Walking

I can't remember if I mentioned this, but about six weeks ago I sprained my ankle. Badly. Not for the first time. And probably not for the last time.

It's healing, but everytime it starts to feel almost normal, I do something to it again. I don't know what. How could I possibly know what I did? I was just walking down the stairs slowly and innocently and suddenly there were shooting pains lancing up my leg. "So," I think to myself (this is a common occurence as no one else actually listens to me), "so much for resuming the daily walks".

But a funny thing happened. The weather got nice and I was compelled by the Force to put on my walking shoes and hit the pavement. Which I did. Only to immediately encounter the carcass of an oppossum who clearly wasn't "playing" dead. Ah, Spring in the psuedo-country. I crossed the street and passed as far from it as I could.

The walking seems to be helping my ankle function more readily, if not heal more readily. I got a good look at it in a dressing room mirror today. I had to look at it because the other option was to look at the rest of me and I don't make eye-contact with the rest of me. It's a horror story of bad food choices and a long winter. It would give small children nightmares. It gives me nightmares.

Regardless of my sleepless nights, I could see two areas where the ankle is still clearly bruised, and slightly swollen. This visual evidence surprised me. I don't know why it should. I guess it just never occurred to me to look at it in a mirror.

Alas the fine weather calls, and I'm not going soft on it anymore. I may, however, take a softer approach to sunscreen. My workout shirts and hat all have built in sun protection. But being fair and prone to burn, I have been proactive about generously applying sunscreen to my face, hands and forearms before venturing forth. Today, this small act of self-preservation attracted every mayfly within a 25 mile radius. They especially liked my ears. The part with the hole that goes into my head.

Tomorrow, it's going to be a little cooler in the morning. If I go walking a little earlier, and bypass the sunscreen, maybe the flies will pick on someone else.

Or find an opposum playing dead.

Firing Up

We live in a town with a steam train. Or should I say "Steam Train." This is key to the eight year old in my life. On a quiet day you can here the steam whistle at the station three miles away. It's kinda cool.

The railroad isn't officially open for the season and visitors yet. But in the weeks before the season, and just following the visit of Thomas the Tank Engine at the end of the season, they hold classes they call Hand On The Throttle. Unfortunately, like everything else associated with this railroad, you have to be 18 in order to take the class.

Fortunatley, if you know the firemen (and the engineers), you can find out when they are going to fire up one of the engines. We have had the good fortune of being able to watch the crew start their day, check the water and get an already warm boiler going for the day. But we have yet to catch them starting the fire in a cold loco. This, for now, is the holy grail for our junior engineer.

And we have two more opportunities to catch them at it, before the season starts and the trains are kept warm 'round the clock.

Meanwhile, because he shows up in full railroading kit - striped coveralls, workboots, engineer hat and decent work gloves - he has endeared himself to the crew and can be found in the cab shoveling coal to bank the fire, raking coal down from the tender to make it easier to shovel, and then sweeping up the mess. And telling anyone who will listen everything he knows about trains.
The crew is very kind and patient, and a little boy has the occassional opportunity to live his dream. And cover himself in coal dust.

Doesn't get much better than that.

Greening

Where the hell have I been? Here. But not, I guess. How is it possible that a week can fly by so quickly and that it's almost May?

But here we are. The "greening" is going on outside. The woods behind our house are starting to change from shades of brown and gray to brown and green and blossom-y colors. And turkey. We had a lone turkey rummaging around near the daffodils this morning.

And, lest I forget to mention the other birds livening up the place. The cardinals, and bluebirds, and goldfinches, and robins.

It smells so good out there. Especially now, since it's been raining. Yesterday I walked past the Alpaca Farm, and even the farm smells were refreshing; organic and earthy.

I used to live in New York City and the smells of spring included what we to refered to as "Eau du Subway Stairs" - the public toilets of the homeless. And lets not forget the piles of trash heating up in the sun. Mmmmm.

In spite of that, Spring was always my favorite time of year in New York.

It's always a trade-off, isn't it? The grass is always greener where you used to be or where you've never been. The air here doesn't smell like diesel and wild animals thrive here. It's a great place for a boy with a stick who wants to dig a hole and fill it with water. Or plant corn. Or fish. Or ride his bike down the driveway like a madman. On the flip side, there is no wonderful ethnic food, no easy access to culture or books - the closest decent bookstore is Amazon.com. No public transportation. No sidewalk cafes. No sidewalks to speak of. Oh, and no bagels that were not made in a supermarket. That's just wrong.

Packaged lox and supermarket bagels. The sum of sub-suburban living.

I wouldn't trade it. Besides, Zabar's may make it out here. Eventually.

Hole in the Oil Pan

D'ya ever wonder what people actually think when they make decisions? Case in point, my friend Lou recently had her car towed. It's a Saab and apparently it's common knowledge that when a Saab is towed in the traditional manner, the result is often a hole in the oil pan.

If AAA knows this, and the towing company knows this, and the mechanic knows this, then why-o-why would they not send a flatbed tow truck?

Seriously, why not? Especially since the tow was not a short distance. And NOBODY was surprised that it happened.

I just don't understand.

AAA has admitted their fault and are paying for the repair.

Lou finds all this a little surreal and it's making her very uncomfortable.

Can you blame her?

Dishpan Hands

The In-Laws Are Coming, The In-Laws Are Coming!

I love my sis-in-law. She's smart, funny, cool, pretty, and very tall. She and her longtime boyfriend recently got married in a civil ceremony. There will be a wedding later this year. But I've yet to meet him face to face, so I'm all excited about having them here. I guess maybe he's not that long-time a boyfriend. Well, I don't know. He has been living abroad for a portion of their relationship, so what the hell do I know.

Back to my hands. They're dry to begin with. But today I've put them to work. Cleaning. Cleaning the house. Especially Junior's room. It looks so nice now. Like a kid doesn't actually live in it. Which is good because the inflatable queen-sized mattress wouldn't fit otherwise.

So to prepare for this visit, which is auspicious because Hubby's family almost never visits, today I did three loads of laundry, handwashed two (or was it three) loads of dishes, made a cake, made the frosting, frosted the cake, vacuumed every inch of space I could push the vacuum into (I think I found dust bunnies from our move three years ago), unearthed the "Easter-ware", made yet another trip to the market, stopped by the local farmstand for mini-daffodils, and something else. I can't remember.

I am a cleaning, cake-baking machine.

Hubby is picking up dinner, along with some beer, and I am so looking forward to kicking back with some cold sesame noodles, a case of beer, and an episode from the original Star Trek series. I may immerse my hands in the cold sesame noodles. They're a little dry from all of the water and Easter egg dyeing. I think the dye stains improved the look of my kitchen counter. It certainly looked pretty in the sink.

I should be pretty relaxed by the time the in-laws get here.

They're driving up from DC. They may not get here until Sunday. They'll stay long enough to have a pee-break, eat some ham, and get back on the road. With any luck, they'll be back in DC by Wednesday.

I need Madge. Remember Madge? (Yes, I'm THAT old.) I could use a manicure. And a dip in the hot tub. We have a hot tub. Came with the house. It's not running. It's empty, but the top makes a great birdbath. I'm pretty sure there is an entire colony of chipmunks living in there as well.

But I digress. I do that a lot.

Can't seem to stay on topic. If only I could get a job being flighty.

Just waiting for that beer.

Food Lamentations

I apologize now for the whine, but I just can't help myself. Maybe if I had some wine I wouldn't be so whiney, but wine would make me feel worse. In my dotage I find I can't drink wine anymore.

Be that as it may, what I do want, just for the record, is a really good meal that I don't have to cook myself.

Having laid that out there doesn't make me feel any better though because I'm still hungry and I still have to cook dinner. Tonight. Maybe not tomorrow night, but probably. The only other options are mediocre pizza and Chinese. Not overly appealing.

Doesn't quite seem right, does it?

Company is coming this weekend, and due to the finances of all concerned, we'll be eating in. A lot. And I'll be cooking. A lot. And then I'll be doing all the dishes, which will also be a lot due to the lack of a lovely appliance known as a dishwasher. In our house, the dishwasher looks a lot like me and runs on caffeine instead of electricity.

What do I want? Aside from a dishwasher (and a new kitchen... a girl can dream), I want some really good Mexican (can't get it around here), or really good Middle-Eastern (ditto), and a really REALLY good margarita to wash it down.

Is that too much to ask?

My whiney eight year old's whineyness is rubbing off on me. So I'm not making "good choices." It is making me cranky. It is making me pine for a margarita. A margarita, some really good nachos, and the bliss of a sleeping child.

*heavy sigh*

Computer trouble

Yes. I've been having it. And I'm not happy about it.

So my apologies for my absence.

I'm working on fixing it.

But right now, I really want to take a nap.

Gray Matter

It's one of those mornings. Rained all night so it's wet and dark outside even though the sun theoretically rose a couple of hours ago.

Kinda matches my mood.

All I really need is a hot shower and for the coffee to kick in. Then I'll be good to go. And my mood will probably pick up when the sun comes out a little later.

At least it's supposed to, according to weather.com. The sun coming out, I mean. No guarantees on my mood.

The forecast is one of those things I never learn from. From which I never learn. (English is weird, isn't it?) Even though I know I can't count on it, I remain eternally hopeful that: the sun appear; we'll get that rain; tomorrow will be a snow day... I could break into song right now. But the advil hasn't kicked in either, so I won't.

Meanwhile, it's barely breakfast for some people and my day is already shot with appointments and obligations. And yet another trip to the grocery store. How does that happen? Will someone please tell me?

The future waits for no one. Especially the unwashed masses with too much to do. I'm off to cleanse my mood. And maybe, if I'm standing up, the coffee will circulate more quickly.

Liberation

Sometimes, without planning or foresight, life gets in the way. Before you know it a week or a month has passed.

This past week, it was less about life getting in the way, and more about me having a life.

I had a life these past few days. It's been wonderful. I went to the city and attended a reading of a new play authored by a good friend. The play was engaging and theatrical, and I can't wait to see it produced. I got to visit with friends, eat with friends, drink with friends, shop with friends, and try to avoid the radar of a roving mariachi player. I'd forgotten what it was like to go out, have a cocktail, chat, browse a really big bookstore, and not feel the pressure of needing to get home.

I've also been tapping into my own rusty creativity, singing with my cousin who is becoming my musical partner-in-crime. And she feeds me too. Really well.

It is liberating.

Votes for women!