Betsy & Gunnar are trying to find a home for a cute little puppy found in a briar patch. If you have an interest, drop them a line (since a lot of you know who I'm talking about). Unfortunately their travel schedules keep them from being able to keep this little girl. Darn she's cute, don't you think?
Updated: She has a home! Yeah! Now for Gunnar & Betsy to go recover the little pieces of their hearts....
My morning commute is for the most part pretty uneventful, except for one thing: merging onto the highway. Every part of the country that I've lived has had it's own driving quirks. Asheville, being a huge retirement community, had about half the drivers with their blinkers on for miles. On the highway. Memphians wouldn't move out of the way of a fire truck or ambulance if it was headed to their own house. Houstonians never saw a yellow/orange/red light that they couldn't potentially run. St Louisans never met a stop sign they couldn't roll. And hereabouts they HATE the merge.
It's a two-part hate. First, the merging parties often don't have much room to pick up speed, so they will STOP at the end of the merge lane if the time isn't just right. Which means that everyone behind them stops and now the whole group has to go from 0-55 in about 3 feet. During rush hour. The concept of stopping further up the ramp to buy themselves a little extra acceleration room seems to have eluded my fellow commuters. Even that is like trying to fly a 747 off the deck of an aircraft carrier, but it gives you a fighting chance. The second part of this nightmare merging relationship is that those already on the highway fight to make sure no one else gets in front of them. Which means that what's a car and a half length when you're accelerating usually ends up being a half a car length by the time you're ready to merge. This gives you the options of merging anyway, and having the &%(*#@ on your bumper flashing lights for the rest of your drive, driving on the shoulder and hoping nobody's lost a tire there recently until you can get behind the &%(*#@, or stopping.
And after 7 years, I still find myself yelling at other drivers in the morning. It's the worst part of my commute.
So I was reading Fatmarc's blog, and got to the very end where he's talking about Yoga. And he says:
I try to focus on breathing at the right times, but really the stretching is phenomenal, and I'll be honest I'm not disciplined enough to stretch for an hour a week by myself, but in the class, it just flies by, and of course there's the pose I'm best at, the corpse pose. pure relaxation after 55 minutes of twisting and heavy breathing.
To which the only response I can think of is.... Yeah, I'm best at the corpse pose too, especially when it's my hubby doing the twisting and heavy breathing....
I will take this winter every year. Instead of the usual 4 months of grey crappy misery, we've had outrageous amounts of sun, and winter didn't even start until January. And it's March and we've already hit the 70s. It's like living in Texas again. Except for the two weeks of sub 10 degree (F) highs.
As long as the sun stays out, my hubby gets to mountain bike ride this PM. Which means I may get to pawn off the spastic mutts on him to exhaust them. High fives all around!
Had the ultrasound on Tuesday. I'm finding that one of the bad things about not finding out gender is when you tell people "We had the ultrasound today!" and they ask "How did it go?" all you can answer is "Good! The baby is normal!" Talk about damning with faint praise. But saying "Good! The baby is miraculous!" might be a bit over the top for the average acquaintance. The few oddities they found were all issues with me (not baby), and not something most people want details on. So I've just sort of floundered on...
Along with the ultrasound we were treated to genetic counseling. I liked our friend JH's description of that. By the time he walked out of the genetic counseling he was pretty sure they were giving birth to the kid from Deliverance. I think we were somewhat disappointing, being disgustingly healthy and all. The only thing to discuss with us is my age. Oh and my height. I was asked whether I might have Marfan Syndrome and asked whether I had sunken chest, eye probs, etc. Er...isn't that the kind of thing that a dr might mention? You know, any of the doctors I've seen? In the last 40 years?
Short version: An absolutely hysterical take on weddings, babies, married life, and contemporary vs 1950s life.
Long version: Well there isn't much of a long version as the subtitle sums it up pretty nicely. Throughout the book Caitlin Flanagan take a long look at 1950s marriage and housewifery, and compares it to the authenticity we are desperately seeking. The book is a quick read, with sections I subjected my poor hubby to while he desperately attempted to watch the military channel. To a certain extent, this is a 2000s Erma Bombeck. It's short, it's entertaining, it's light. Pick it up.
I feel for John & Elizabeth Edwards. It's hard enough to make a decision to continue to run for office under the circumstances. But it must suck to have the media questioning what is probably the hardest personal decision that they will have to make. As long as he doesn't make it a keynote of his campaign, I don't see what business it is of people's whether he made the right personal decision. I should also differentiate here, that I can understand the concerns with carrying out the office. I'm not saying whether people should vote for him or not, or that they should not take her health into consideration. But if the Edwards family wants to push forward, that's not a decision anyone outside of the family is qualified to make. Lots of luck to both of them.
We don't have tv most of the year, sticking to watching only DVDs. But for a few months a year we get cable to watch the Spring Classics and the Tour. And along with the Spring Classics, we get everything else. So this past Monday, we got cable. And this morning, we discovered.... Cheaters. Holy cow. People are freakin insane. Chris is only allowed to watch him until I find the first hidden camera, and then that's the end of that show.
We took Ginger and Fred to a new park last night, one with a fairly big creek in it. And we've confirmed that Spazmo is definitely a labby-labby-labrador. That creek is a puppy jungle gym. You can run in it, drink from it, play with water flowing over rocks. Unfortunately she also discovered a hole. When she decided to short cut the bridge and just run straight across the creek to me, her front feet hit the hole, and she went face first underwater, completely dunked. The look on her face was complete astonishment. I'd love to know what went through her mind. I mean besides the water that flowed into her ears.
She clambered back out, and chose a spot a little further upstream where she could see the creek bed and still play with the water.
People FINALLY understand that I'm not messy, I'm just efficient. 4 HOURS a day to clean house?! Are they on crack? By the time we factor in getting ready for work, changing after work, work, commuting, and walking the dogs, that pretty much leaves time for sleep. Sorry, if anyone needs me I'll be curled up on my pile of dirty clothes next to the sink full of dirty dishes.
Neither Chris nor I have spent much time with babies or small children in the last few years. So as I'm compiling our baby gift registry, much of it is coming as a revelation.
This for example. This has to be the coolest thing I've ever seen. Oh sure, they say it's to protect the kid from bumping their heads on the faucet, or scalding themselves on a hot faucet. But we're already planning to put it on the minute it arrives, even though it'll be a year before we really need. This is totally sweet. This baby thing may work out for us after all.
While Chris was in Tucson, one of the guys there was aghast that he had never seen Purple Rain. And as a Prince fan who had also never seen the movie, I was all in favor of that. So tonight Chris spent the longest 111 minutes of his life. I loved the music and didn't have high hopes for a "plot" anyway, so I was perfectly content. But from the very first, backlit frame Chris hated the movie. While I was shaking my money maker, he was rolling his eyes and wishing that Velonews came with headphones.
I told him that he got to pick the next movie. I'm still not sure I'm forgiven though.
Ahhhh, yesterday was beautiful. Time enough to get the hounds to the park to chase some deer.
The mutts are ideally camoflauged to hide in fall leaves. Can you see two dogs in this picture?
How is it that a little puppy that is terrified of certain sets of (concrete) steps thinks nothing of running up and down a tree trunk, leaping over trunks as tall as she is, or standing with one paw on one trunk, and the other on the other trunk. (in the adjoining pictures, she had her back paws on the trunk she's shown standing on, and the front on the trunk paralleling it to the right).
I had an hour and a half long department meeting this AM, on some supremely uncomfortable chairs. Towards the end of a 20 minute long, fairly technical presentation, I was startled when the speaker began talking about Master Data. In my zoned out state, that's not at all what I heard.
Last night someone that I didn't know well asked us if we had planned to get pregnant. They certainly aren't the first to ask that question, but in retrospect it kinda makes me laugh. If they hadn't been truly well meaning, just think of the potential answers!
"Nope, the condom broke" "Nope, but abortions are too expensive" "Yes, I filled out the plan in Microsoft Project, and everything is right on schedule." or the ever simplistic "No..." and then burst into tears.
Last night we went out to dinner with a friend of Chris's from Louisville, the couple that introduced Chris & I, and another couple that I'd seen around at bike races, but didn't really know.
The two common threads between the three couples and the hostess were bicycling and hospitals. Three people in the room were either doctors or residents. Five were into cycling. And so the conversation tended to bounce back and forth between the two topics with occasional branches into dogs and babies (the couple that introduced us is expecting baby number 2 in 6 weeks). But it was strange to realize how out of the cycling world I have come after my pathetic foray into racing 5 or 6 years ago. I still knew the players, still knew the stories, but had nothing of my own to really add to the whole thing. Which isn't a complaint. I tend to be a quiet person, especially around those I don't know well. The conversation was fun to listen to, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, so I was perfectly happy. But there was a time when I could have been in there talking training, dumb drivers, and race stories, and that's way, way in my past.
(Note: There was never a time when I could discuss medical stories. I get woozy when people use the word blood in conversation.)
I did manage to sneak a bike ride in yesterday. Of sorts. Up and down the jail trail. The ride was a whopping 6 miles, and I spent the whole way in fear of getting knocked over by a small child, a roller blader or the shift change at the jail. Hopefully once baby is born I won't be so chicken, but I'd hate to screw everything up with a dumb mistake. I'd still like to squeeze in a few more rides, especially if the weather is as good as yesterday, but I know there won't be a lot more chances.
Ginger brought us our third "gift" today. Today's offering was a dead chipmunk, and intact enough for us to get the sinking feeling that she may actually be hunting and killing these things and not just scavenging.
We took the dogs to the park in order to blow off some steam before our 90% chance of rain rolled in this morning. First Fred chased up some deer, then a little further down the path, they both chased up 3 or 4 of them. Fred eventually clawed his way back to us and flopped down in the middle of the path. Which we know from past experience means any more movement and the puking commences. So we let him lie (lay? hello, any sons of English teachers out there?) while we tracked down Ginger. And that got scary when what seems like forever passed and she still hadn't returned. So a quick search of the area commenced. I ran into a family who thought they saw a fox chasing deer, and I knew I was in the right vicinity. And eventually she came back, tongue to her knees, but still strong enough to pull me back to the car. I've got the last laugh though, both are passed out in the living room now, and they aren't barking at scary things like the wind blowing, the dog down the street barking, the people in the next duplex barking, or the imaginary barkings in their heads.
Wooohoo - I finally bought some winter dog walking boots. Better late than never, right?
Sexy sandals? Pshaw. I'm guessing my husband LIKES that I look like a member of the secret police when it's time to go outside. Now where did I leave those handcuffs?
Updated: They arrived today, and I tried them on. Then ran outside to show Chris: "WHOA!" "You like them? Aren't they awesome?" "They are indeed, Lord Vader"
I saw the other doctor in the practice since either could end up at the labor. I liked him, but he wasn't precisely Captain Tact.
He was like "Wow, you've really popped." Uh, gee, thanks doc, you're looking good yourself. "Did they see twins on the sonogram?" You know, that shit ain't funny, doctor.
On the plus side, they found the baby's heartbeat in a snap this time as opposed to the search we had last time. It's thumping away at 160 bpm, which is normal for babies. And we only heard one heart thumping. So far, so good!
And today I finally broke out my first maternity shirt for work. I can't wear my three oversized shirts forever, and last night I tried to put on a regular shirt and the buttons were nowhere near meeting across my belly. Sigh.
A long time ago, in a country far, far away, my husband was born on this day. When I think of the strange series of events that had to occur for a guy born in Ecuador and a girl born in St Louis to meet and marry in PA, it takes my breath away.
Sweetie, we were destiny.
I hope you have a wonderful day, and I'm looking forward to celebrating many more birthdays together.
Chris got to Petco this weekend and made a tag for Ginger's collar with contact info. Sort of critical with her as she doesn't really care about that whole "coming when she's called thing".
"What did you put on the tag?" I asked him? "Finders Keepers" he replied.
Lady, your daughter is nineteen. She is over the age of consent, able to sign contracts, able to buy cigarettes in most states, able to drive, and able to vote. She is not a little girl. Maybe when she was being your cute little girl a few years ago and pulling rotten stunts because she fell in with the wrong crowd, you should have nipped it in the bud instead of thinking that she would magically grow out of it.
That does it, the baby will be chained to the radiator once he/she is old enough to crawl.
Ok, love Gore or hate him, this column in the Sun Times points out something that has bothered me since the advent of “carbon offsets”. The basic idea of carbon offsets is that it’s ok for you to drive that H2, as long as you pay for someone somewhere else to use a more environmentally friendly form of energy. It's ok to be a self-centered high energy consuming jerk as long as someone else somewhere else uses low energy.
When we went to Brugge last year, one of the things they were pointing out were little courtyards. Each one had 4 or 6 tiny little "almshouses" surrounding a small chapel. (each little red door in this picture was a separate house) They were very popular around the time that Brugge was booming back in the 1100s and 1200s (I think. Someone can check my dates). The basic idea was the rich were too busy getting rich to actually pray for their souls. So they would get homeless people to live in their little courtyards and pray for the rich person’s soul every day. This way the rich person could be a lying, cheating, self-centered jerk on earth and still go to heaven. Which made a lot of us on the tour laugh derisively.
Anybody else see similarities?
Update: Spanky passed along a couple of really funny related links that should be mentioned. Click Here and Here
Along the lines of "The Omnivore's Dilemma", "Fast Food Nation" and other books that guarantee you will never eat again, I read "The Hundred Year Lie". It's a book that delves into how toxic our bodies have become thanks not only to farming methods, but also because of household chemicals, medicines and their misuse, widespread use of plastics, fluoridated and chlorinated water, and vaccines. And as with a lot of books of this type, it's both appalling and informative. But the flip side of this is...how far are you willing to go to detox.
The basic premise is that the rise of synthetic chemicals in every facet of our lives has increased our body burden - the number of chemicals that are residing in your liver and fat cells - and caused side effects that aren't always measurable in the lab. The reason it's so difficult to pinpoint these side effects is because it's hard to find the exact blend of chemicals any one person can be exposed to. So while an individual chemical alone may be relatively inert, in concert with other chemicals, it can lead to an increase in a whole host of medical problems. Which are then treated with more chemicals, which cause more side effects, which require more chemicals....
So to the "how far are you willing to go" part. Obviously the best thing you can do to decrease your body burden is to decrease your exposure. And that's where decision making comes in.
Vaccines - Carriers of poisons or socially responsible thing to do?
Rid yourself of plastics as much as possible - rotsa ruck raggy. Even rice comes in a plastic bag. And there aren't tons of glass food storage options out there.
Rid yourself of household cleaners - er. yeah. There are natural household cleaners that you can make, the question is the tradeoff between time and health. Some of you aren't even using household cleaners (ahem) but the rest of you need to add recipes to the cleaning time.
Eat Organic and Macrobiotic - actually this is sort of interesting. The author references Weston A Price early in his book, then at the end encourages a Macrobiotic diet. Weston Price is a big believer (from what little reading I've done) that animal products are perfectly healthy if they're organic. Macrobiotic diets eschew animal products at all. But in fairness, what they do have in common is that both discourage eating processed foods as the source of many of our health problems.
For all I'm sort of heckling the above, I'm not disagreeing that a lot of it would be a good thing. But the issues with doing all of these things are time, money, and availability. Oh and the vaccine thing runs afoul of the law. Eating organic/macrobiotic and ridding yourself of toxic household cleaners eliminates a lot of those convenience items that we like in a world where both partners may be working outside the home. And the non-plastic thing, well... I just read an article about how plastic baby bottles made by several leading manufacturers are leaching dangerous levels of chemicals known to harm animals. To which my question is...what are my options? Are there still glass baby bottles out there? And in a more general way, while a few things are in cardboard boxes, the vast majority of packaged items in the grocery store come in plastic.
So overall, definitely a good read, definitely great things to consider. But it's tough to keep up to the level of changes you would have to make to make a significant decrease in the body burden.
One final thought - a tiny thing in the book that made me laugh. He talks about going to the Hippocrates Health Institute in Florida to detox. And he mentions some big stars who have gone as well. Including Mick Fleetwood. Wait, what?! Wasn't that guy the king of recreational drugs? What did they do, replace all of his blood and organs with those of a newborn? (snarkfest is over now.)
Now if anyone needs me, I'll be out back planting my organic garden.
Chris has been taking the dogs to work with him, which for me has been wonderful. It means that when I hit the door of the house after work, I don't immediately have to change and walk the dogs. It means that if I need to run errands, I can just do it on the way home without worrying about doggy bladders. And it means that when I walk in the door, I'm not dealing with El Destructo's work. Ginger has an art for finding things and destroying them. And making a huge mess in the process.
But yesterday, he needed to get some things done without the two pups under foot. So I swang by on my way home from work to pick them up. And since we were near the park, we went for a little walk.
Alas, I wasn't particularly dressed for it, but I at least had tennis shoes and some cycling socks. That's the yellow jersey on those socks - the moo-moo john! Knowing that it was going to be a weeeee bit muddy, I rolled my work pants up. Thankfully, there was no one out to admire my styling look. Normally it would have meant rain pants at least. We had a big snow melt in the last week, plus a few inches of rain. Apparently that didn't keep those who rode horseback out of the woods though, the trails were super chewed up with hoof prints, and there was horse poop everywhere. A few tire tracks from mountain bikers were showing, but as shallow as they were, I'm wondering if that's a hold over from when there was still snow.
The other bummer thing was that the lighting was SUPER dramatic. And there I was, armed only with a cell phone camera. Oh well, them's the breaks, I probably would have lost both of the dogs had I been terribly focused on photography. That or Fred would finally have administered the beating that he thinks Ginger deserves. He did make her cry at one point, and that's with me sort of paying attention. Ah sibling rivalry. I can't wait to see what they do when they get a human sibling.
The big payoff is that we went out to eat at Kassab's last night (why have I not done that before? That was really, really good!), and there was a minimum of destruction in the house. And Fred let Ginger live. Nothing like a good stretch of the legs to moderate everyone's humor.
It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm…of pish, and crawls insanely up to the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash.
-H.L. Mencken
By Ken Levine One of the writers from the TV series M*A*S*H writes about Hollywood, showbiz, etc
Class Factotum She's Baaaacccckkkkk. And as funny as ever!
Cobb I'm fascinated on this man's ponderings on being American. And being black. And being an African-American.
Confessions of a Pioneer Woman She makes me laugh. Any woman who has named her own disease - Low Blood Sugar Cranky Butt Disorder - is ok by me.
Cute Overload OK! I admit it, I love a website which uses terms like "prosh" and "paws-up-itude". I'm pretty sure I will have my engineering degree taken away now.
Fatmarc Mountain Bike, Cyclo-cross...is there anything this man doesn't do?
When we went to Brugge last year, one of the things they were pointing out were little courtyards. Each one had 4 or 6 tiny little "almshouses" surrounding a small chapel. (each little red door in this picture was a separate house) They were very popular around the time that Brugge was booming back in the 1100s and 1200s (I think. Someone can check my dates). The basic idea was the rich were too busy getting rich to actually pray for their souls. So they would get homeless people to live in their little courtyards and pray for the rich person’s soul every day. This way the rich person could be a lying, cheating, self-centered jerk on earth and still go to heaven. Which made a lot of us on the tour laugh derisively.
