today we detox

My weekend of being a party girl kicked off with bolwing Friday night and I had the most strikes of the season--finally found my mark!  I also got "hung" 3 times (which is when everyone on your team gets a strike in a frame except for you) and had to buy rounds of shots each time.  Normally a late night out wouldn't be a big deal, but we had to get up early Saturday for the boys' basketball tournaments.

Mr. D and I took Mr. G and Mr. T respectively to their games and nourished ourselves with concession stand popcorn.  Then my dear friend J had a birthday weekend, so after T's basketball tournament I hustled over to a little hole-in-the-wall bar to help celebrate.   This bar had one of my favorite beers on tap.  And there were more shots.  I'd just reached the point of acceptance that another night out would be a lot of fun (thinking I could let Mr. D drive ME home for a change, cowgirl up everybody!) when I suddenly remembered that I'd promised to babysit the neighbor kids!  That night!  What time was it?  Holy crap!  That thought sobers a girl right up (plus some eggs and toast) and I wound up the 2nd shift responsibly keeping watch over a small (and cute and cuddly) flock until midnight.

Sunday morning Mr. D took Mr. G back to finish dominating at a basketball tournament.  I took the balance of our tribe to church, then home to get ready for an evening at LAMBEAU with another couple.  Of course this meant heading to another little hole-in-the-wall bar in a snowstorm, more beer, more shots, a terribly greasy hamburger and deep-fried sides.  (Cowgirl up!  It's Packer Sunday!)  After a few hours of sweating indoors beneath jeans and thermal underwear, we added a couple more layers of clothes and made our way to the stadium to watch the Packers beat the Lions.  They didn't look too impressive last night, but at least Crosby got his mojo back.  And believe me, a winter night at Lambeau with the wind swirling flakes like a snowglobe is pretty darn magical, even if your team isn't playing their best game.  Plus Will Ferrell was there and came out to sing along during "Roll out the barrel."  Will Ferrell!

We got home around midnight again and I woke up today vowing to eat salad and drink lots of water and stay home at night for at least a week.  My cheeks are chapped from cold, my throat is dry from salty food and my head is tired from not enough sleep.  We sure had fun, but now I'm good for a while.  This cowgirl needs a break.

Read More

bucky

No, not the badger.  I'm feeling bucky at Blogger for changing the format.  It's as irritating as when they makeover my grocery store and suddenly I cannot find almonds or yogurt.  The new toolbar does not appeal to me, and don't even get me started on what they've done to the dashboard.

I'm feeling bucky because Facebook wants everyone to convert to their new Timeline format as well, which I despise.  And they're sneaky about it, too.  Do you know how many articles I've declined reading because in order to do so, I have to convert?  And this?  Well this just disturbs me, too. And the way Gmail runs ads alongside my emails--the content of those adds mirroring the content of my email correspondence.  Sure, I give up privacy for a free method of communication, but that practice strikes me as pretty invasive.

I want to control technology, not be controlled by it.  It's why I have a dumbphone but mostly use a landline.  It's why I don't have a handheld device managing my day and distracting me wherever I go.  I like a laptop on a desk because then it's a conscious choice to sit down in front of it and use it.  I generally avoid my laptop on the weekends and restrict my use of it during the day. 

I get irritated by people who are constantly looking at their screens--like the here and now isn't enough for them.  I want to say, "Hey?  Am I interrupting your texting/web surfing/wordswithfriends time?  I'll leave so you can focus 100% on your VIRTUAL life, okay?  I'll get together with you when you can put your phone/screen down and return the attention I'm willing to give to YOU."

I love my internet as much as the next person, but it strikes me that it can become a rabbit hole--between sacrificing our time to stay current with all the latest technology and feeling so frightened that life cannot go on unless we're connected 24/7.

Spill it, reader.   Any of this make you feel bucky or am I just an old codger?

Read More

weekend warrior

I did not beat my run time Saturday--it was hot, so darn hot. I clocked 15 seconds slower, 26:57. Oy. But I'll back the truck up. Friday night we trained and reviewed our weapons self defense. I'm ashamed to admit that when my partner slapped the rubber gun out of my hand, it actually flew up, bounced off my forehead and banged into the wall. My feeble attempts at disarming LI were laughable. I keep forgetting you grab with the same side for guns and do a wrist lock. Yikes. Our forms look okay, though and LI and I do a phenomenal escrima form. It's wrong, apparently. We forget to reset our feet between the first and second half and have ended up practicing and perfecting it all wrong. No matter, Mr. O says keep it like it is because we look great.

So, Saturday we started with the run. It was brutal in the heat--the only really hot day we've run and even with Team Testosterone cheering me on I couldn't get my wind. I thought my head would melt off and breathing was awful--no one ran well, it wasn't just me. Cut to the dojo--on Extreme Day you do all the forms, a lot of mitt/pad work and combos. Our combos looked rotten. My pants were so damp with sweat, sticking to me, that I struggled to get my legs up for kicks. I held the body shield exactly twice for LI before passing it off to someone bigger to take his kicks. Both times he kicked me I flew back a good six feet--a concussion waiting to happen. Extreme Day ends with combat sparring, which means a no-holds-barred style. It's really hard to switch off the mental rules that accompany regular sparring: control your power and only hit target areas on your opponent's body. I had a rough time remembering I could hit anywhere as strong as I wanted. I began to remember after getting punched in the head (I wear gear--don't worry!) a few times--when my neck snapped back I took courage and hit harder. I went four rounds and trust me, after about 30 seconds of full-out brawling, your arms and legs feel like Jell-o. It's hard to calm down after an experience like combat sparring. The adrenaline shakes everything from fingertips to brain cells--not unlike giving birth. Watching the sparring is entertainment in itself. I saw LI choke out his opponent in at least two of his rounds and one of the 3rd degree candidates and his opponent rammed into the heat register along the front of the room and tore it off the wall. Ouch.

I didn't get injured (yay!) and afterwards Chez Green Girl hosted a Kids Night Out for the dojo--a bonfire in my back yard. Literally a school bus pulled into our driveway at 7:15 and out poured 70 kids plus another 8 instructors for hot dogs, pudgie pies, s'mores and games in the dark. The moon was full, the weather unbelievably mild. Everyone had a good time and I went to bed extraordinarily tired but wired.

At one o'clock I woke up with such a horrible ache in my left ankle. Icing helped, but something is definitely wrong down there--Mr. D's speculating it could be somehow fractured. I'm fine when it's taped, but the minute I cut the tape off things feel pretty tender. Because I am a responsible adult I will wait until I'm officially a 2nd degree black belt and the testing is done--then I'll make a doctor's appointment to get things checked out. Might as well have them explore my elbow, too, right?

So. Sunday I staggered around, trying to keep moving so the blood would keep flowing and things wouldn't cramp up and get more sore. Then I stayed up too late watching the Packers win again.

Three more miles, one more weekend of training and testing ahead.

Read More

blue guts, black belts

Yesterday was hot, a little muggy, a bit breezy. I ran my 3 miles and got all sweaty. I also ran 4 loads of laundry and hung them out to dry. Today is chilly, very windy, and the air smells like smoke. Apparently a wildfire started up on the Minnesota side of the Boundary Waters back in August and the wind currents are bringing the smell directly to us. Wind is amazing, but even more incredible is my timing--my laundry smells like fresh air because I did it yesterday.

We have these wonky squash beetles all over the place. But there's this other kind that when I squish them, they ooze bright blue guts. They also smell sort of sweet. What are they? I've tried to find out, but have no clear leads. I suspect they're a type of stink bug ... these beetles make me very crabby. They've demolished our pumpkin and squash plants. I'm glad to share a portion of what we plant with birds, bugs and beasts, but I think it's awfully selfish of some critters to hog it all. (I'm talking to you, beetles and mice. A pox on your species.)

I read The Report by Jessica Francis Kane. To those of you who liked Sarah's Key (I felt it was poorly edited, great concept though), READ The Report. It's brilliantly crafted, also about a true event during WWII and has such a suspenseful tone. Ms. Kane can write.

I finally started Mockingjay. Naturally it is gripping. I always read paying close attention to plotting--it's one of my weaknesses as a writer. My agent has informed me that a significant rewrite is required of KLAG and I'm having a tough time stomaching the news. It would be easier if I had clear directives, "cut this character, move this scene forward, delete pages 24-39." This is the damndest part of trying to write anything I guess.

Friday night I start candidate training for my 2nd degree. I've been training on my own so far--running the 3 miles and reviewing the combinations. Stuff like front round kick/spin back round/spin kick/step punch/punch/jump spin kick. The 2nd degree test involves a LOT of jumping and spinning, not my strong suit. I feel confident on the escrimas and even though my bo staff form is rusty, I handle it well with little practice. I also have to know swords, which is definitely my weakest weapon. I'm the only adult in the group, though there are some high school boys. So instead of being paired with another grown up or a girl (there are an even number of girls and I'm the odd adult--seriously odd), I will be paired off with one of the high school boys. This will definitely push me, but I'm afraid I'll look pathetic next to LI since I'm twice his age and gravity-bound.

Making me most nervous, however, are two stupid little injuries. In August I rolled my left ankle badly. It still gives me grief when I kick against things with the top of my foot. I have a pinched nerve in my right elbow. Lifting in certain positions (required in much of the bo staff and sword forms) is painful and punching hurts since I cannot fully extend my arm without discomfort. I hate being a big baby about it, I hate it when people make excuses. I could postpone testing for my 2nd degree until spring or next fall, but who's to say I'll be in better shape then? It's possible I'll be in worse shape. The whole business depresses me and has my stomach churning with anxiety.

Thus I conclude: getting old is kind of a drag.

Read More

hitting the hill

We're lucky enough to live about 5 minutes from a fantastic sledding hill. Several times during the winter we'll load up the Momvan and head over to take advantage of the snowy hills. The climb up is kind of long and sometimes steep,

but the exhilaration of flying back down is worth the effort.

Sometimes kids will make jumps. Yesterday we found a whole series of them, the final hump large enough to send a sledder airborne.

Team testosterone looked like penguins, gliding over each bump like they were born to do it.

They begged me to take a turn, but this mama's no idiot. She used to sled over those jumps, and they are a lot of fun. It's the landing that gives her trouble. That bone-jarring contact with the frozen ground sends all her vertebrae into the wrong slots and has her making a phone call to a chiropractor within a few days. I steadfastly refused. I slid down the hill where I couldn't see any jumps built up in the snow.


Unfortunately, my sled had some kind of magnetic attraction to that largest bump at the bottom and I kept ending up near it. Usually I was able to correct my course by dragging one foot or the other--or I'd bail out before hitting that huge hump of snow. On one of my runs on the Flying Saucer, I had spun around so I couldn't see where I was going. Next thing I knew, I was off the ground and hurtling midair. I crashed onto my back after doing a complete flip, limbs, Flying Saucer, and my hat flying every which way.

On my next run, after my vision cleared and I'd assured myself that I had full range of motion, I chose a virgin stretch of snow far away from the child-constructed jumps. Safe, right?

Not really. The lip of the front of my sled snagged into the loose snow and halfway down the hill I got flipped ass-over-teakettle--a complete somersault with my sled before landing in a heap. As it turned out, there were no bunny hills for me to enjoy.

I didn't want to end up in traction, so I pulled out my camera and did what any good mama should have been doing in the first place. It killed time until Team Testosterone declared they were ready for hot chocolate.


When we return to the sledding hill, I'm wearing a crash helmet.

Spill it, reader. Do you sled? If not, what is your snow sport of preference?

Remember, December's FABULOUS is a trio of handmade things: raspberry jam (homemade and homegrown), wool hand mitts and good-for-you granola. Each comment in the comment box is an entry to win. I'll pick a lucky winner Monday!

Read More