceremony. The day was spent walking around in Carmel, which is the only thing you can do in Carmel that won't require a second mortgage.I did find a pair of earrings on sale which matched my dress so I considered that a major score. When we got back to the hotel, we discovered that there had been some family drama, lots of tears and door slamming. In other words, the usual wedding stuff.
At about 5pm we headed for a really cool little wine bar for wine and hors d'oeuvres. At 7 we all walked down to the beach, shed our shoes and crossed the sand to very near the water. We created an aisle out of seaweed and the hub got ready. As the girls arrived on a cool trolly, the guys met them and escorted them to the assembled masses. The bride's sister is 15 and possesses the voice of an angel. She also plays the guitar beautifully and serenaded us with a love song as everybody came together. I forgot to mention that as we were waiting for the couple to arrive we realized that the tide was coming in so we moved our assembly back. Twice. That water can move!
The bride was gorgeous, the ceremony lovely, and the hub did a great job. There were more tears, hugs, and crashing waves. Plus, just in time for the bride to show up - the sun came out! It was like a wedding in a romance novel! When it was time for their first married kiss the groom picked his bride up and swung her in the air! It was so romantic. Which is kind of surprising since they do have the aforementioned baby, and its not their first time at the rodeo, if you know what I mean...
We walked back to the restaurant and indulged in more delicious food, wine and conversation. when it came time for cake, there was a really pretty three tier wedding cake with flowers on it. It looked like a regular wedding cake but it was CHEESECAKE inside. There was chocolate and caramel sauce an strawberries on sticks. I want to live there and eat that food forever. Yum! More wine later, we walked back to the hotel (probably burned off a whole calorie! Maybe two...).
The next day we went out for brekkie with my buddy and her hub. Petted some dogs (Lots of Standard Poodles in Carmel), talked to some nice people, looked at some really expensive real estate, then headed home. It was a seriously fun weekend and such a beautiful and meaningful wedding.We got to hang with my bud and her hub. Plus we found out their daughter (the June bride) is pregnant!
I told my friend, though, that if her kids don't stop popping out babies and getting married, I'm going to turn into a fat alcoholic. A happy one, though...
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Little Boy of Summer
There are only three weeks left of regular season baseball for this year. I love baseball and I especially adore this year's Giants team. They are cute as kittens and very good at the game. Every time they're down, they just claw their way back up.Yes, my Mighty Gigantes are an inspiration, and while I hope they make it into the post season, even if they don't (they will!!!) they have been amazing to watch this season. I'm really gonna miss it when they're done for the year.
I will miss the big Giants, but I will actively pine for the tiny Giant who lives next door. On the front porch of his 5th birthday, the little guy (a newly minted kindergartner)continues his never-ending baseball game which has become background for everything that has gone on in the neighborhood this summer. "Hey, did you hear, Ann has to have a double mastectomy?" ("Now batting - right fielder - Aubrey Huff!)"I'm cleaning out a bunch of crap - wanna have a garage sale?" (Andres Tortoise hits another home run!"). "How's Ann?" (Take me out to thee ball gaaaame...) "Is he going back to Arizona already? Are the dorms even open yet?" (Pablo Sandyball hits a triple!) "We got all his school supplies - I can't believe he's starting kindergarten!" (Now pitching - Tim Linsykim!)
For the record, I know Huff plays first base, but it really ticks the little guy off to see him there so he always plays right field on our street. Also, Andres Torres is a speedster on the bases - nothing tortoise-like about him. I was thinking, though, of putting a Giants hat on our pet tortoise and taking a picture. Don't want to go near Pablo's sandyball with a camera...just sayin'. Plus, Ann is doing very well after her surgery and we made some good bank at our garage sale - enough to afford a bug zapper to cut down on the mosquito population in the nabe...
Sometimes the big Giants win and sometimes they lose, but our Giants usually win. And when they get a splash hit, like Timmy does every third at bat or so, they dive into McCovey Cove and retrieve the ball! OK, I know Lincecum bats about 130 and he's never hit a home run in his life. Don't even know if he can swim, but our little Giant trusts his heroes and I bet they can fly if he wants them to.
In fact, the only aspect of this baseball fixation that could be called remotely negative is the uptick in spitting and crotch grabbing that the little guy engages in. All the neighbors crack up when he does this. His mom - not so much. In fact, during one of yesterday's fourth innings she signaled for a time out, pulled him off third and read him the riot act..."When you are being paid lots of money to play professional baseball, you can spit and grab your crotch all you want - until then - knock it off!" Chastened, he marched back to third, hung his head and waited for Pablo Sandyball to swing the bat.
Next weekend, when we celebrate his birthday at the Giants mini field in the shadow of Giants stadium (where else?) I will hoist a hot dog (We're tailgating!)to my tiny Giant and his grownup counterparts, wish them all a fantastic fall and thank them for this awesome summer.
I'm even gonna miss the spitting and crotch grabbing...
I will miss the big Giants, but I will actively pine for the tiny Giant who lives next door. On the front porch of his 5th birthday, the little guy (a newly minted kindergartner)continues his never-ending baseball game which has become background for everything that has gone on in the neighborhood this summer. "Hey, did you hear, Ann has to have a double mastectomy?" ("Now batting - right fielder - Aubrey Huff!)"I'm cleaning out a bunch of crap - wanna have a garage sale?" (Andres Tortoise hits another home run!"). "How's Ann?" (Take me out to thee ball gaaaame...) "Is he going back to Arizona already? Are the dorms even open yet?" (Pablo Sandyball hits a triple!) "We got all his school supplies - I can't believe he's starting kindergarten!" (Now pitching - Tim Linsykim!)
For the record, I know Huff plays first base, but it really ticks the little guy off to see him there so he always plays right field on our street. Also, Andres Torres is a speedster on the bases - nothing tortoise-like about him. I was thinking, though, of putting a Giants hat on our pet tortoise and taking a picture. Don't want to go near Pablo's sandyball with a camera...just sayin'. Plus, Ann is doing very well after her surgery and we made some good bank at our garage sale - enough to afford a bug zapper to cut down on the mosquito population in the nabe...
Sometimes the big Giants win and sometimes they lose, but our Giants usually win. And when they get a splash hit, like Timmy does every third at bat or so, they dive into McCovey Cove and retrieve the ball! OK, I know Lincecum bats about 130 and he's never hit a home run in his life. Don't even know if he can swim, but our little Giant trusts his heroes and I bet they can fly if he wants them to.
In fact, the only aspect of this baseball fixation that could be called remotely negative is the uptick in spitting and crotch grabbing that the little guy engages in. All the neighbors crack up when he does this. His mom - not so much. In fact, during one of yesterday's fourth innings she signaled for a time out, pulled him off third and read him the riot act..."When you are being paid lots of money to play professional baseball, you can spit and grab your crotch all you want - until then - knock it off!" Chastened, he marched back to third, hung his head and waited for Pablo Sandyball to swing the bat.
Next weekend, when we celebrate his birthday at the Giants mini field in the shadow of Giants stadium (where else?) I will hoist a hot dog (We're tailgating!)to my tiny Giant and his grownup counterparts, wish them all a fantastic fall and thank them for this awesome summer.
I'm even gonna miss the spitting and crotch grabbing...
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Old, Not Old...
Yesterday I heard a snatch of conversation that got me thinking. A couple of young voices were talking about an upcoming birthday. "I'm gonna be 25!" One of them moaned "I feel so I old..." I remember being young and feeling old. I also remember Watergate, the Beatles coming to America, and the signing of the Declaration of Independence. OK, not the last one but I have been around awhile.
I'm still not old, though, but gosh, if you're 25 and don't know if you're old, you've got a long, old life ahead of you! I remember when I was a kid; anytime I asked my mom how old she was she'd just say "I'm old" and the look on her face said she really thought she was! I did some figuring and realized that she was in her 30's when I started wondering about her age. Of course that was in the 60's when the worst thing a woman could do was grow older. The horror!
I think what we need are some benchmarks. That way there will be no question about when you become old, you'll just be there. If people can't do anything about it the debate will end. Problem is, what do you use for a benchmark? What are some commonalities we can use to determine geezerdome? Grey hair? That wouldn't work. We all go grey at different times. Plus, its easy to hide...
Bill Cosby once said your first grey pube makes you feel old but that's a lousy benchmark. Who would want to check? I have a personal set of aging benchmarks that serve me well and I think we should apply them universally. They are universal and unavoidable. Here they are: you are young until you're 30, then you're middle aged til you're 60, then you're old. If you live past 90, you're really old and for every 5 years after that you add another "really". Until you reach 100, and then you add a "freakin'" I think this will simplify our discourse.
You could argue that the weak link of my system is middle age because technically "middle" means that there is the same amount on either side and a 59 year old probably won't live to 118 years old. Possibly not, but who knows, modern science could help us all live to be really, really, freakin' really, really, really, old.
Of course, then I'll have to re-calibrate my benchmarks.
I'm still not old, though, but gosh, if you're 25 and don't know if you're old, you've got a long, old life ahead of you! I remember when I was a kid; anytime I asked my mom how old she was she'd just say "I'm old" and the look on her face said she really thought she was! I did some figuring and realized that she was in her 30's when I started wondering about her age. Of course that was in the 60's when the worst thing a woman could do was grow older. The horror!
I think what we need are some benchmarks. That way there will be no question about when you become old, you'll just be there. If people can't do anything about it the debate will end. Problem is, what do you use for a benchmark? What are some commonalities we can use to determine geezerdome? Grey hair? That wouldn't work. We all go grey at different times. Plus, its easy to hide...
Bill Cosby once said your first grey pube makes you feel old but that's a lousy benchmark. Who would want to check? I have a personal set of aging benchmarks that serve me well and I think we should apply them universally. They are universal and unavoidable. Here they are: you are young until you're 30, then you're middle aged til you're 60, then you're old. If you live past 90, you're really old and for every 5 years after that you add another "really". Until you reach 100, and then you add a "freakin'" I think this will simplify our discourse.
You could argue that the weak link of my system is middle age because technically "middle" means that there is the same amount on either side and a 59 year old probably won't live to 118 years old. Possibly not, but who knows, modern science could help us all live to be really, really, freakin' really, really, really, old.
Of course, then I'll have to re-calibrate my benchmarks.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
August 10
Today is the 25th anniversary of the daughter unit's birth. Its also approaching the fourth anniversary of her heart's failure and it is because of this that she and I spent today at Kaiser in Santa Clara for her annual big heart checkup. She has checks every three months but those just involve blood tests. The annual big one, though, involves a catheter inserted in an artery and threaded down to take a bite out of her heart.
I know. Ew. I sit in the waiting room, humming Janis Joplin's "Piece of My Heart", trying not to think about what's going on in the procedure room in the back, when I notice a couple across the room looking anxious and confused. Plus the young man was wearing a respirator - the kind painters wear. I moseyed on over, introduced myself and asked if they were transplant people. They were. He'd gotten a new heart just last Thursday. His experience and my daughter's were very similar. Perfectly healthy, caught a virus that killed their hearts.
We were talking about their transplants and the little old lady sitting with a whole different group (heart attack, I think), kept exclaiming "Oh my!" "Goodness!" and "Heavens no!" at intervals through our whole conversation. She was hilarious - I almost tossed in my uterine polyps and breast lump just to give her more material...
The daughter came out after her procedure, and I was glad my new friends had gone in already because this one hurt my girl a lot. When she came out there were tears in her eyes. She popped a percocet and a short time later got very relaxed. Then she had an echocardiogram, clinic visit and an xray. After only seven hours, we were done.
We toodled along back past home and to the county offices in Hayward. The daughter had to submit some paperwork for a job she starts soon. While at the County office with most of the population of the county, I discovered several things:
1. There are lots of fat people in our county.
2. Most of these fat people wear pants that are too small.
3. Too small pants on a too large body cause the flab to ooze over the waistband.
4. This is unattractive.
5. People who work in county offices don't get paid enough.
If we thought waiting in line at Kaiser and the county offices was fun, we found true joy waiting in line to leave the parking lot with all the other people who were trying to get the hell out of there because it was 4:30 and time to go home! I sang Happy Birthday to the girl just to remind her it was her special day.
When we finally rolled up the driveway, we were overcome with exhaustion and relief. My baby headed for the door and after I finished kissing the driveway, I joined her. I was thrilled to be home but I was mostly happy to be home with her because her life is truly a miracle. Plus I'm exhausted. And my nearly perfect hub made burgers for dinner - with pepper jack cheese.
All in all, not the birthday I'd choose for anybody but we made the best if it. We laughed a lot and gave her her presents before dinner. Then she went out for ice cream with her friends. If you take away the heart biopsy - you might even call it fun! Next year, though, maybe dinner and a show...
I know. Ew. I sit in the waiting room, humming Janis Joplin's "Piece of My Heart", trying not to think about what's going on in the procedure room in the back, when I notice a couple across the room looking anxious and confused. Plus the young man was wearing a respirator - the kind painters wear. I moseyed on over, introduced myself and asked if they were transplant people. They were. He'd gotten a new heart just last Thursday. His experience and my daughter's were very similar. Perfectly healthy, caught a virus that killed their hearts.
We were talking about their transplants and the little old lady sitting with a whole different group (heart attack, I think), kept exclaiming "Oh my!" "Goodness!" and "Heavens no!" at intervals through our whole conversation. She was hilarious - I almost tossed in my uterine polyps and breast lump just to give her more material...
The daughter came out after her procedure, and I was glad my new friends had gone in already because this one hurt my girl a lot. When she came out there were tears in her eyes. She popped a percocet and a short time later got very relaxed. Then she had an echocardiogram, clinic visit and an xray. After only seven hours, we were done.
We toodled along back past home and to the county offices in Hayward. The daughter had to submit some paperwork for a job she starts soon. While at the County office with most of the population of the county, I discovered several things:
1. There are lots of fat people in our county.
2. Most of these fat people wear pants that are too small.
3. Too small pants on a too large body cause the flab to ooze over the waistband.
4. This is unattractive.
5. People who work in county offices don't get paid enough.
If we thought waiting in line at Kaiser and the county offices was fun, we found true joy waiting in line to leave the parking lot with all the other people who were trying to get the hell out of there because it was 4:30 and time to go home! I sang Happy Birthday to the girl just to remind her it was her special day.
When we finally rolled up the driveway, we were overcome with exhaustion and relief. My baby headed for the door and after I finished kissing the driveway, I joined her. I was thrilled to be home but I was mostly happy to be home with her because her life is truly a miracle. Plus I'm exhausted. And my nearly perfect hub made burgers for dinner - with pepper jack cheese.
All in all, not the birthday I'd choose for anybody but we made the best if it. We laughed a lot and gave her her presents before dinner. Then she went out for ice cream with her friends. If you take away the heart biopsy - you might even call it fun! Next year, though, maybe dinner and a show...
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