Miz S

I Don't Care How Damn Long Your Telomeres Are, Oprah. You're Still Going To Get Old And Die.

I made this risotto for dinner last night, along with this roasted chicken sausage and squash thing, which is an old friend of mine, super easy and really delicious.

You know what is surprisingly soothing? Standing at the stove for  35 minutes straight, stirring the risotto. You can drink wine while you are stirring. Plus, you can't do anything else. So if someone says, "Are you making a salad?" you can just say, "I can't. I'm stirring. But go ahead, knock yourself out."

Hey. Do you know who I think is full of shit? Pretty much ANYONE who has been on Oprah selling a diet or a health theory. I was watching a repeat of Oprah the other day, and Dr. Oz was on there telling everyone that they can live to be 100 years old if they have lots of orgasms and include plenty of turmeric in their diet.

Well, those were a couple of his recommendations anyway.

And Oprah was all simpering and happy because he told her that her telomeres are long like a 28-year-old's.

I was dutifully tallying my orgasms (sorry, I know a few of you are shuddering) and taking stock of which spices I use on a regular basis (I tend to get caught up in these shows) when I suddenly realized what a complete load of shit this is.

I'm so slow sometimes, I swear.

THE DUDE IS SELLING A BOOK.

The last time I checked with my brother-in-law-the-doctor, he told me that there are only a few things that are absolutely proven to have an effect on your longevity. They are:

• not smoking
• not driving drunk
• wearing a seat belt

Everything else is just a theory, and there are always conflicting opinions and new contradictory studies.I mean, yes of course let's eat our 5-9 servings of veggies and fruits and get out for a walk. But life is short and I am enjoying it. I like ice cream and BLT's and cherry pie and fried oysters and all kinds of food. I eat lots of healthy stuff too, and I exercise. I'm not going to obsess about my diet and deny myself that 2nd glass of wine and worry worry worry about whether I am taking the right vitamins. I'm just going to be sensible, dammit, and try to avoid walking out in front of buses. Agreed? Alrighty, then. 

Damn You, Katie Couric.

It will be a cold day in hell before Katie Couric tricks me again into foregoing food for a day and a half, spending hours in the bathroom expelling EVERYTHING, and then letting the doctor stick a camera up my ass.

I guess I should feel pleased that my colon is as clean as a whistle and I have 2 lovely color photographs of my ileo-cecal valve and my appendiceal orifice. And the doctor says I can wait 10 years before I have to do it again.

BUT GOD. I don't even feel virtuous for having done it and gotten it over with. I just feel pissed that I couldn't eat for a day and a half. You know what, you guys? I get really, really cranky when I don't eat. Just ask Josh. I have new respect for his capacity for patience. And I have new horror about all the hungry people in the world.

Moving on now.

I have a lot to do today. The house is messy and it's getting on my nerves. The bills have to be paid and a bunch of paperwork of sorts is building up. And there's laundry. Plus, I brought home boxes of teacher files that I need to go through and re-organize. Fortunately, this is all stuff that I can do while watching TV or listening to music.

Sorry this post is so short and *yawn* boring. I'll see if I can drum up something of a more pithy nature for next time.

Ye Olde Roto-Rooter!

Technically, the cats are not allowed on the counter. But Pushkin likes to keep tabs on what the dogs are being fed and do a little quality control taste test, so I bend the rules in this situation.

Josh's birthday party on Saturday night was fun in a low-key kind of way. His parents, sister, nephew, and cousins came. I cooked a vegetarian meal (Penne with Swiss Chard and White Beans, tomatoes with basil and mozzarella, and garlic bread). Not because I was trying to make any statement. Just because it all sounded good and Josh loves swiss chard.

AND. I made his birthday cake FROM SCRATCH. Oh yeah, yeah, I know. You ALWAYS make your cakes from scratch. Well, I don't. I buy them from the damn bakery. But you know how I've been feeling domestic lately? I was just in the mood to make a cake. And it was delicious, if slightly lopsided.

There were two little ones at the party (kids of the cousins), one of whom is an extremely energetic four-year-old boy. After dinner I tried to give his parents a break by keeping an eye on him, taking him out in the yard, etc. He darted here and there. Little dude wore me out.

On Sunday, we all took it easy. Lots of naps and sitting around. Although Sasha and I managed to work up the energy to go to DSW and buy some shoes. (Happy sigh.)

Which brings me to today and the REAL reason I am posting, which is to whine. I cannot eat today. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I can only drink clear liquids. Because tomorrow I'm having a certain medical procedure. You know. The one that Katie Couric is always encouraging us middle-aged types to have done. The roto-rooter. I am nothing if not conscientious. And hungry. Very, very hungry.

At 4pm I start the medicine that will provide the gastroenterologist with a clear view of my insides so that he can go on a search-and-destroy mission. I plan to set up an office in the bathroom so I can carry on with all my usual activities. You know, bill-paying, reading the news, Twittering, corresponding with friends. I might as well multi-task, right?

Junior Crazy Cat Lady

When I have a cat question, to whom do you suppose I turn? Robyn, of course. (Be careful. Her journal is highly addictive.) Over the past couple of years I have emailed her occasionally to elicit her opinion on cat nutrition, cat habits, cat smells, etc. I have even sent random photos of my cats to her because I thought she would like them. (I bet lots of people do that. I wonder if she rolls her eyes.)

So naturally, I fired off an email and a photo of the new kitten to Robyn. I said something about how I was sure that she would want to know about this, seeing as how she's a Crazy Cat Lady. (Like she hasn't heard that line a million times. I'M SO ORIGINAL.)

And what do you suppose arrived in the mail this week? Not one, but TWO packages, complete with letters to our cats from her cats, tons of new toys, and special catnip treats for Pushkin and Nash to ease their pain over the introduction of this devilish kitten. Sasha received a special Crazy Cat Lady certificate signed by Robyn in her official role as Head Lunatic, Eastern Division.

Robyn knows how to pick out some damn kitten toys. Sammy loves all of them, and will even leave Nash and Pushkin alone for 10 minutes at a time now while he plays with the toys.

Thanks, Robyn! You rock.

Let me just say that Sammy is a demon who has come to earth disguised as an adorable kitten. He runs around like a maniac (or as Robyn describes it, like his butt is on fire), ambushes Nash and Pushkin (Nash is tolerant, Pushkin is horrified and slinks off to a special hiding place that Sammy has not yet discovered), gets into absolutely everything, and just generally wreaks havoc. He is no longer afraid of the dogs and will even jump on Rosie's tail when she wags it. He has not quite worked up the nerve to go after April yet, but he will.

Sasha is 100% delighted with her bad boy. Everyone is. Even Josh has come around, I think. Sasha saw him kiss Sammy on the head the other day.

Here are a few pictures of Sammy et al.

Sammy destroys one of the new toys.                                          

 

Pushkin watches disapprovingly.  

Sammy attempts to climb the curtains.

Sammy stalks Rosie.

Sammy horns in on Nash's treat.

*    *    *    *    *

Evangeline's transition to the insulin pump has been very smooth. Changing the insertion site is still a little tricky but in time it will get easier. The best thing (as far as I am concerned) is that her blood glucose levels have been much more even. She normally has a lot of "lows" because she is a tad compulsive and tries very hard not to have "highs." Lows are super bad because you can become confused,  pass out, and, ah, die. Anything below 70 is low. Evangeline had a low of 46 a few weeks ago, which she treated incorrectly (probably because she was a little light-headed). Then it dipped down to 26, at which point she wandered into the room where I was reading a book, flopped into a chair and said, "Can you help me? My number is 26." At which point I simultaneously poured her a glass of juice, yelled at her, died from a heart attack, then came back as an evil-tempered ghost who hovered over her for the rest of the evening forcing her to check and re-check her blood.

My point being that with the insulin pump she has not had any bad lows and that is a good thing.

Tomorrow is Josh's birthday but the party is tonight so I had best bestir myself and do some cooking.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

A Quiet Monday and Some Diabetes Crap.

Evangeline's new pancreas.

I am sitting on my screen porch enjoying the sound of the little waterfall in the pond and a few enthusiastic birds outside. Mostly it is quiet. We had a lot of rain overnight; the sky is still gray and subdued. This week is going to be very busy so I am taking advantage of the lull created by Josh and Evangeline going off to work and Sasha out doing errands. I suppose later I will regret that I didn't run around like a mad woman, cleaning, cooking, filing, pitting cherries, etc. But it's okay to sit here and relax for a few minutes, right? (You can tell me it's okay, but I probably won't believe you.)

The biggest deal this week will be Wednesday, which is Evangeline's insulin start on the pump. She has been wearing the pump for 5 days now, but the reservoir is filled with a saline solution. She "pretends" it is insulin and practices dosing herself when she eats, changing the insertion device to a new place on her body every 2 days, etc. All the while still doing her regular injections of insulin.

The pump is an amazing piece of technology, and as close as you can get to a functioning pancreas if you have Type 1 diabetes. A couple of you have asked me how it works. In a nutshell:

• The circular white bandage-looking thing-y is part of the insertion set. Under the white part is the cannula: a thin, plastic tube which is inserted beneath the skin by means of a big-ass needle that Evangeline assures me does not hurt. The needle is withdrawn after the cannula is in place.
• The plastic tubing connects to an insulin reservoir in the pump.
• The pump delivers constant, tiny doses of insulin to Evangeline for basic bodily functions, just as your pancreas does for you.
• When Evangeline eats, she presses a button to give herself an extra dose of insulin, which your pancreas does for you automatically.
• She can take the pump off when she showers or swims.
• She still has to do about 6 or more finger-sticks a day to test her blood, but at least she will not have to give herself any shots.

I made it sound really simple, didn't I? WELL, IT'S NOT. It's fucking crazy complicated although I suppose it will seem less so after a month or two. The nurse came to our house last Thursday for a two hour pump lesson and there was no damn idle chit-chat. The thing is, diabetes management is not only a science, it is an art. Everyone's body metabolizes things differently. What causes one person's blood glucose to soar (or plunge) might produce only a mild variation in another person. And sensitivity to insulin is also highly variable. One has to pay attention and theorize and fiddle with dosages. I could go on and on about this but I suspect it is deadly dull to those of you with a healthy pancreas. You ungrateful bastards! Give thanks to God right now for your pancreas!

My few minutes of relaxation have turned into a solid hour. I cannot put off the frenetic cleaning/cooking/cherry pitting thing any longer.

Talk to you later.

Saturday Shopping Challenge

I'm a day late on Vicki's Saturday Shopping Challenge because my life TOTALLY interfered with my blogging time. But here is my haul, for $18.00.

• $4.00 for a million pounds of sour cherries THAT HAVE TO BE PITTED. All because Josh loves cherry pie. Apparently I am insane.
• $7.00 for 14 beautiful peaches, a few of them perfectly ripe. My favorite summer fruit.
• $2.00 for a bunch of beets. What the hell? Am I suddenly a Russian babushka?
• The remaining $5.00 paid for a nice mess of lettuce, a bunch of purslane, and some parsley.

This was my first visit to the farmer's market in Rockville. I would have spent a longer time and probably more money except that it was stinkin' hot and I was there with my friends/cousins-in-law Julide and Andrew and their 2 small children, and we had to leave while everyone was still cheerful.

After the farmer's market I hung out at Julide's house for a little while, drinking ice tea and thanking God that my chirrens are all grown up and I don't have to change diapers or play in the sandbox with them or prevent them from eating bugs.

Then, I went to my parents house and took them out shopping for some area rugs that are non-slippery and less likely to trip them up than the ones which currently reside all over their kitchen and hallway. This was one of the things we decided on at the Eldercare Summit that my brother and I held a few days ago. I never updated you on that, did I?

I thought it went really well. Our talking points were all centered around "We know you want to stay in your house so let's talk about what we can do to make sure you are safe and comfortable especially in a few years when you might be in poorer health than you are now."

My brother did most of the talking. My role, as I saw it, was to wring my hands nervously and occasionally pipe up with, "Yeah. What he said!"

My parents seemed cheerful and receptive, but then my sister Julie was over there the next day and my mother told her that she thought Tom was coming over to hang some pictures for her but instead he just "lectured" her.

Ha! Bonus! Tom got in trouble and I didn't!

Actually, I feel kind of bad because the only reason Tom came down to do this was because I kept saying, "Waaah! Mom and Dad are feeble! I'm worried!"  So he was all problem-solving masculine and did lots of internet research from a dial-up modem in the wilds of Pennsylvania and came down to help with The Big Talk. And now he's been branded as the Lecturer.

Speaking of internet research, as I type this, Josh is doing internet research on the For Better or Worse comic strip because he just started reading it again after a hiatus and he can't figure out who Lizzie is marrying.

That is fucking hilarious to me. And he told me that if I mentioned that in my post he would break into my blog and post a horrible picture of me so I must go change my password immediately.

Friday Update

Here is a picture of Josh playing with Nash and Sammy. It is noteworthy because Josh advertises himself as Not A Fan of Kittens and/or Cats. But I choose to disbelieve him.

Okay, as it turns out, I can't update right now. So, never mind.

But, everything is good-ish.

More later.

Have a good weekend!

A Wealth of Material.

I have SO MUCH to tell you about. There is no way to write this post in a timely manner. So, what I think I will do is just give you bullets, and you can comment or ask questions about whichever item you find interesting or intriguing or stupid or whatever.

• I got glasses! Progressive bifocals with transition lenses that turn dark when I go outside. And now I can't see a damn thing because I am always looking out of the wrong part of the lens AND I have to move my head when I read! How do you people do it? I thought it would be easier to have a pair of glasses I could wear all the time instead of always hunting for my reading glasses. And you know how much it all cost? $500. Is that normal? I've never had glasses so I don't know. It seems like way too much money to me. I am typing this while wearing my old reading glasses.
• Evangeline's insulin pump arrived yesterday. Tomorrow, a nurse will visit us and get her started with with a "saline trial," which is basically a way for her to wear it and practice using it with no insulin. Next week is her official insulin start date. We are SO EXCITED!
• I forgot to tell you that the new kitten's name is Samuel Langhorne Clemens (continuing with a pretentious literary theme) but we call him Sammy. He is starting to get used to the dogs (who pay him absolutely no attention whatsoever), and Pushkin and Nash are starting to get used to him. There has been only a little bit of hissing and no puffing up at all. Sammy seems very bold, and I suspect that he will be a real trial to us all before too long. 
• I got a bone scan a couple of weeks ago and I was all excited to get the results because I was sure I would have sturdy bones. After all, I am all about the exercise and the sensible diet. But guess what? I am just like every other woman in my demographic (Caucasian, blue-eyed, size 8-10, age 50). I have bone loss in my spine and my hips. And it PISSES ME OFF. And also makes me laugh at myself because HELLO why would someone with little spindly bones like me not get osteoporosis? Did I think the Mineral Deposit Fairy was visiting me in my sleep and sprinkling magic dust on my lumbar region? I have to make another doctor appointment to discuss treatment and get some further tests.
• My brother and I are going to my parents' house tomorrow and delicately broaching the subject of planning for certain inevitabilities. I was thinking of starting the conversation by saying something like, "Damn! Y'all are old and crazy! We're putting your asses in a home!"

Okay, I think that's everything. At least, that's everything that I have time for right now because I must go to bed and rest my spindly bones. I will try to update again tomorrow and tell you how it went with my parents.

Always Something.

Let's see. Where were we? Ah, yes. Angst about my parents.

I am feeling slightly less angst-y after talking to Vicki and thinking things through. My parents have far more resources than many people in their age cohort.  They can afford whatever care they will need and they live near all of their children. Their insistence that they don't need care is slightly problematic, but in the end it will all sort itself out. I can choose to wring my hands and be weepy or I can choose to be sensible and calm. I am choosing sensible and calm for AT LEAST the next 10 minutes. Go me!

A word about my siblings: I have 2 sisters and a brother and I completely adore them. We are all in agreement about the basic issues surrounding my parents, and all 4 of us are conscientious to a fault. It will never be a matter of one person shouldering most of the burden while the others plunder the ol' homestead for money and jewels.

*     *     *     *

I owe many of you an apology because I have been listless about answering emails/comments and about leaving comments when I visit blogs. I just haven't had much to say, I guess. Also, I've been avoiding my computer and trying to focus on the projects around the house that I know will make me feel better. I have been attacking closets and basement clutter with ruthless energy. I sneer at family heirlooms that are gathering dust and taking up valuable space in my tiny house. Off to Goodwill with you, O Random Set of Antique Champagne Glasses! And it's the dump for you, O Record Collection of My Youth. Now don't be telling me those old records are valuable. They were stored improperly and got horribly warped and moldy. And I SO don't care. I want nothing in my house that is not serving a purpose. I would be perfectly happy in a small monastic cell. 

*     *     *     *

On Saturday morning we drove up to Pennsylvania to my brother's house for a minor family get-together. Sasha and Evangeline (and Sasha's boyfriend, Paul) were already there along with various cousins. Sasha had glommed onto a stray kitten that had followed my brother for a quarter of a mile on wobbly little kitten legs. Let me explain something: Sasha is insane about cats, completely insane, and she has wanted a  kitten forever and ever and ever. But we have always adopted adult cats because I worry that they won't get adopted. So. Guess what? Despite Josh's best efforts, the kitten came home with us. Poor Josh. He thinks we should let our personal pet population decrease due to natural attrition. We certainly should not be ADDING on to it. I agree with him in theory. But the argument here was that Sasha will be moving out soon (we think) so it will only live with us for a few months. And it's so teeny-tiny. And it has no mommy.

My brother (who is already rich in cats) could hardly believe his good fortune when I told him that the kitten was coming home with us. I think I heard him whisper "Sucker!" under his breath.

And please allow me to publicly praise Josh. It is to his everlasting credit that he accepted his fate with good humor when all was said and done. Sasha and Evangeline are very aware of this and they are being extra helpful around the house, offering to go grocery shopping, cooking dinner, doing chores without being asked, etc. We intend to milk it for as long as we can. 

What is that expression on Sasha's face? Is it triumph?

The Vicki Visit.

If you would like to see a picture of Vicki and me you will have to visit her blog and look at the picture that was taken by the nice doorman at her hotel. Because the picture that I took of the two of us in my car is horrifying and I deleted it from my computer.  Seriously, I did not need to know what I look like when the camera is only 18 inches from my face.

Vicki had told me ahead of time that she is shy, and she suggested that we go see a movie after lunch in case we couldn't think of anything to say to each other. HA! That was not a problem. We yakked it up like crazy. After reading each other's blogs for 3 years, we know the players and a lot of the background.  It was fun to fill in some of the pieces that we can't write about on our blogs. And I like a gal who will order a beer at lunch and then ANOTHER beer at the movie theater. YEAH, BABY! The movie we saw was called My Winnipeg. It was bizarre and dark but parts of it were really, really funny and I am glad that I saw it.

Let's see. What can I tell you about Vicki? For one thing, her eyes are the most amazing color. Hazel, I suppose. But when the late afternoon sun hits them they are golden, like a cat's eyes, and it's quite startling and beautiful. She is easy to talk to and asks good questions (she's a therapist, for God's sake) and laughs in all the right places. Also, she has publicly pronounced me "exceptionally normal," "at times humorously distressed," and says that I display "remarkable patience in a cranky sort of way."

The last one is my most favorite EVER and I am probably going to add it to my blog title.

There are times when I feel that blogging is a silly time-suck and I should just walk away from it. There are other times when I realize that I have made true friends, real-life friends, through my blog. And I feel grateful. And remarkably happy in a cranky sort of way. 

Thank God A Therapist Is Coming To Town.

Sasha took this picture from the open front door of the house.

I love how the cats are obviously formulating their escape plan.

You all knew that my relentlessly cheerful mood of the past couple of weeks wouldn't last forever, didn't you? One minute I'm all " ZOMG! I LOVE RIDING MY BIKE! LOOK AT ME I'M MAKING PIES! LET'S EXERCISE AND THEN WATCH BIG LOVE ! ISN'T LIFE BEAUTIFUL?"

And then on Wednesday morning I found myself sobbing, I mean snot-nosed, hyperventilating, sobbing on the phone to Josh saying something to the general effect of "YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!" 

Except that I was crying so uncontrollably that he could not understand me and it sounded something like "ANGTURIUALNVNBISH;'aNJMWIHJ[QUHJF!"

This was very confusing for him because he didn't know what ANGTURIUALNVNBISH;'aNJMWIHJ[QUHJF meant.

I explained to him it meant he was a stupid-head and barely worthy to mow my lawn. He apologized repeatedly and profusely for his transgressions and marital harmony has since been restored. 

You nosy bastards want to know why we were fighting, don't you? It's not important. All you need to know is the subtext. It's all about subtext, people. I pondered my (over) reaction today because personal growth is PRACTICALLY my middle name.

I think the subtext is the anxiety about my parents that has been occupying my thoughts lately. I know I'm a worrier and quite adept at creating mountains out of molehills, but JESUS they are old and frail and it creates within me a desire to hover and clean and cook and manage their lives. Except they insist on maintaining the fiction that everything is absolutely fine. And even if they let go of that fiction, will I be able to step up to the plate? I can barely handle my own responsibilities. 

Hence the anxiety and the overreacting and the frantic attempts to corral every detail of my own existence, as if that will somehow protect me from one day being old and frail and confused.

Discuss amongst yourselves while I go make nice with Josh, who is showing a tendency to flinch when I cast my eyes in his direction.

And OH HEY I get to see Vicki today! She will thera-pize me.

Hey. It's Almost July 4th.

 

Rosie has been a bad, bad little dog lately. She has been sneaking into the TV room when our backs are turned and peeing on the rug. She is housebroken, all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. She seems to do it when she is left "alone," e.g., Sasha is in the bathroom for 3 minutes, I am outside getting the mail, Josh is mowing the lawn, and Evangeline is up in her bedroom. In other words, she's not actually ALONE dammit!   Anyway, she has done it like 5 times in the past 4 days and there has been much grumbling and gnashing of teeth on my part. Strict supervision will be exercised from now on. Either that, or I'll ask God to smite her. One or the other.

I am very excited. Would you like to know why? Vicki is coming to DC on Thursday! I have been reading Vicki's blog and exchanging emails with her for three years. She is funny and warm and smart and I am more than a little fond of her. She has this way of creating a community wherever she goes. Ann Arbor, St Petersburg, Chicago, the Internet--it doesn't matter. It is only a matter of time before Vicki is cooking for someone or volunteering somewhere or introducing people to each other. And on top of that she is funny and irreverent and able to laugh at herself.

Did I mention that I like her?

I shouldn't say all these nice things about her because she might get a swelled head and then how will she fit on the plane?

Hey, won't it be REALLY awkward if we meet and it turns out that we dislike each other intensely in person?

Nah, I'm not seeing that.

An Expedition.

Faithful reader/friend Heidi cautioned me to slow down on all the frenetic activity or I would get worn out and cranky and need to be sent to my room. She thinks she's so damn smart. Hmmph.

Well, I did take it easy on Thursday but not because SHE said so.

Yesterday, I defied Heidi's good advice. I took my little friends down to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. I had previously decided that I would do a couple of things with them over the summer and this seemed like a fun activity. Because, you know, Washington DC on a 94 degree day is always a good time. Fortunately, the museum is air-conditioned so we only had to do the march of death to and from the car parked several blocks away.

Thank God I wore my cute platform sandals with the strap that apparently gives me blisters on the backs of my heels.

No really, it was fun. The oldest brother, Oscar, age 10,  (my favorite boy ever), took all the pictures that are in this post. I gave him my camera, showed him how to point and shoot, and he was all over it. He took a picture of every single bridge on the way downtown and every single exhibit that we passed in the museum. I'm not saying all the pictures are good, but hey. He's 10. I quite like that one of the Washington Monument with the flags that I put at the top.

I dropped them off at 2pm and went back to my house for guess what? A NAP. Damn kids wore my ass out. Do I actually teach first grade 9 months out of the year?

Next time I think the expedition will be something very simple, like a walk to the neighborhood park so that the 3 year old can come, too. He looks bereft every time that I leave with his 3 older siblings.

So, that's what I've been up to. What about you?

Check Out My Hat Spider.

There I was, chop-chop-chopping my way through the weeds when I saw something just above my eyes, on the underside of the brim of my sensible hat. But because I am VERY BRAVE I just carefully and calmly removed my hat and turned it over so I could get a good look at the little bastard who was trying to sneak up on my eyeballs. I'm sure you know I am a friend to all spiders but that doesn't mean that I like them IN MY EYES, you feel me?

Sasha and I were very productive yesterday. We attacked an overgrown corner of the front yard, removed a large kerria bush that I had grown weary of, chopped out a horrible tangle of ivy and brambles, and planted a lovely blue holly shrub and some other stuff. I'll post some pictures of it later, but I need to go get another pink astilbe and some more mulch before I do the official "after" picture.

Speaking of pictures, would you like to see how incredibly attractive I look when I do yard work? Sure you would.

  

I'm kinda hott, right? I know you want a hat like that. I do long sleeves and long pants and the hat because I am a ticking time bomb when it comes to damaged skin. I try to avoid radiation burns. Plus, you know, poison ivy, ticks, etc.

Sasha did exactly what I would have done, which is sneak up behind me and get some great pictures of my ass. I am much too vain to publish them here. 

It was fun to work outside with my girl. She was cheerful and energetic and talkative. We probably could have finished in less than 5 hours except that we kept stopping to take pictures of the cute things that the dogs were doing, and then going inside for cold drinks and playing with the cats.

I haven't decided yet what today's Big Accomplishment will be. More yard work? A closet reorganization? Maybe painting something? Like my toenails? Yeah, I think some sitting on my ass is in order.

Geronimo!

I am impressing myself with my level of energy these days. It's so unlike me. I topped off my many accomplishments yesterday (garden work, garbage can scrubbing, mammogram, bone scan, errands) with a 15 mile bike ride in the evening.

I know, right?

Did I just say "I know, right?" It's deplorable, the way that I pick up the vernacular, yo.

The neighborhood that I live in is on top of a big hill. Whenever I leave my house for a bike ride, it is always downhill no matter which direction I go in. And I'm all, "WHEEE! I LOVE RIDING MY BIKE!"

Predictably, on the way back home I'm all, "THIS SUCKS! I HATE RIDING MY BIKE!" The usual route takes me up a hill that everyone calls "The Mormon Temple hill" because, obviously, there is a Mormon Temple on it. This hill kills me, every time. It is seven-tenths of a mile, which doesn't sound too bad, but trust me. It sucketh. I used to be able to ride all the way up it. But I am sad to report that in my present state of decrepitude I now have to walk my bike up most of that hill.

So, I have set a goal for myself that by the end of the summer (Labor Day?) I will be able to ride my bike to the top of the hill without stopping.

Anyway, last night I rode my bike down into Rock Creek Park (ha! I just accidentally typed Rock Creep Park, which some people would say is a fitting name). There is a bike path that I can use for part of that ride, but for some of it I have to be on the road. There are lots and lots of bicyclists on the road in the park, but some of the car traffic is scary despite all the "Share The Road" signs. It's like running with the damn bulls or something. One guy passed me so closely that I could have just bent my arm a little more and touched his car with my left elbow. Pissed me off.

Next time I will take my camera with me. There are some pretty sights on the way. But I will have to wait for the weekend when the road is closed to car traffic because I'm not doing that thing with the cars again.

Sasha and I have a big project in the garden today. It is a surprise for Josh. The surprise part will be that we did something that requires energy and muscle, because generally we reserve those jobs for him.

Josh is sad, by the way. His scooter has been in the shop for more than 2 weeks. You KNOW how much he loves his scooter. It's bringing him down, man!

Okay. I'm going to pop a few prophylactic ibuprophen and go out to start my project. Geronimo!