Category Archives: Fitness

How To Almost Wreck a Bike AND Your Marriage

Once a month, Ryan and I are able to go out on a date thanks to a group of friends who take turn watching everyone else’s kids. If there were ever a time I wish grandparents lived nearby, it’d be now. But they don’t, so we circle the date on the calendar several times with a red marker and stare at it longingly through the mound of poopy diapers and incessant whining.

It finally came around this past weekend and as we all walked to the building, Annie kept asking “Happy? Happy?” Why yes, Annie… You must’ve seen my grin from three blocks down. I swear I love ya, but go on now. Play with your friends for FOUR HOURS. Yes!!!

As soon as neither were looking, we snuck out the door, raced to the van and headed to a nearby town for a little bike ride. A tandem bike ride. And for some reason, my mind immediately went to the word tantric whenever I said tandem. But I justified it and thought, hey if Sting has the stamina for 7 hours surely I can also ride for an hour.

We showed up at the bike shop, cute, in love, smiling as the guy oiled up our bike. He asked us if we needed helmets and we cackled at that silly question. Of course not, can’t you see we’re in love and riding as close to each other as humanly possible on two wheels? Only non in love people wear helmets. So he rolled the bike out and off we went.

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We got this far from the building before our first full-on fight broke out.

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Like growls-from-the-depth-of-your-bowels fight. If you’ve always wondered how low your voice can get while still remaining a woman, sit on the back of a tandem bike. Romance, giggling, and flirting quickly fly out the window when only one person has control of the steering wheel AND brakes. Good God! No literally, good God please save me….and we hadn’t even left the parking lot yet.

We did several circles before venturing out into the downtown area to hit up the trail. Ryan wanted to ride on the sidewalk to I guess make sure that anyone who hadn’t seen us swerve our way out of the parking lot, to have an up close and personal experience with our front wheel. I convinced him to ride on the street though because a) a bike lane is there for a reason and b) I wanted to get hit by a car.

After many hisses and screams later….from the car drivers avoiding our inability to stay within the bike lane, we finally made it to the trail. We’ve walked this trail many times and didn’t think anything of it. Until we approached the first of several hills that we’d conveniently forgotten about. You know when you’re cresting the top of a roller coaster and are powerless to stop it, all the while knowing there’s a 3% chance you’ll be the only person to eject from the seat 90 mph into the funnel cake stand? Yeah.

I took a deep breath and only quietly begged and pleaded to brake more, to not swerve, and to quit leaning so far this way or that. But with each person we passed (somehow we did remember to ring ring our little bell), my begging got louder and louder and reached it’s highest when up ahead we saw a sweet little girl on her pink bike riding towards us…and I knew. I knew she was going to crash. Ryan rang the bell, we zoomed forward like a game of chicken, he rang the bell again, she looked up and crash there she went down in our lane.

To our right was a straight shot down the hill, to our left more walkers. Mr. Oil Luber’s words came back to me “If you need to stop, you better start braking long before you need to. You’re like a semi, it’ll take a while to slow down.” At the time, I was too busy wondering if he was really calling me a semi or not, but now I got it. Holy crap girl, Mooooooooooove!!!! I yelled as Ryan started braking. Somehow, some way we managed to slow down enough to look like we were casually biking along, enough to smile at the girl’s mom and give a jolly hello before picking up too much speed right afterwards.

We swerved around several more groups and Ryan apologized for his insane bell ringing saying “Sorry, we’re barely in control here.” Nervous laughter by everyone.

But I tell you what. This was a great team building exercise, because before we got to our turnaround point, I started closing my trap and trusting that Ryan had control of us. And then I was able to look around and enjoy myself. It wasn’t entirely peaceful, but it became fun and we started laughing instead of barking.

So much so, that I wanted a pic of us on that darn bike. We stopped and waited for the man up head  walking toward us. He seemed nice and I asked if he could take our picture.

He looked straight ahead and kept walking. Sure, he was wearing headphones but I know he could feel us staring at him.

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Don’t worry Orangie McGee, we got that pic. A girl down the way took one. Well not exactly. Her friend said ‘yes’ and then made her take the photo. Why was everyone afraid of taking our picture?! And then we looked at the picture she took and saw the reason.
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Ryan apparently took the whole tantric word misuse a little too far.  He said he’s going to return those jeans, and not because they puff out in the worst places, but because the puff measurement wasn’t doing him any favors.

Later we walked by a wedding and hoped we were in the background of photos.
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After busting our buns to get back before the store closed, I wandered around and saw this upcoming race ad in the window.
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If I weren’t 7 months along by then, I would’ve totally made Ryan do it with me. “Bonus cards for blasting clay pigeons” ….in the middle of a bike ride. So random…Yes, please.

Afterwards we got a bite to eat. Our goal was to take as long as possible at the restaurant since we’re normally rushing and feeding other mouths and not sinking into our chairs. Ever.

Step 1 was to order our drinks without feeling pressured to also order food at the same time in fear of the two little ticking time bombs exploding. In fact, we ordered drinks, she came back with them, and we asked her for another few more minutes to look at the menu. Holla!!!!!!

We placed our order and I didn’t really notice what Ryan got. When he told me, and then said the price:
SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURESthe most expensive thing on the menu. Whatever, I know those extra minutes before she came back were spent weighing pros and cons.

I remember when I turned 21 and my sisters came down to celebrate. We all got margaritas, but my oldest sister was pregnant. The bartender put lemonade in a margarita glass and sugar around the rim. So I asked our waitress to do the same. I wanted to feel sassy!!

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Meh. I couldn’t tell which was the water. Sassiness fail. Luckily I had several other drink options to fall back on.

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURESYikes. We were thirsty after our ride.

It was a fun night for sure. And no joke, I think our marriage got stronger because of that bike. Next date night though, we said we’re going to find a place and just sleep for four hours. We’re exhausted.

Comb My Hair, and other New Year’s Resolutions

Let’s get real. I don’t comb my hair unless company is coming over. And, really, if you’re not English royalty then all you’re getting is a finger run-through before it being thrown back into a ponytail.

Someone must have snuck into my room while sleeping with a straightener, because this photo is about as good as it gets. My hair, that is. They must have also straightened R’s mustache as well. Yuh-ikes. I’m going to add “Trim my freaking ‘stache” to his resolutions.

Look at our daughter. She makes me smile from the inside out. I’m a little nervous about having a second, because this girl is chill and I don’t think we’ll get the same thing twice. How she came to be so laid back from both of our uptight characters, I’ll never know. I’d like to think it started with the somersaults I had to do in the pool at 37 weeks to get her to turn head down.

Speaking of her, do you know what was the top post of 2011? Ruth’s official introduction: Nice to Meet You, she said.  My personal favorite post of 2011? It was a tie: The debut of my baby bump and my home birth! A friend asked the other day if that experience made me leery or eager for another one. And like I told her, on the day of I swore I’d adopt the rest of my kids, but almost every day since I’ve been daydreaming about going through it again. It was both the hardest and most powerful thing I’ve ever accomplished. Click here to read about people staking out in our yard to see my baby bump. And here for when I relived the scene from Coming to America and had a hot tub in my bedroom (aka, my home birth).

As for next year, besides routinely combing my hair, I would also like to:

  • create a family tree for my mother’s side. My dad has this great tree framed and I’d like to recreate it, if possible, by the end of next year. With the help of my family, of course.

  • learn how to sew. I snagged my grandma’s sewing machine out of my sister’s loving hands and would like her to know it wasn’t all for naught. Hopefully I’ll be able to make something better than a trapezoid baby blanket.
  • buy 75% of my clothes at goodwill. The other 25% will probably be from Eddie Bauer. Ryan is aware that I run around behind his back with Ed, and fully approves. We have an open relationship.
  • make an effort to get ready in the morning. See above: combing hair. This also includes breakfast. Yes, we skip occasionally.
  • create a weekly meal plan. R and I talked, we’re going to go simple with our meals, with maybe one fancy dinner every now and then. I don’t know why I feel guilty if it isn’t a Cheesecake Factory knockoff with a bajillion ingredients, so I need to get over this. Soups, tuna patties, meatloaf.. These are all good. And easy. And cheap.

My Aunt S and I starting the ancestral process. Remember those long sheets of printer paper? I’d love to make a Happy Birthday sign from it again.

  • make sourdough bread. The thought of reducing ingredients in staples (ie: bread) makes me happy, like in this instance: store-bought yeast. I can do this, despite my anxiety.
  • run a half-marathon. October. I can do this. I’ll probably have to wear a hat with a piece of chocolate cake dangling in front of me, but I can do this.

Ruthie is intrigued. I hope she’s as obsessed with the past as I am. I’ll give you five seconds to try and find my parent’s newspaper stash. Go.

  • Pay off our car loan and some (if not all) of my school loans. We have paid off R’s undergrad and graduate loans, along with one car loan in the last few years. Selling our house, then living in a dorm room and now a shack has helped. We literally smell how close we are to having zero debt.  I remember Dave Ramsey calling those school loans “pets” that we pay on a little each month. It’s like we just assume it will be a monthly expense. R and I are working hard to eradicate that cloud over us.
  • lose this baby weight! I gained a whopping 55 lbs and have only lost 30 so far. 10 of those went straight into Ruthie’s thigh rolls which I love. But the ones still on me… not so much.

…starting the branches…

  • And lastly, I would like to grow more in my spirituality and give God the thanks He deserves. I sometimes congratulate only myself on accomplishments or achievements made. He is the rock that has helped me and He is who I need to give the glory to. Upon waking in the morning, I should open my eyes and immediately thank Him for another day in which I can become redeemed.

That’s my list. I have several more, but am afraid of getting overwhelmed. Come April 1st, we’ll see how well I’ve done in the first quarter.

I hope everyone had a wonderful New Years and best wishes in 2012.

Nice pins.

I love my morning walks around the local college.

It’s just me and my bladder in the early sun, holding it in and enjoying the sites.

Like the creek that runs next to it for about a half mile. There’s one little spot where turtles like to sunbathe…

The canopied parts are cozy and inviting, but I catch myself looking up to make sure no snakes are dangling. I cannot not look up.

Sometimes I try to go through and force my eyes straight ahead, but then out of the corner of my eye a curved tree branch startles me into a head-twisting, eyes-bulging freak.

And then the wall o’ green, as I call it. You can’t see anything past this and that’s the way I like it.

Sometimes on the trail I see people running. Every time, though, I admire their runner’s bodies. I would give every excuse not to go for a jog not too long ago. But now that I can’t, it’s all I want to do.

One girl ran by and I marveled at her toned thighs. Couldn’t help it.

So I looked down to check out my own…

Oh.

Well, I’m sure they look just like hers.

 

Kansan Girls Visit

This photo at the top of White Rock Mountain is proof that we are not still hiking at this very moment.

My friends, S & L, came down for a weekend visit a couple weeks ago, and I still have bug bites as memories. They visited The Shack, we went on a hike, and then played board games until 1 in the morning. A pretty well-rounded time I must say.

When I found this hike, I saw the outlook at the top and knew this was the one. It wasn’t too far south, and you could still get some good views.

Little did I know that you literally had to call upon the native american navigational skills you’ve been studying, because there were moments when the trail disappeared. What, you didn’t study them? Neither did I, and a broken record of “Are you sure this is the trail” questioning ensued.

What. I was nervous! Two of my friends took time away from their busy lives to visit and then I lead them into the woods never to be seen from again?

L registered our names at the trailhead while reminding us what to do if we encounter a bear. I don’t know where I read that you’re supposed to scream, trip your neighbor, then run; but it seemed like sound advice to me. So I dismissed everything L read.

It was kind of warm that day and I was happy to have worn shorts, silently gloating over that fact as S & L changed into pants.

And then it started. Or ended, I guess I should say. The trail, that is.

It ended.

And we had to eyeball our way to what looked like a white rock on a mountain. That meant going through bushes. And bushes. And thorny bushes, and kinda thorny bushes, and not thorny bushes.

My legs got tore up, people. And every so often I would turn around and see…

two smiling faces going through any sort of foliage with ease.

Those smarty-pants.

[let me pause here for awkward laughter as I say, “no pun intended” but you really know that I meant to say the pun and suddenly realize that you’re required to make some sort of noise, so just do a muffled golf laugh and avoid eye-contact]

ahem.

It eventually got so bad, that after finding a map of the trail, yet not being able to decipher which way was north, we took to turning S into a sundial to figure it out.

We kinda just went forward and hoped to see a white rock somewhere. We’d even take a white flower, at that point. Anything white, in fact and we’re followin’ ya.

What we found in the meantime was a nice waterfall….

With remnants of someone’s campfire, complete with homemade chairs. There were only two, so S rolled a couple stones together and formed a third.

We decided to take a breather and snack on fruit and a sip of wine, cheersing to our inate ability to identify plants. For instance, the extremely rare reese’s pieces plant, along with the more common purple gobstopper flower. I know, we’re pretty savvy.

We hiked on and enjoyed streams of sunlight.

Then eventually found a spot to eat our lunch before hiking our way to the main overlook.

On the rock wall, we noticed engravings of various places and the distance away from there.

We followed the arrow and looked up.

Ah, there it is.

Take a deep breath and imagine sitting with your legs dangling on the other side of the wall, and a breeze blowing through your now slightly wet hair. I could’ve sat looking at that view all day.

But we couldn’t. We had to get to our little cabin in the woods before sundown. We don’t know what happens after sundown in these parts.

But I do know what happens at the cabin after sundown. Did someone say hot-tubbin’ time? More exciting than that was forcing L to wear my vintage 1950s swimsuit which I unfortunately did not get a picture of.

Forget Ralphie’s shotgun, the bra on this bathing suit could shoot your eye out. And who knows, maybe it did at one time.. because I’m pretty sure a pistol could have clear, level aim through those puppies.

The night was rounded out by a wine board game, which solidified the fact that I should not get into the wine business. S & L tried their best to help me…

Game card: “What color of wine are you drinking?”

Me: I dunno. Lemme see…. wait… it went down too fast. Ask me again.

But having Anne of Green Gables playing in the background solaced my hurt pride.

The next morning we narrowly escaped getting murdered by Garmin, as the road he took us down turned into a dry river bed. Seriously. But with S’s help, I did a 40 point turn and we made it out.

All-in-all a relaxing weekend with the girls. Thank you so much for visiting, I had a wonderful time!

Fall colors

Yes, she made it over the fence.. right into R’s arms. I think she squealed too. I was *this* close to asking them to hang out with us all day. Just full of laughter they were and a good spirit surrounding them.

We finished up the trail and walked back to the car.

On the way, we spotted this bridge/gate/entrance which I asked R to try out.

And when we finally arrived home to our room, there was a small raspberry birthday cake waiting for us. Yes, we ate it all. Only because we couldn’t take it home and didn’t want it to go to waste. Really. We were being extremely selfless in our actions.

The next day our flight didn’t leave until the evening, which ended up being cancelled and us staying an extra night. If we had known that was going to happen, we’d have rerouted our last hours.

So we drove north to the Vermont/Massachusetts border and walked along the Robert Frost trail. Anytime I think of Frost, I always revert back to my almost collision with the Grandaddy Spider of year 2000’s descendant. He almost got me, but I’ve been on my toes since that fateful day in my basement bedroom. Click here to read.

We started on the paved trail, but after I ran into the woods for a potty break (R had to keep watch for cyclists, and counted down 10 seconds as a couple were coming), I spotted an unpaved trail through the woods. Talk about less travelled!  It was absolutely crucial to do this one and on we went…

…All the way until we found the official Robert Frost Trail mailbox. You know, for you to send letters to ole Bob.

So, I left one.

Hey Bobby, I took the road less travelled a few years back and I’m still itching from that rash. Thanks for that, Carolyn.

I figured he wanted feedback on that poem, you know. Better late than never.

On our way out, we gave one last glance to the Vermont countryside and headed home. We will be back to this part of the country again, you can count on it.

Warrior Dash

First of all, did anyone watch Betty White on SNL? Oh my. Love her.

Back to me.

I met up with some girlfriends down in Dallas for the Warrior Dash. It’s a 3 mile run with obstacles.

And mud.

Lots of mud.

We walked into the courtyard, not knowing what to expect. Me, a pirate. Juice, wonderwoman.

Juice found some of her superhero friends while waiting for our heat to run.

The fire blasted and we were off!! I’ve taken some photos off of the website, so we’re not in all of them. But we did *do* all of these, including swimming across a pond and swallowing muddy water in which I’m sure some people peed.

Hey! Here’s me!! We had to jump over fire.

And apparently this is how I do it. Like a baby fawn just learning how to walk. Could you imagine me as a firefighter.

the last leg was in the mud pit, crawling under barbed wire. You got booed if you didn’t get dirty.

I was too busy making sure my pirate sash covered my mid-section. Forget  trying not to collapse in the mud, did anyone have a girdle??

Here are the other girls we met up with down there. They all carried foam viking weapons through the race.

Afterwards, we hung out in the courtyard area, peeling off mud, and soothing our achy bones with cold ones. A band was playing in the back and we enjoyed people watching.

Something I’d do again and I think R would really like it.

After this, I’ve decided I just might skip on the mud bath option at a spa.

Figh-at Club

It has now been officially three days since all of us have begun living in the Anne Frank’s attic. So far no one has killed each other, although there have been close calls.

You see, literally the moment N walked into the dorm room he pointed at each of us, including himself, and said “you’re fat, you’re fat, i’m fat, we’re all going on a diet.” Then proceeded to whip out a spreadsheet to chart our progress.

[side note: when I told the lady to whom I teach ESL, she said, “Ooohh (in a caring, sad way), but I don’t think you(long pause)r husband’s fat.” That made me laugh. And then I immediately began a lesson on what not to say to women in the American culture.]

Here is the said spreadsheet.

Um.. Rude.

After I recovered from the shock of this multi-colored excel sheet of hell, he asked “So do you know what we’re all doing next? We’re going to the bathroom.”

I laughed, thinking he meant that we were all going to literally go to the bathroom… you know, like Numero Dos. And then I saw N wasn’t laughing. He really was waiting for us to go the bathroom.

Uh, this is weird. But hey, there are magazines in there I guess… WAIT. The scale is in the bathroom.

And like a dog being drug to the vet, I was pushed onto that small piece of unhappiness. How can such evil come from a simple machine?

After they coaxed me out of the closet and convinced me that no more harm would be done, R shoved me into the kitchen and ordered a ‘before’ photo be taken.

We made it through, marriage intact. N still lives with us, too. Barely. We’ve started P90X and I haven’t been this sore since high school.

It is definitely no holds bar. But we’re only on day 3, and I already feel more energetic. Maybe not necessarily happier. R said, “Yeah.. Let’s all live in a dorm room, dramatically cut our calorie intake and start a really hard workout.” There have been some bumps, but we’ll get through.

This is going to be a good thing.

Catalina Island and beyond…

I’m not feeling very wordy today. So just follow me through the last day on Catalina Island…

But first, the night before. We popped a few more advil and sat in front of the fire to watch the sunset. Later, we would all snuggle our way into the tent to play Taboo for a couple hours. Knowing it was cold outside and us warm and safe in our sleeping bags helped soothe our achy bodies.

But I couldn’t sleep. And neither could my brother.

So we spent most of the night staring at the moon and its reflection on the water, quietly thinking to ourselves. That’s the good thing about M. You don’t need to converse. You can just sit and drown yourself in thought.

Morning came almost too soon.

But, with morning came the sun. And oh how wonderful it felt on our faces.

So, let me take you on the hike back. I want you to imagine a slight breeze, crisp air, and warm sunshine. The ground was dry, but you could feel the moisture on everything green.

We hiked up hills, cut through the Others’ neighborhood, ducked under canopies of trees… All of this with a smile on our faces. We were happy.

We arrived a couple hours later and enjoyed a nice lunch at the restaurant and a game of speed on Tinkerbell playing cards. And no, they weren’t my cards. I had a falling out with Disney while working at an Equity Center in college. It was ugly. R had to endure the brunt of my anger so no one else would.

On the way back, I refused to sit inside. Instead, I wrapped myself up in a sleeping bag and sat on the top deck with eyes closed, just embracing the wind. I could live outdoors.

The next day we intended to hike up to the Hollywood sign, but we didn’t make it very far. Our legs hurt.

This is what happens when I ask the brothers-in-law to “get together”. R just stares at M’s outreached hand.

We had a really good time. M & D were great hosts and you could tell they really wanted us to enjoy ourselves. And we did. Thanks you two!

Catalina, or why my hips hurt.. Part One

I’ll be straight with you. I’m gonna stretch this past weekend out for as many posts as possible, partly because it reminds me of the nice weather we experienced and partly because I have nothing else to talk about. So there.

We met up with my brother’s friends early saturday morning to eat a good pre-hiking breakfast of McDonalds Egg & Cheese biscuits. Just exactly what you want at the pit of your belly while wandering around for 8 miles. But since I never order this delicacy anymore, I slurped it up. Slurped? I guess that verb works, since its mostly grease.

Ah, grease. Let’s all take a moment and bow our heads in appreciation of it.

After an hour ride on the water taxi to the Two Harbors marina, we unloaded our gear, grabbed what we needed from the park office, and took off. Oh joy! We were so happy and full of energy!! Especially me, since D slipped me an Excedrin on the ride over. I don’t take much medicine, even for minor things. So when this puppy hit me, I was wide eyed and jittery. I’m pretty sure if someone showed up in a trench coat with little Excedrin pills hanging on the inside, I’d buy some. And isn’t that how they always get you? The first one’s free, buddy.

As we walked around the one street town to find the trailhead, I noticed a sign. Wheels? When was that an option? I want my money back.

But they shoved a sock in my mouth and we trekked on….

…right up the first hill out of town. And then we rested for about three hours. It hurt and I was starting to crash from my half dosage of pain reliever. We were bracing for the worst.

Every so often, I’d turn around to see where my brother, M, was. I’d have to turn around, you see, because he was almost certainly pulling up the rear. It wasn’t because he was out of shape.. oh no, it was because he was carrying an 8-person tent. For 8 miles. I’ll let that swirl around in your brain for a bit and will definitely not bring up that I had suggested renting a couple smaller tents. No, you’ll never hear that out of my mouth.

Never.

(ever)

I don’t know how he did it. I’d have quit right after lugging it to the car.

But we forged on, enjoying the scenery. And oh, it was so lovely. We arrived after almost two straight weeks of rain showers and the hills showed the results. I was happy.

Until we turned a corner. And I saw it. Where the Others live. It. was. freaky. Mostly because of how quiet it was. So I pretended to be Kate and hoped Sawyer was somewhere nearby being tortured on a tree. Who knew torturing could be so sexy?

After that scene was over with, we came to a crossroads, and chose unwisely. Whenever I think of the phrase “choose wisely”, I always envision Indiana Jones determining which cup is the Holy Grail. Isn’t it weird how your mind will instantly flash a scene for only a moment and then its gone.

Happens to me a lot. But mostly it’s of what might happen. And that, my friends, is the scariest place to go in the world.

What I didn’t envision was walking straight into the path of bison.

My heart pounded.

We stood there staring at them and them back at us. It felt like a million years went by until one of them finally crossed the path and let us through.

After about a mile straight uphill, we realized we had gone the wrong way and had to turn around and politely ask to be let by the bison again. My poor hips.

Oh, and M’s too. I had almost forgotten about him. But they hitched a ride from some guys who had their day off. In the back, they had a cooler full of beer and we checked to see if it had the Dharma logo. It didn’t. But I still bored my eyes into them hoping to be offered one. All I got was dirt in my face as they peeled off.

M & D had never smiled bigger.

But if I’m honest, I enjoyed the hike… despite how angry my hips were.

I was just happy to be outside all day. Nothing beats that feeling.

So after we watched M & D ride off into the sunset, the rest of us hiked a couple more miles to the end destination. A little cove called Parsons Landing. As we neared, our feet couldn’t help but run.

I was kind of sad for it to end. But sitting in front of a fire and hearing the waves crash all night made the 16 hour pause so worth it.

So did the food. Okay, it was all the food, none of the nature.

No, okay, I lied again. It was about half and half.

Tomorrow we would wake up early and hike back…and to me, a morning hike is about as good as it gets. Especially if you have M&Ms in your pocket.

Good night.

Feetsies

What is my obsession with feet in photos? There’s no logical thought process since I don’t even take care of them, so why should I photograph them?

But I do.

And now you have to suffer.

Some of these I’ve blogged about (and have linked back to those posts) and others I haven’t, but wish I had.

Hot summer weekend trip in Iowa. Cool, sweet water.

Just prior to having a semi-heart attack on the Brew to Brew: 50 mile relay race from Boulevard Brewery in KC to FreeState brewery in Lawrence. The worst part was knowing that after your team drove past cheering you on, they immediately rolled up the window to say how sorry you looked. I know this, because we did it to every other person on our team. But I’m sure they didn’t do it to me. Right. RIGHT?

Hiking the Grand Canyon. What a glorious day, despite R almost dying.

Garage sale shopping with my mom. This was a terrifying flash forward of our lives when she literally parked in someone’s front lawn. Not on purpose.

What you don’t see above these feet is a girl dry heaving on Little Corn Island, Nicaragua. Apparently I don’t like heights?

After wearing heels for too long, asking R if I could borrow his shoes for a few minutes. No I wasn’t wearing socks either.

[collective groan / shrieks of horror]

Dancing the Thriller…in sneakers. If I saw a zombie coming towards me in white tennies, I’d either poke him in the eyes (and hope he doesn’t block me with the finger shark fin) or run my butt off. He might’ve died running, you know.

Do you see the steep stairs in this Irish castle ruin? And the rain water? You do the math.

Visiting our cousins in the Sunshine State. This is also a good reminder: Kids, always remember to put sunblock on your feet. Do not, I repeat, do not stop at your ankles.

Costume / Dance Parties. Oh, penny loafers.

Camping / Hiking – and facing my fear of the granddaddy spider of 2001.

And last but certainly not least… running through fields. I was apparently really excited to get to something…. probably food.

As I was looking around, I found even more feetsies photos. Oh yes, there will be a part two. Who sighed? I heard that.

Resolutions

I’m copying Ashley and listing my goals for this year as well. Already, I’ve broken one of them today when we got lost a couple hours ago, but am now hyper-sensitive to it.

1. Quit cussing. Especially when lost. Although a nice F-bomb really does make you feel better every once in while.

2. Do one round of Power 90. I have a good 1.75 hours before having to pick up R from work. Why can’t I squeeze this in?

3. By eliminating those almost 2 hours of free time, it will help me spend LESS TIME ON THE INTERNET. Because we watch TV on it, email through it, write my blog with it, ugh… too much time. Setting a reading goal every month will help as well. I can’t decide to set the goal by number of pages or number of books.

4. No Coke. And by coke, I mean all of those sweet carbonated beverages. Growing up, we never drank it, why am I addicted to it now? R gave it up for all of last year and spent the past two days getting refill after refill in celebration. My mouth was watering. It sucked.

Side Note: Is ‘sucked’ considered a cuss word? If not, I may add it anyway. Along with ‘crap’.

5. Use a wider vocabulary: That’s crap -> That’s rubbish.  This sucks -> This vexes me.

6. Spending an hour each morning praying and reading the One Year Bible. All I have to do is get up an hour earlier.

Eyes in the Back of My Head

During one of our many excursions to a local restaurant over the summer (and judging from my outfit, we apparently were rewarding ourselves for exercising by eating back all the calories we burned off), I happened to lean a bit to my left.

…Probably reaching for more salt.

At about the same time, I saw R jump a bit. And for him to jump meant he was seriously startled. This guy never flinches. It’s especially annoying when I wait behind closed doors for hours on end to scare him and then don’t get a reaction. I’ll never learn.

He thought this guy was just sitting there calmly watching R eat.

Don’t you love looking back on those moments? Where you all sorts of things run through your mind.

Is he staring at me? Why is he staring at me. Oh my god, he’s actually just staring at me!!
(As you can tell, the thoughts that run through my mind don’t vary much.)

I couldn’t stop laughing.
Eventually I did.

Because they brought out the cheese dip… and then things started to get very serious, my friends.

Turkey Giblets

We had a nice time over the Thanksgiving holidays. We slept in a half hour later each day, it was delightful.

On actual Turkey Day, the whole family (minus two lovlies in L.A.) came together. Here are some snippits.

:: coloring with my niece before the feast ::

:: my uncle bringing over some of mee-maw’s oyster dressing, brought directly from her spirit apparently ::

:: setting out the glassware. Yes, the blue one was mine ::

:: catching my husband in awkward photo positions ::

:: hanging out with my sisters and posting a good-looking photo in hopes that one of them will forgive me for what is soon to come ::

:: holding hands and saying a couple prayers before committing gluttony ::

:: holding back on portion size ::

:: giving thanks to our hosts ::

:: also giving thanks that I don’t have to look at this carnivorous activity straight on. A side view is plenty, thank you ::

:: going for a post stomach-suicide walk ::

:: watching home movies, including one in which my sister, L, asks a question on the Leeza Gibbons Show while in college. This one made our stomachs hurt we laughed so hard ::

:: watching a late night dance production ::

:: while Aunt Carrie played the piano ::
But I have to say there was one thing that most contributed to this being a great weekend. Not the family time, not the sleeping-in….

:: prunes, baby. that’s all I need to say ::

Maturing…at least physically.

Something is in the air.

R and I went to a wedding Saturday night and I actually threw on a skirt and heels, something I feel I haven’t done in a while. And normally, I feel insta-sexy with this particular shoes-skirt combo. I do up my eyes, throw on some clear lip gloss and be bop my way to the car. But last night, I felt almost… needy. And asked R repeatedly if he thought I looked good.

He assured me that yes I did, while also throwing in a few “for a 50 yr-old” cracks at which I laughed, but also quietly noted that there’s always truth in jokes.

When the usher asked me which side and I replied “Bride”, he escorted us to row after row of giggly just-graduated-from-college friends of E. Glossy hair, manicured fingernails, shaved legs – you know.. above and beyond. What show-offs.

This was the first time that I’ve felt… older. Not old. But just older. The fact that I’d resolved to let my hair grow out naturally, gray roots and all, did not help. When you see the pictures, you’ll say, “Oh Carrie, you aren’t graying!”. But I assure you, that is purely positioning of the head. Right now it is only about an inch out, leaving it mountain snow cap. I am going pre-maturely gray.

This has resulted in mixed reactions. A girl at work almost begged me to dye my hair back while R said he thought it was cool I was embracing my natural self.

And I believed I had come to terms with it as well.

…Until I was literally surrounded by those girls…flicking their beautiful silky mahogany hair about (almost no blondes at the wedding, which I figured was the cosmos laughing at me).

Can you believe I was grieving over this tiny aspect? But there you have it. The first baby step in watching my body mature. I always tell myself, in nervous situations, to really stop and feel that moment. Because it’s probably the most raw and pure emotion you can feel, never lessening.

Hopefully in 20 years, I’ll have become used to the changing of myself. Because I sure am uncomfortable now. Everyone was at some point.

For that reason, I was really looking forward to a glass of white at the reception to calm me down. When R went up to order it, the bartender whispered very slowly, “We…cannot..serve…alcohol..tonight.” A dry reception. Oh you cosmos!

Afterwards, we went down to our favorite place on Dickson St: a coffee bar/bar. There’s something comfortably appealing about a coffee shop that also serves wine.

We managed to catch the last half of the KSU game and while watching, decided to order an appetizer. I was waffling between Queso and Lox.

But there was still an air of self-doubt lingering from the reception, so I asked R to take an “unposed” photo. Which is really a posed photo of me trying to act like I didn’t know he was taking it. Nevermind, it gets complicated.

The wine-stained upper lip, the yellow teeth – fine. But what the heck is that???

I zoomed in.

Uh hell no.

We’re ordering salads, dear.


And tomorrow we’re going to the gym. I’m taking control of my self-image, starting…. right after Thanksgiving.

Look, a girl’s gotta have her pumpkin pie first.

Tortoise and the Hare meets Hoosiers

It was almost one in the morning on Friday night when I heard the snickering outside our dorm window. J & T had arrived.

Finally.

R & I had decided to camp out in the living room and let our guests sleep in the loft bed. Aren’t we nice. They would’ve probably been more comfortable on the couch.

But maybe that was a tactic to sabotage them. No one will ever know…and I’ll never admit it.

More snickering. We opened the door and let them in. “T was laughing at your bikes!!” yells J as they roll in their seriously serious mountain bikes. Freshly bought a month earlier at an actual bike store. No joke. Those bikes were… serious.

And we instantly had bike envy.

I rubbed my eyes and with a knee-jerk reaction, barked at them “We got them on Craigslist for 30 bucks. Leave them alone! I mean it!”

Welcome to Arkansas. Where the moment guests walk through the door, a fight breaks out. Anyone else want to visit?
Don’t you listen to them, cheap Walmart Craiglist bikes. You are special.

At first, it had nothing to do with how well made the bikes were. T was really worried that our bikes would fall apart while on a trail and we’d have to get them surgically removed from you-know-where.

The danger awaiting us is really what kept me up most of Friday night. Maybe that was their sabatoge. Okay, I get it now.

For a girl who shares a mid-90s car with her husband, lives in a pseudo dorm room, and buys most of her clothes on Goodwill Dollar days (can I not even pay full price at the goodwill??), a name brand bike should have been the least of her worries.

And it was. That is, until morning hit.

I woke up before the alarm went off and hurridly ran to wake up everyone else. We had bikes to fix, breakfast to eat, and other mandatory race items to buy!

J had an extra bike seat and T insisted R use it. He was afraid we’d never be able to have kids with the seat Walmart provided. I was right on T’s heels also insisting a better seat, but now it was only partly for safety reasons and mostly to fit in with this illusive bike crowd.

Maybe if we have a better seat, they won’t notice the huge ROADMASTER decal on the side.

When we arrived at the starting point, I made R put the bikes in the transition station for us without me. Man, this was going to my head! I had better get focused, I thought.

Okay. Let’s review how R and I trained for this event. Well, we paid our entrance fees a few months in advance. Then we waited until something nagged at the back of our heads that something was coming up. It felt like that something was something we should be training for. But what was it exactly? Oh, right, right. A little race with J & T where mid-way I’m sure we’ll stop for a picnic of cheese and wine.

That was it: a steady regimine of complete denial. Along with a few vitamins thrown in for good measure.

We had absolutely no clue. But it was too late now, the show was about to begin.

The first thing we had to do was plot out the checkpoints. We were given coordinates and, by using a UTM reader & topography map, created a general outline of the route.

Just this caused me to drink half my water and lie on the ground. What had I gotten myself into.

Once we compared notes, the four of us took off. We were separate teams but hung out with each other until slow-poke Carrie pulled her team back.

The weather: it. was. gorgeous. And I’m glad it was this way, otherwise, I don’t know if we’d have very fond memories. Not that threatening to get a divorce on a canoe as well as almost throwing up a chimichanga at a mystery event were really fond memories…. but at least it was nice out. We can always say we had that.

This is how the race was described:
  • hike/trek 8 miles
  • water activity
  • bike 20 miles
  • perfect for a first time racer!

This is how it really went:

  • Run until your sides hurt
  • Lift 1000 lbs
  • Get lost
  • Get back on track
  • Run until your sides hurt
  • Canoe across a lake until your arms hurt
  • Get divorced
  • Turn circles back to land because you can’t make the canoe go straight for one measly second
  • Jump onto a bike
  • Ride until your legs hurt
  • Eat a chimichanga and start to heave
  • Apologize to person who made chimichanga saying that if you hadn’t been in this race, you could’ve positively pounded those down.
  • Ride until your legs hurt.
  • Play putt-putt and get a hole in two.
  • Cry.
  • Ride until your legs hurt.
  • Finish.
  • Get remarried.

Sprinkle in a few curse words & tumbles on the bike and there you have it. Sound like fun?

But there’s more than that. Here’s what happened.

Slow poke Carrie kept her team back. So J & T went ahead of us. …and ahead of us. …and ahead of us… leaving me the only person to watch R trip on every frigging tree root on the trail. I was tired, people. And everything was ticking me off, especially tripping on tree roots.

Poor R.

J & T were so far ahead of us, though, that when R and I reached the canoes we asked where team number 27 was, and he looked at us pityingly (side note: did he know what bikes we rode? was that why he looked at us that way?) and said, “Oh, yeah. They’ve been out on the water already for 20 minutes.”

I could’ve sworn he called me a slow poke as we picked up our canoe. Whatever.

So we climbed into the boat and I knew this was really going to test us. We had once gone on a date way back when, where we took a canoe out onto a lake … and almost broke up then. And that was during the first phase of dating, where nothing made you mad about the other person.

Now we were paddling with 6 years worth. It was… interesting, to say the least. (In my defense, when R told his coworkers about the race, one of them mentioned that canoeing is the single hardest thing to do with a spouse… this was before R said anything about our short-lived divorce. So there.)

We kept our position out on the lake, which at this point was 7th-ish. There were two other co-ed teams ahead of us, including our friends.

Next came the bikes. I purposely slowed us down until we could transition onto them without anyone in the area.

No, not really. But I wanted to. Let’s just say, I was happy to put on a helmet and cover up my beaming red face. Darn you, T. Get out of my head!

We rode up and down some major hills until finally finding the street of our next checkpoint, which happened to be in a neighborhood. This was the chimichanga event, and so we had to park our bikes. Guess who parked theirs behind a car on the street. Look, I’m not proud of it.

We walked across the lawn and asked the now irritating question, “How far ahead is team #27?”

“They haven’t come yet.”

Shut the front door, I thought. Or maybe I said it out loud. At this point, I was saying a lot of things out loud.

“You are kidding.”

“No, we’re not. You’re team #3.”

After I downed the chimichanga, we jumped back onto our bikes and took off. As we turned the corner, guess who came around in their gleaming, sparkly, seriously serious bikes? J & T. That’s right, folks: eat. our. dust.

I raised my arm and yelled, “Go craigslist walmart bikes!” and off we went.

After a few more checkpoints and spots on the trail where I know R was silently thanking T for the seat change, we saw the finish line.

Oh, the glorious glorious finish line. After 4.25 hours, I was ready to sit down and have a beer. Not a chimichanga though.

Unbelievably, we stayed in third for the rest of the way and ended up winning first in the co-ed division.

I’ve never won anything, let alone a race…so this was exciting for us (me). Our bikes did it. They did it. It was a classic underdog fable.

But I still wheeled them to a discreet location immediately after dismounting.

Afterwards, we drove a short ways to Eureka Springs and, on the way, called random places to stay. Everything was full because of a folk music festival going on, so we booked the first thing that had a jacuzzi and/or hot tub.

Should it have been awkward to share a place that housed a jacuzzi (for two) in the middle of the living room?

Because it wasn’t.

It was even less awkward that all four of us got into the two-person jacuzzi and sipped champagne.

And less awkward still when after J & I climbed out to lay on the couch and watch National Lampoon’s Vacation (and quickly falling asleep), to hear R & T clink champagne glasses while toasting our future families.

It was awesome. We had such a nice night.

trying to get the shot of a lifetime

The next day.

Ouch.

Every fiber of my being was sore and what way to really understand this pain?

Why, by visiting the Christ of the Ozarks.

Such a fun weekend… I can say this now, because the pain has gone away and I am encouraged to actually train for the next one.

We’ve already got plans for a sequel.

And R has plans for a new partner.

Pre-Adventure

We were laughing and giggling… obviously having no clue what we were getting ourselves into.

R felt like a ballerina in his new long-sleeved synthetic shirt; a mandated item to enter the race.

While I ran around taking more photos of things that make me smile in the dorm. Like a sexy photo of two legs dangling out of a claw foot tub. Some people have asked if those are my legs. So I pull up my pants to let them figure it out.


“Nope, it’s not you”, they always say. “Hers are shaved.”

And my little matchbox holder. The only suitable place I could think of was by the toilet.


More of our adventure race to come….

Walking a Tight Rope

Or logs in this case.

Yesterday was yet another beautiful day in the neighborhood. We stepped outside and immediately decided to go for a hike. Nearby, even closer then our favorite state park, is a sliver of national forest. One that we had yet to explore.

So we packed up some snacks and headed out.

I like charting unfamiliar territory. That is, until we get to a spring that must be navigated by wobbly tree limbs.

Okay, so the fall down was not far. But it was too close to the beginning of our trek to justify continuing on with wet shoes & socks if I did fall.

R went first. He put his arms out and one. two. was across.

Hmph.

I can do that, I thought competitively.

But I didn’t realize I’d have to dance my way across in order to do so. Those limbs were out to get me.

(un)Luckily, R managed to catch the pas de deux with me & nature.

It quickly evolved into a dance off and thank goodness, too, because I always end up having to dance the boy part. Like when I was 8 and my mom & aunt made my cousin and me reenact the last dance scene from Dirty Dancing.

um, awkward. especially the hand down the armpit part.

I’m gonna win, you darn logs.
But first I need to stretch.
Lean, two, three, four..
and the other leg, two, three, four.

You want somma this?
How about some line dancing!
Even with one arm behind my back, I gotchew.

What did you say down there?
Speak up my man, because you ain’t seen nothing yet.

That’s right. I’m Michael Flately..
about to Riverdance yo ass!

I’ve had about enough of your lip.
This calls for some third position plie action.

Oh, no you di’int
just call your friend over to block my way.
(Lots of pushing and huffing
ensues for about 25 minutes)

But in the end, I won.
I also wore the same smile
as when I graduated Kindergarten.

And now I’m sore.

We don’t mess around….

…when messing around. Wait. That didn’t sound right. Barbeque messy, people, barbeque.

It was rainy evening and as soon as we started our run, my knee swelled up despite the new brace and I had to stop. How should we work out instead? Shoving barbeque into our mouths.

I managed to miss the shot of sauce running down our chins. It was beautiful.

…and did I hear you say you wanted to get a closer look at that photo on the table?

Okay, here she is. Isn’t she wonderful? I want to take a tour of her home.

Hitchin’ a Ride…

Look who we found wanting to tag along with us the other day.

I’m sorry, but I could ride for days as long as I had that vision on my handlebars. He just needs to wear high waisted polyester pants and munch on those crispy wafer cookies with the cream in the middle. Then he’d be my little grandpa frog, riding shotgun. Kind of.


I’ve just spent the last five minutes googling those cookies and for the life of me, I cannot come up with the name. I even typed in “cookies that old people like”. How horrible is that?? Please help.
*BREAKING NEWS* The wafer cookie has been found. I repeat, the wafer cookie has been found. Hat tip to my mother-in-law. Here’s the link: my grandpa ate a lot of these.

Roadkill, Not I.

Did I mention that R and I are training for an adventure race coming up in a few weeks? It’s called the Urban Adventure Race and it includes 6-8 miles of trail trekking as well as up to 20 miles of mountain biking. And please don’t forget the “rope elements” and “mystery tasks”. Apparently one of us has to know how to navigate by compass alone as well.

Oh yes, I’ll be bringing my camera, even though it was not listed on the the 3000 mandatory things you have to carry. Because this is going to be ugly. Real ugly.
One thing not on the list? A defibrillator. I’ll be bringing one of those too.

So, yeah, we’ve been training since… well, since yesterday.

Did you hear me? It’s coming up in three weeks and we’ve been sitting around watching Netflix movies and eating Fritos up until last night.

I’m scared.

So I bought a reflector vest to wear as we hit the pavement.

Hopefully people will see me on the road. Do you think they will?

Grand Canyon Part 2

Ah, day three at the grand canyon. We woke up extra early this morning to join a guided hike along the Cedar Ridge trail. One of the park rangers would walk us down and then give a schpeal on the wildlife as well as a brief history of Native Americans. My kind of thing!

Also my kind of thing? Forcing other people to come along with me. Sleep or no sleep, get up people.

When we hopped off the shuttle at the trailhead, we still had a few minutes to spare and wandered around. That’s when we found what is now considered R’s favorite photo, ever. He’s openly admitted to being enamored by it.

But you know I can’t let someone do something without me trying it too. Hello, that’s how I cracked my tailbone, remember?

So I mosied on out there and politely asked R to take my photo too.

This is where we get into the section of the post delicately named “I’m married to a non-photographer.” And by non-photographer, I don’t mean someone who doesn’t like taking photos. I mean someone who just doesn’t take photos.

Get this, he studied in Australia for 6 months and took exactly zero photos.

That still bugs me.

So I handed over the camera and waited the appropriate few minutes for him to find the power button.
I was scared out there on that ledge, my friends. And R managed to capture it.
He also managed to capture the fact that I was wearing granny panties.
Thank you, R.

Go back to not taking photos.

But man, was it a great view of the trees. I always think of the GC as all rock, no greenery. Nope. Not the case at all.
Little did I know, though, what was lurking in those trees. But I’d soon find out by the park ranger a bit later.

First, though, we had to walk down. And honestly, walking down was a lot harder on the knees than the way up.

Choose your poison: lungs or knees. I’ll choose lungs any day.
So I shoved the camera back into R’s hands and ran ahead so I could nonchalantly have an obviously unposed photo.

No really. I never knew he was taking my picture.
Not even here when I was waving at my brother-in-law while strategically facing into the sunshine for a better shot.

Finally!

We made it to the checkpoint. It was a little plateau of land with overlooks galore. It was also where our park ranger sat us down for a history and nature lesson.

What he first wanted to talk about was the wildlife and what you might find if you took other trails close by. For instance, up along the rim of those pine trees, you would probably encounter mountain goats. But beware! It’s mating season, so you’ll want to stay clear of them.

And not any sooner after he said the word mating, I turned to look at R.

Settle down, R.

After soaking in the 180 degree view, we headed back up. Nothing too eventful happened..
Oh wait. Yeah, something did happen.

R almost tumbled to his death.

No joke.
You see, this trail had been given a grant to fix it up. So along the way, you passed by workers moving stones here and there or even using a jack hammer to break up areas.

It was as we hiked past the jack hammer when it happened. R wanted to slip by as quickly as possible and so hopped onto a slightly slanted rock that hung over the edge of the trail.

It was slow motion. He lost his footing on that rock and slid over the edge, but managed to flip around and grab that same rock with his left pinky finger.

Okay, it wasn’t his pinky. But he wants people to think that. It was only his left hand though. 

And it was scary enough for him to say, “Ask me in five minutes” when I asked him whether or not he’s freaking out.

The night ended with a marathon game of dominoes..
…while I marveled at how differently everyone set theirs up. I see four different patterns here. Well, five if you count the table cloth.

It was a great weekend. Lots of outdoor time and no hair-brushing time. My favorite way to spend the weekend.
Okay, my  only way to spend the weekend. 

Calculated Risk

Uh, no. Not going to walk out onto that ledge to see the waterfall, R. I mean look at it, will you. There’s nothing supporting it.

Fine, go. Go look at the waterfall by yourself. I’ll stand here and take photos of you while it collapses.

Don’t walk out on it like you’re not afraid. I know you ar- wait! Don’t go all the way out to the edge, R! You’re going out too far, you hear me?


Come over? Um, no. Wait, what? You’ll buy me a chocolate malt later if I do? Well…

…okay, I’ll just barely step onto it.


There’s not a lot of weight in my big toe, is there R? Not before the chocolate malt? I heard you.

[Gasp]

How is this thing being held up?

By friggen tape???!!!


Okay, I’ll take a deep breath. No, be quiet, R. I need to concentrate. One, two, and jump onto the landing.

Oh, wow. Look at that. Okay, it’s not so bad. Why were you freaking out back there R?


So where’s my malt?

Stayin’ Put.

It’s nice stayin’ put sometimes.

  • we camped out at a little state park.
  • made wishes on stars and roasted marshmallows.
  • thumbed through a thick book while locusts buzzed above.
  • slept in our new “sweetie pie doubler”.
  • wore socks and sandals without shame around the morning campfire.
  • went on a hike and breathed in a waterfall. my nose was never happier.
  • found a FREE mid-century style vinyl chair on the side of the road. it’s ripped, but I will have it recovered. Ryan rolled his eyes only once, so the pick-up was a success.
  • shared a burger and malt at our local dairyette.
  • walked around the city cemetery to look at old tombstones and noticed many wives from the late 19th century without death dates listed. wondered aloud if maybe they are still walking around town? discussed whether people might think I’m one of them.
  • received a fun letter from my mom and belly-flopped onto the couch to read it.
  • made stove-top popcorn.
  • turned up the a/c and buried myself under a blanket to watch a pre-20th century period piece (genre according to netflix).
  • updated my blog

And you know what. We’re not even into Sunday.

…and I didn’t know it.

Some people compare me to Maya Angelou or ee cummings, but I don’t let it get to my head. You should all know that, yes, I am… a poet. Full of symbolism and alegories, my poems are layered with intellect, beauty, and honesty.

Let me share one with you. This poem was written in Spring of ’08, in the midst of my Costco-buyin‘ large-Fiber-Bar-eatin‘ Tryin‘-to-get-into-shape-runnin‘ phase. I even shared a photo of it with you.
But I digress. Let’s just get to it. I don’t think I need to give a foreward. The written words speak for themselves:
~Run~

Bones atrophied, lungs congested.
Head hair pulled in tight, leg hair not.
I run.

Blood pounding in my head,
Pumping to the beat of Weezer,
I run.

Two dachsunds run after me
Yelping. Caught by their leash,
I run.

Are there any excuses? I look around
And spy an untied shoelace.
I don’t run.

Scary man with hand in pocket
Grins and offers up a greeting.
I run. Fast.

Make it home, but forget about the
Fiber bar already eaten. Head to the bathroom.
I runs.



"Throwing a Fit" Pose – R’s Favorite

As part of our workout routine, we have to do yoga. R had never done yoga before and absolutely threw a gigantic fit during it the first time. I don’t think he likes to not be good at something and he’s just not flexible enough (yet) to conquer these poses. He tried so hard too.

He did well in the stretches…

And then fell apart later on. You can’t see his face, but he was growling under his breath. Every time he heard the phrase “straighten your legs” he about threw his (straight) leg into the computer screen.

Eventually, R threw in the towel and started using his yoga block to hold him up. It was a sad moment to watch. But not sad enough to not take a photo.

I’m not proud of this.

Her come-hither look. Sigh. I’ll just never achieve it.

Nope, not proud one bit. I blame my mom and my husband, because well, they don’t necessarily keep me from making a fool of myself and I think sometimes encourage it. I mean, why else would she suggest Jane Austen movies to watch and why would R agree to have a Netflix account? They both must be out to get me.

So I watched one of those movies my mom suggested on Netflix to which R agreed to subscribe. Not a good thing since it dealt with a modern girl going back to Jane’s time and becoming one of the characters in her book. Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to do my whole life?

Of course, I had to try and recreate it. One scene in particular involved learning how to use a fan to convey (or conceal) emotions. So I grabbed my trusty Pride & Prejudice book, fanned myself with it out the door and to the car.

Then I fanned myself behind a dump truck, through the forest, and to a hiking trail.


Finally. I was alone and could practice my fan moves. I even pulled my hair back into a bun and walked sans make-up for probably the second time in my life. No seriously. My first words to my mom were “please cover up the dark circles under my eyes, mommy. thanks a bunch.”
All of this for Jane.

So, here goes nothing:

Cough, ahem. Uh, so yeah, come hither you tall thing, you.

How dare you come hither! Stand back!

Okay, okay, just kidding. Come back and hither a bit more.

What did you say? Don’t you hither away from me.

Hey you — You have a fast hithering pace, but I caught up. Don’t you like me?

Hee Hee… I knew you did. I hear other people hithering on the trail. Let’s get out of here!

I seriously could have done this all day. Point, shoot, click, hither. Point, shoot, click, hither. All day. But my spell was broken when I looked down. Sigh, again. I just can’t get in the regency era mood in these honkers. Next time on the trail I’ll bring my ballet flats. That will surely do the trick.

She likes me, she likes me not.

I caught myself a few hours into the roadtrip to Manhattan quietly pulling off petals. I like this… oh, I don’t like that… I finally grabbed my camera and tried to capture those petals as they fell.
I like driving on stretches that are lined with growing corn.

I do not like eminent domain.

I like catching the name of the river before crossing.

I simultaneously do and do not like boarded up windows. It makes it look old and mysterious, but at the end of the day, would a board be the best way to preserve a historical building?

I like to read bridge numbers.

I like looking off into the plains’ distance.

I do not like when people will not go on a proper walk.

I like stopping by a quick garage sale with my sister and find a free button. I also like making my sister wear it despite her dirty looks.

I do not like the overuse of Wizard of Oz.

And of course, I like old farm houses.

Shangri-Lloyds @ Tablerock

With my tailbone medication in hand (chilled white wine), we ventured off to a local’s home for his annual party. Shangri-Lloyds. I want this property. Not just because there is an entire wing set up dormitory style for guests, that you have a great view of the lake, or even the three levels of deck space. No, it was all the games.

There’s Lloyd in the yellow. He’s in his 70s and still rockin’ it.
Let’s go through them. Well, we’ve got a volleyball net set up, or how about a little game of frisbee golf?

Not your cup of tea? Alright, then let’s head over to the landing for the zip-line. I’ll hang out on the tire swing while you do that.

Want more? There’s some washers and if you walk a little ways up, you have a full basketball court. Also, a batting cage with it’s own pitching machine over there if you’re interested.


And we were, by golly. We did *everything*. It was a blast and my sweaty shirt showed it.

For dinner, we had pork that had been roasting underground since the night prior. It even had an apple in it’s mouth. I felt like we were seriously on vacation to get this type of treatment. Hawaii, maybe?

As the sun went down, the lights turned on. So did the volume. We enjoyed background music of a local band playing on the deck. In between, various people would stand up and sing a song a capella. I don’t know about you, but stuff like that makes me cringe. I have to look away and it takes my whole being to watch. It’s the seriousness of it all, I guess.

So I convinced my two buddies (R & N) to go on the zip-line with me so I could avoid making eye-contact with the next singer. There was a seat on the zip-line at one point, but we didn’t mind just hanging on.


After a few games of HORSE and hitting baseballs, we left the party a bit early to go swimming off the dock. We took turns jumping off and trying to get mid-air pics. It was utterly summer vacation in that moment. Being silly with a twinge of danger… Wasn’t that in all of our childhoods?