Monthly Archives: February 2014

My oldest friend is getting married tomorrow.

(And by oldest, I mean longest running.  Kristi isn’t OLD.  She’s my age!  And that is NOT old.  We might be, um, SEASONED, but we are most emphatically NOT old.

Just to be clear.)

Kristi lost her previous husband to an ugly, long and tortuous bout of cancer called Non Hodgkins Lymphoma.  He fought a valiant fight, but in the end, he died.  It was so damn sad.  She was so sad.  It was heartbreaking.

But here she is, my Kristi, picking up the pieces of her life, and better than that…finding a new and equally lasting love in her Tommy.  (She calls him “Sugar Butt”…how cute is that?)

It’s a wonderfully happy chapter to her story thus far.  And the only sad part?  I can’t go!  We have three (count them…3!) basketball games, one softball clinic, and My Captain has a retirement party he must attend for one of his oldest shift members.

(And by oldest, I mean longest running.  Doug isn’t old.  He’s our age!  And that is NOT old.  Seasoned, maybe, but most emphatically NOT old.

Just to be clear.)

Obviously My Captain needs me in attendance to the retirement party as arm candy…or at least to hold his beer.  So I’m going to miss Kristi’s wedding!  She lives 5 hours away…there is no way I can be all of these places at once.

I begged her to send pictures, and I’m sending happy thoughts and lots of love to her via the airways.

Would you like to see her when I knew her back in our childhood?

She is the princess on the right.  I’m the princess on the left.  I have no idea who the freaked out boy in the middle is, but I’ll bet he’s still scarred from this night.

Congratulations My Dear Kristi!  You’re still a gorgeous princess!

And I still love you!

Today I walked my first mile since my prosthetic knee was surgically implanted.  As I power-walked on the treadmill at Healthworks to Def Leppard’s “I Want To Be Your Hero,” I was in my twenties again, where I could exercise without excruciating arthritic pain.  I was on the treadmill facing the window, the sun was out, high school students were streaming in for their healthy lunch choices, people from all over the community were chatting and laughing….it was nothing short of awesome.

My knee was clicking audibly, but it didn’t hurt because it’s metal and has no nerves! How great is that?  I just tried to keep it in stride with the beat of the music….which got difficult when I hit Bon Jovi’s “Wild In The Streets.”  I even tried to jog a little, but ended up gallumping (I just made that word up) rather more like Frankenstein’s Igor,  than streamlined like Jesse Owens.   I envisioned myself running like Oscar Pistorious, the Bladerunner, sans murderous weapons.  I was unstoppable!

The kind staff and patrons of Healthworks politely averted their eyes and tried not to cringe every time my weak leg hit the tread with heavy thuds. They really are nice people.  It’s no wonder they are so popular with the entire town of Poolesville.

All was going swimmingly, as I finished the cardio portion of my workout and moved to my upper-body weight lifting, until I suffered a technical malfunction.  I’m borrowing My Captain’s Ipod, since my children have forbidden me from using my decades-old CD Walkman in public, but I have no place to put it when I’m doing Lat-pulls or Chest-presses.  So I slid the slim, bright-red Ipod under the shoulder strap of my super-heavy-duty-commercial-grade-Kevlar-lined-rebar-supported sports bra.  By the second set of Lat-pulls, it had slid through the strap, travelled through my arm pit, and was dangling perilously close to my second roll of fat.

Something had to be done. It wasn’t my Ipod, after all, and I didn’t want to have to explain to My Captain how I lost his music in the crevasses of my back lard.  Gloriously oblivious to the shocked and appalled workout peers around me, I thrust my left hand rather spastically into my shirt via the V-neck, and dug elbow-deep, until I found the wayward electronic device.  But when I pulled it out, it was all tangled up in my bra strap.  And rather than take the smart road, and unplug the earplugs from the Ipod to disentangle it, I worked both hands into my shirt to untangle the knot, which by this time was rivaling anything Rubik ever created.

THAT was a sight to behold, I assure you.

The good news is that I got it out, without any injuries to me or innocent bystanders, or damage to the unit itself, though it was a bit sweaty and smelled like Secret Asian Pear Deodorant.   And the bonus from this episode is that My Captain has already ordered me my very own special sports armband that holds his particular Ipod, which was nice of him.

So tomorrow when I go to Healthworks in Poolesville for my daily dose of community bonding and healthy exercise, I’ll look cooler than a soccer mom whose arms are elbow-deep down her shirt fishing for lost equipment, that’s for darn sure.

Which is nice.

I have a problem with my crack.

It’s growing.  I mean faster than I ever thought it would.  And if that isn’t bad enough, my crack is growing diagonally…rather almost sideways!  I think people are starting to notice.

And the cold….the cold weather has just made my crack go CRAZY.

My Captain’s crack started growing before mine, and his is way, way bigger, but I can’t help but feel like mine is worse somehow.  Like mine shouldn’t be so big, so fast.  Maybe it’s a double standard thing.  I don’t know.  I have no idea what I did to make my crack grow so fast, and so crookedly.

Obviously, we both need our cracks fixed.  And we will get them fixed, don’t you worry your pretty little heads about that!  I am just hoping our cracks don’t entirely explode before that can happen.

No one wants that!

Wait….why are you looking at me like that?  What do you think I’m talking about?  I’m talking about our windshields!

I can’t believe you guys.  Get your minds out of the gutter.

I mean, come ON.  If we were talking about those cracks, My Captain could never compete with me.

Word.

Once again my brother Graham, and his family, sent us a gift certificate for dinner at The Comus Inn, as a Christmas present.  Last night, My Captain, Grandma Jane, and I went and spent every stinkin’ dime of it.

And we’re not a bit sorry.

I’m not here to tell you about the beautiful ambiance.

I’m not going to tell you about the amazing menu,

or the fantastic hushpuppies (we didn’t take the picture fast enough…My Captain had already eaten half of them!),

or the yummy salmon,

or the crazy delicious chicken with goat cheese and prosciutto,

or even the home-made Grand Marnier Chocolate Truffles.

No, wait, I might pause a moment over them-thar truffles.  HOLY CRAP.  That’s all I can say about those.  Holy. (pause for effect) Crap.

I want to talk about how old my family is getting.  Look at these old farts who need reading glasses to read a stinkin’ menu!  How hilarious is it that these two can’t see a bloomin’ thing anymore?!  How funny is that!  Hahahahahah!

Wait.

It’s not that funny.

I’ll have you know I have to put my computer screen at 125% when I’m writing my posts, just so I can read the ding-dang words.  I used to have perfect vision!  I used to have Eagle Eyes!  I used to be a contender!

This can’t be happening to me!

Ever In Denial,

Your Old Fart, Mama B.

My Captain is STILL at work.  He left for work Wednesday night, and it is now Friday night, and he doesn’t get off until tomorrow morning.  That is a long shift.  Especially when you are a Fire Captain and Paramedic during a State Snow Emergency.

Since he left Wednesday, he’s been called to plenty of emergencies, including some real doozies, like 1 amputation, 1 code (when someone’s heart stops), and 2 (count them, TWO) car crashes that involved vehicles that were rolled over….one of which had 8 children in an SUV!  It’s been a rawwwthar hectic 55 hour shift for him.   Here it is 10pm, and he just had to get off the phone with me because he got the tones for yet another call.

It kills me when I read in the news, or on Facebook, that some people think firefighters and paramedics get paid too much.  I often wonder if these people have ANY idea what these guys and gals DO in any given shift.  Makes me shake my head.

But let’s get back to the point, which is me, as always.  Since My Captain is on his long shift and won’t be home until tomorrow morning, and this is Valentine’s Day, I asked Grandma Jane if she would like to be my Valentine, and join me for dinner.

She consented because her beloved, Mike, is in a totally different state right now.  So I am her Boobie Prize.  I don’t mind.  I’ve been called worse.

We went to dinner, my Valentine and I.  I have to tell you, I was looking forward to just the two of us, me and my mom, talking, eating, and loving each other, as close mother and daughter pairs do.

But this is what I got:

Seriously?  My own MOTHER ignores me during dinner because she’s busy on her smart phone?  Texting her beloved.  Throughout dinner.  Seriously?

***Sigh***

As the designated Boobie Prize, I guess I’ll take what I can get.  Sign of the times, I suppose.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Friends!