Vit D, Brain Freeze and Monkeys

July 12, 2009

It’s Friday morning and I am holding my prescription bottle, examining the label and gazing at the three remaining greenish 50,000iu vitamin D capsules inside. I am supposed to ingest one this morning, like I do every Friday morning to keep my vitamin D level up. But I’m not going to. A 50,000IU single dose of a fat-soluble vitamin sounds toxic; it has always sounded toxic, ever since I began dutifully ingesting them every Friday beginning in January, because my doctor prescribed it. I told him at the time the dose sounded toxic. He declared it the standard prescribed dose for patients deficient in vitamin D. So I’ve taken my pill, faithfully, every Friday. But, not today. I’m not taking it today.

And I’m totally done buying bottled water. Turns out, any water can be bottled; there are no regulations on it. So you’d better hope that the bottled water you are drinking is tap water, since tap water is at least regulated and tested for contaminants. I’ve heard this before about bottled water, but I’m making a stand today. Just like the folks in Bundanoon, Australia, where the residents have recently voted to ban the sale of bottled water: 350 to 1.

I’m totally done with ‘diets’ too. Because I know what that word does to me. Uttering “I’m” and “diet” in the same sentence jolts me directly into pig out mode, wolfing down whole bags of cookies, or losing track of my right hand only to find it buried in the ice cream. Brain freezes are unrecognizable to me when I’m in this state.

I have a close friend trying to lose weight. She tells me she’s on a low-carb, low fat, and low calorie diet. Now that should do the trick! Because, hey! – they are all bad. Carbs are bad because they taste good and trigger that part of your brain that remembers the word ‘fun.’ Fats are bad because they taste good, trigger your brain and clog your arteries. Carbs and fats are both bad because they contain calories.

Calories are bad because they shorten your life. That’s right. Researchers have proved this after a 20-year study with monkeys. The result: those monkeys subjected to what the average human would consider near starvation, lived the longest. To quote an article about this monkey study that appeared in our local paper:

“A 20-year study found cutting calories by almost a third slowed their aging and fended off death” … “What about those other primates, humans? Nobody knows yet whether people in a world better known for pigging out could stand the deprivation long enough to make a difference, much less how it would affect our more complex bodies…” So we are too complex to stop ourselves from pigging out and so we’ll never know if we’re like monkeys?

Like I said, in my pigging out state, I don’t recognize brain freeze.

If humans are so into pigging out, then why do we need a gazillion supplements? I’ve been washing down fistfuls of pills with my morning coffee for years now, although somewhere I’ve picked up the warning, “vitamins may be useless to improve health and may even be bad for you…” Huh?… But hey, they are good for the economy! Think of all the people who have gotten rich selling supplements and bottled water – all in the name of increasing longevity and improved health. I think of my 96-yr-old mother-in-law. She has NEVER taken supplements. In her old age she takes a daily baby aspirin to thin her blood and a water pill to regulate her blood pressure.

Maybe as part of the stimulus package we could bottle Idaho air and ship it to California. Someone could get filthy rich while reducing the mounds of empty bottles in the landfills.

Should I take the weekly 50,000IU vitamin D supplement prescribed by my doctor? My vit D level was rechecked in April after I took the supplement for three months. It was up in the normal range. It made sense, with summer coming, to get off the pills, get out in the sun and let my skin manufacture my vitamin D.

But, Nooooooo! My doctor advised me: “Stay out of the sun, or use sunscreen, and continue taking the 50,000IU synthetic vitamin D.”

What is he, some kind of monkey? Does this make any earthly sense? How is it that we humans have totally convinced ourselves that sun is bad and taking a 50,000IU supplement of synthetic vit D is good? That bottled water is preferable to tap water? So a bunch of folks smarter than the rest of us can laugh themselves all the way to the bank getting rich selling sunscreen, bottled water and supplements?

I haven’t eaten yet today. I’m too confused. I was thinking about having soft boiled eggs on toast but my human brain knows the eggs are high in cholesterol, the butter is high in fat, and the bread, well, you know, is loaded with those horrible carbs. Maybe I should channel those starved monkeys in that study. Maybe I should pretend I have a monkey brain and purge my thinking of all my ‘knowledge’ of food, diets and supplements. And go out on our deck and lay in the noon summer sun without sunscreen, because it just feels good.

And take some aspirin for my headache.

Can you Cheat the ‘Cheat Death’ Scale?

June 30, 2009

On the last page of the June 22 issue of Newsweek Magazine under ‘Back Story’ there is an interesting collection of statistics presented under the title, “Can You Cheat Death?” It rates life style choices and other factors’ influence on your ‘life expectancy’ on a scale of +10 to -15 years. For example, the very first entry states that if “You have a blood relative who has lived to be 95 or older” – well – Good Job! – because that’s worth an automatic ‘+10′ – ten years added to your probable life expectancy. My husband achieves that one. His mother is 96 and still kills at Scrabble, which, by the way, makes her a living testament to the second entry: “You regularly play puzzles like Scrabble or Sudoku.”: +5 years. Does that mean she’s going to live to 101?

Continuing with this “Cheat Death’ scale, here’s the third entry: “You’re a married man”: +5 years. Wow! Hey guys, marriage adds five years to your life expectancy! – a fine, deserving testament to all the good, hard-working women of this world! I mentioned this encouraging note to my husband, lauding the praises of my presence in his life. His reply: “Yeah, well, life just seems longer when you’re married. It really isn’t.” What a killjoy he is.

Well anyway, here we go, further down the scale: “You’re a married woman.”: +0 years. What? A big ‘Zero!’ – ‘Nada!’ – ‘Zilcho!’ increase in life expectancy if you’re a married woman? I’m assuming they mean heterosexual marriage here. That statistic is surprising, given, by itself, the increased amount of exercise a married woman can get just cleaning up after the average man. There actually is nothing on this chart about exercise. Probably because too much exercise can kill you, or drive you to an early death, or even make you want to die just to get out of exercising. But in any case, ‘marriage’ wasn’t defined in this chart, either. What if you are a woman, say, living in Massachusetts or somewhere, married to another woman – what with women being so good and so pro-life-extending, your union could likely increase your life expectancy by ten years. Two grown, good, hard-working women united in marriage, managing the household … Yeah!

One explanation as to why a woman married to a man gains ZERO extra time in regards to life expectancy might be because the average man is completely untrainable when it comes to doing laundry. Even if he does mean well. Take my husband, for instance. He knows full well how I want the laundry done since I have spared no opportunities to instruct him – like every time a dark purple stain ends up plastered to the front of my white t-shirt or white lint gets plastered all over my favorite black cotton-ribbed sweater. “SORT THE LAUNDRY! – Darks with darks, mediums with mediums, whites with lights, leave the DELICATES! and WASH TOWELS SEPARATELY!” I tell him all this in the nicest tone I can muster (deep breathing helps) ABOUT 300 TIMES, I bet, in our 28 years of marriage.

Left alone in the laundry room without supervision, however, and my husband’s infinite wisdom trumps my instructions. His mission: “Make the dirty clothes disappear.” You see, he doesn’t like ‘clutter’ and by scooping the whole pile up and tossing it into the washer he does make the clutter in the laundry basket disappear. What’s the point of loading up the washer with ‘whites,’ leaving five dark, smelly, dirty socks (there’s always an odd number) lurking in the laundry basket to assault your senses as you enter the house through the back door? Ugggh! So yeah, the laundry room looks great when I get home. “Thanks honey, now would you please make the clean clothes disappear so I don’t have to see the ruined whites or my black knee socks, now afflicted with a seemingly serious case of impregnated nits or some such foul thing contracted from the WHITE TOWELS!”

Also, our washer and dryer sit in front of double windows overlooking our back deck. My pet peeve is – I don’t like stuff placed on interior window sills – clutter! – on display in full view to the outside world. For example, ME, TRYING to relax in my chair on the deck, while looking through the laundry room window at the box of laundry soap and squirt bottle of ‘Shout,’ sitting there all cockeyed on the interior sill. I don’t like STUFF on window sills, PERIOD. My husband’s pet peeve, HE doesn’t like STUFF sitting on the dryer – like the box of laundry soap and the Shout. HE likes the washer and dryer surfaces clear of everything. So … he props the laundry soap and Shout on the window sill. When I pass through the laundry room and see them there – why of course I snatch them off the window and back onto the dryer – BECAUSE I DON’T LIKE STUFF PROPPED IN THE WINDOW! We have done this at least 500 times since moving into this house 9 years ago. Hey, who’s right here? I think I am!

We should both live five extra years because we regularly play each other at Scrabble. Except, my husband, in his unbridled ruthlessness, kicks my butt nine games out of ten and it makes me sore, losing so much. Stressful! Between that and the laundry debacle I might just lose five years life expectancy – because – to quote the scale: “You frequently feel stressed out”: -5 years.

But then being married to my 98-per-cent-wonderful (except when left unsupervised in the laundry room or playing Scrabble) husband keeps me safe from engaging in unprotected sex with multiple partners – which, according to the scale – if I did engage in unprotected sex with multiple partners then it would knock seven years off my life expectancy.

I guess I won’t start using IV drugs at this juncture of my life, either, since I see that would decrease my life expectancy by 15 years. That would maybe mean that if I started tomorrow I could be dead by the next day, given my age now.

… Unless we continue with Scrabble and my hubby ends up, for some unforeseen reason, taking over completely on the laundry. Then I might end up shooting myself up, dealing with the stress. Well, maybe I should opt, instead, for flossing my teeth non-stop. Because I see from the “Cheat Death” scale that daily flossing increases life expectancy: +2 years. I could make a life style change and start flossing, say, 20 times a day, just for good measure and maybe some extra added years. Cheat the ‘Cheat Death’ scale. I’ll be sure to leave the used floss on the dryer. You know, just for fun. Heck, why not try, at least, to have a little fun while I’m still alive? After all, even when you think the laundry is done, there’s always more dirty clothes.

‘Decompression over lawn mower hard work’

June 19, 2009

“How does decompression handle work on lawn mower” – I spotted this today under ‘Top Searches’ in the wordpress site admin section of my blog, exclusively for my viewing, I guess.  Hmmm.  What was I supposed to do with this information? What in the world does this phrase mean and why does it comprise a ‘top search?’  I typed the words in as a search to see if the phrase would bring up my blog. But it only brought up numerous <a href="“>lawn mower sites. When you click on this and scroll to the bottom of the page you will also see a site: “New Tanaka chainsaw features automatic decompression.” Now that could prove handy as a stress-buster!

Getting back to the initial question, I can tell you how my decompression handles work on lawn mowers: badly. It does work better if I decompress both before and after I have to deal with the mower. Pushing it, for one thing. That is backbreaking work, since the self-propulsion on the wheels doesn’t work. That feature went kaput last fall, which is what landed the mower in our basement, where my husband was determined to fix it (it being November by now and way too cold to work on it in the garage). He took the mower all apart, ordered new parts for the wheels, put it all back together and zing!started it up! (Yes, down in the basement). The wheels were propelling themselves so well that they dragged the mower instantly to a 5×7′ rug, where the blade, just freshly sharpened, sliced a big hole in it and then lodged itself in a corner of the rug, stalling the engine. I, in the meantime, flew down the stairs to investigate the engine noise, which I knew had to be related to something much more serious than, say, the water heater going out or something. What the hell was going on in the basement and where is my husband? – were questions I was asking as I jetted to the basement. The mower was quietly at rest when I got there and I proceeded to help my hubby un-impale the mower blade from the rug.

He knew right then and there he had me where he wanted me. Because next, my husband looked at me straight on and inquired as to whether I would be willing to help him get the now perfectly fine mower up the thirteen stairs from the basement to the garage (where it would be ready to go and mow come spring!). Well he obviously couldn’t accomplish this Herculean feat by himself! So of course I agreed to get on the upside ‘handle’ end of the mower and pull on it to help him (who was engine side, pushing) get the mower out of the basement. (I pick up right here on this story in about the seventh paragraph of my ‘Ping Pong vs. the Lawnmower’ Blog posted in March – which was written in connection to the 14 or so sessions of physical therapy I ended up getting to fix my back …)

“How does decompression handle work on lawn mower” Well, luckily I haven’t had much to do with the lawn mower since we got it up out of the basement. My hubby stoicly fired it up for it’s maiden spring mow of 2009 and it worked beautifully. Just that once. The next time he fired it up, he had to push with dynamo strength to keep it moving. The self-propulsion had gone out again. But he had worked so hard – had gotten the mower into the basement and succeeded in fixing it himself! We had dragged it up the thirteen stairs to get it back out of the basement! I subsequently went through 14 physical therapy treatments to fix my back! There was just no way he was not using that mower! So every five days he’s out there mowing our grass with that thing, wedging the handle against his belly, pushing with his body weight to propel the mower, digging in his toes. He doesn’t expect me to do it and I don’t ask. I have suggested we give up on the thing and purchase, say, a riding mower. Then I would mow for sure. And if the thing crapped out we could just roll it down the stairs into the basement for my hubby to fix it and then drive it back up the stairs to get it back out again.

In the meantime I have to decompress over the fretfulness and strain I experience just watching him mow the front and back lawns. But I guess that beats decompressing over me having to do it.

‘Technology – Menoprodigy’

June 15, 2009

It’s pretty funny that I have an i-phone.  I am way over my head with it (surprise! surprise!) – I mostly try to ignore all those colorful icons on the i-phone screen that could be connected to programs, links and  technology – all accessible with a mere touch of a finger!

“What programs, links and technology?” that’s what I say.  Those things only complicate my life.  The only reason I got an i-phone is because my husband got an i-phone.  We were both perfectly happy with our old phones but our cellular company was bought out by AT&T and we were forced (and reaching the deadline) to get new phones. We were at the AT&T store, and my husband started fiddling with an i-phone, and a young, perky female sales associate was on him with her sales pitch like a starving fly to dried jelly.  I saw the writing on the wall, a vision if you will, right there on the spot:  Of me  sitting with him at the hearth at home, craning my neck, watching him play with his i-phone –  checking  on the current weather in London, typing out witty texts to our sons on his i-phone keyboard (with its keyboard sound effects), doing instant  internet fact searches to back up his conversation, listening to his favorite i-tunes …  I … wasn’t having it.  With two i-phones we can have concurrent internet searches and I’ve even beat him to the facts a couple of times.  Well, one time.   I totally text our sons like never before (okay, maybe ten times by now) and I have nearly a hundred photos stored on my phone, compared to his <10.  So there!  He does lots of other stuff quite comfortably with his phone, about which, I am clueless.

We could download God-knows-how-many i-tunes off the, uh, i-tunes website?  I don’t know.  I’m not in a big hurry to know.  I like my CD’s.  I still have two boxes of cassette tapes I cherish by fabulous artists like Supertramp and Carly Simon.  I immediately toss dept. store fliers advertising Wii’s and  i-pods and …  i-pod docking stations (docking stationsShouldn’t those be confined to outer  space?)  I still have much to learn about my i-phone, to ‘simplify’ and enhance my life.  Yeah, right.

Okay so I know I should try to learn, be willing to learn, how to better use more technology. For my sake. For my kids’ sake. For society’s sake.  So I can still function (in my home?) and communicate with the outside world in twenty years (ten years?… five years?).   So I don’t evolve  into a  frightened, disconnected, reclusive, geriatric, anti-techno-frustrate-stage-four crazy person.  (Who, Me?)

Wow! That’s  not a pretty picture!  Well, exploring my i-phone is a start. I’ve succeeded in taking my first picture of myself with my i-phone, and yes, it was a fiasco:

the budding anti-techno frustrate

the budding anti-techno frustrate

I’d better go now and throw out our TV with the bunny ears.

Have Camera, Will (Not?) Shoot Foot.

June 9, 2009

It happened in the back seat of our rental car during our trip to Phoenix in April: I accidentally activated the camera function  on my new i-phone and, poof! – I took a picture!  Then  I took a bunch more.  I can store them on the phone or delete any photo – it gets sucked off the screen and into the trash by simply touching the trashcan icon in the lower right corner. Although once you suck a photo into oblivion, I don’t think you can unsuck it, which, for me, sucks – and which might explain why I now have over 70 photos stored on my phone.  I’m rather attached to them. This also explains the profuse addition of photos to my blog (novel idea- geez, why hasn’t anybody else thought of this?).  And I have to admit, it’s down right painful now to view my  pre-mid-April picture-less blogs, all of them a sea of words, words, words!  Photos are the bomb!  Er, what I mean to say is, some of my photos might classify as bombs.

You figure it out

You figure it out

Take this one for instance.  I was aiming to shoot scenery out my passenger window as it flew by (no, not the window, the scenery).  I had the camera ready to roll and … poof! Well, I missed my foot.  What you see here in focus is the dash of our rental car.  The rest of it is up to artistic interpretation.   This was like, my fifth or sixth photo and I was really flying with this i-phone photography, or so I thought.

Below you will see a more successful attempt at my capturing the sunset, um, over some hills or something, not sure.  I’m very good at math, so I calculated  the upcoming sign rushing toward us at 75 mph vs. its distance away, over time,  so as to push that camera button at precisely the right moment, to capture this photo:

What were the odds?

What were the odds?

I don’t know why I don’t have photos of the magnificent red rock cliffs of Sedona, or of  Indian ruins we visited. These photos  pretty much comprise the scope of my Phoenix shoot.

And I’m thinking it’s time for me to get a photo of myself on my blog.  I would feel real comfortable with the look of my High School senior portrait, but since I graduated from High School  in 1971, guess I should opt for one a tad more recent.  I haven’t tried taking a picture of myself with my phone – admittedly,  that sounds  like a fiasco.  Although I feel confident that I could take a pretty decent photo of my foot.

Memorial Day

May 25, 2009
Happy Memorial Day!

Happy Memorial Day!

Happy Memorial Day!   This morning I took a picture of the front of our house with our flag and the flowering plum and late-blooming tulips.  Look at that sky!  Okay so I take back all those horrible things I’ve been saying about Idaho weather.  It is absolutely exquisite today – high in the lower 70’s.  Too nice to be inside at the computer writing on my blog. So this entry is going to be quick!

The flowering crab!I am also repenting of my ye-of-little-faith behavior concerning our hitherto not flowering, flowering crab – as you can see it …  is flowering!  I had to hurry and photograph it in full bloom before the wind kicks up and blows the blossoms to smithereens.  Oops! There I go again.  I love the wind!  Well not really but I heard someone exclaim that last week during one of our incessant 25-mph-wind days.  That day pretty much made history of our tulips.   Yesterday I planted a few little pinks and zinnias amongst the headless tulips in our back center garden.

Memorial Day!  I have to run to the grocery store yet if we are going to have a picnic.  I’m trying to talk my hubby into going for a drive and just pulling off somewhere to grab dinner.  But actually I think he is contemplating mowing the lawn.

We did visit the cemetery and place flowers on my mom’s and dad’s graves.  And I took a long moment  to feel happy to be alive, living in America.  And to be grateful for all the men and women who lived before me who built and defended this great country –  this wondrous land of diversity, opportunity, and freedom.

Progress!

May 15, 2009
May 14, 2009

May 14, 2009

This was never intended to be a gardening blog but I have to show the latest improvements to our back yard.  OUT with the scrappy, weedy, garden borders, I say, and IN with landscape curbing! We simply hired it done and now we can enjoy it – all 330 feet of it  (okay so we got a little carried away). The job expanded from framing our tree by the deck to framing all our gardens, which, in a serious execution of project creep, ended up encompassing  the entire perimeter of our back yard.  See the curbing running  along the back lilac hedge  (which should be blooming in a couple of weeks, as should the, uh, infamous flowering crab in the center garden).  It just goes to show if you put forth some effort – or, in this case,  exhorbitant sums of money – into improving things, then you will likely see some results.  Our dog Rudy is thrilled with it – bounding merrily after squirrels and such over the curbing and through the gardens –  and so is our gray cat, Jerry (also in this picture – behind the right clump of tulips in the center garden – acting invisible whilst eying  a pair of robins pecking at the grass just a few yards away).

Where did all the tulips go?

Where did all the tulips go?

Not to get too huffy-puffy about the recent vast improvement to our back yard, as now you see our tulips  along the north  (street view) side of our garage.  These tulips have bloomed faithfully every year in vibrant, healthy bunches  until, uh,  this year, where most of them are now lying limp along the ground in lifeless clumps. I guess they just wore out, and I can’t blame them, couldn’t stand up against another Idaho spring with it’s incessant snow, cold and 54-mph winds (of 3 days ago,  down to 25 mph by yesterday, but so far calm and sunny today, one can only hope!).   The tulips may have just decided they’ve been wind-whipped for the last time.  I’m not going to analyze it or take it personally, I guess come fall I can dig them up and plant some more.  Or not.  The poor things.

Progress! That’s what I’m happy with. And if that ‘flowering crab’ ever flowers I will consider that a miracle.

‘The Green Yellow Grass of Home’

May 4, 2009
May 3, 2009

May 3, 2009

The blizzard of last Sunday, of course, was completely gone the next day – but that didn’t stop me from sneering out the kitchen window all scrunchy- faced  in complete disdain over our weather.  Here’s a photo taken today of  the same snowy backyard scene posted on my blog a week ago. Look how marvelously lush and green our grass is!  Yes!  Great! Uh,  yeah, except what’s with those yellow patches in the lawn? The yellow looks a bit like patches of sunshine, no?  HECK NO!! It’s raining in this picture. The yellow patches are … yellow patches! Well, I’m not going  to stress over it.  We have yet another fascinating yard/garden mystery to solve! Or not. What’s a few yellow spots?  Fungus? Dog pee damage?  Different grass?    Okay, so it turns out –  like most every thing else in life – you have to apply yourself diligently,  WORK at it, to achieve a half-way-decent-looking lawn.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Sunday, April 26, 2009

May 3, 2009

May 3, 2009

Here’s a closer look in the back yard at our center  garden after that blizzard a week ago.   Check out the tulips! The poor things about froze to death. The spindly tree in the center is our infamous flowering (not)  crab tree not to be confused with the aforementioned crabgrass still proliferating throughout the garden underneath all that snow.  I bought a hoe to dig it out, but haven’t actually used it yet.

Next we have the picture of that same back garden taken today- one week later!  Check out those hardy tulips now!  There are some grape hyacinths poking up in there too.  The ground covers are taking off.  The flowering crab tree, is, uh, sprouting leaves.   I will surely take pictures of it when it blooms, if indeed this tree we planted last fall is a flowering crab.

Notice the perky patches of yellow grass along our fence … Oh, and there’s our dog, Rudy, in the picture – the furry adorable little culprit, my husband suspects, likely responsible for the yellow patches.  Awwww! Yellow pee-pee spots from our precious little poodle?  Naw!  I’m betting it’s … fungus!  I’ll just run this photo, along with a yellow grass sample, to one of the local greenhouses to confirm my suspicion –  return home with the perfect anti-fungal treatment for the grass, and leave a note for my hubby:  “Darling, I was right.  The dog is innocent. The anti-fungal treatment for the yard that goes in your sprayer is in the trunk of my car.”  How much work can it be, armed with the latest chemicals, to rid our lawn of those yellow spots?  Well, I can just hear my husband’s response:   “Just replace the whole lawn with rocks.” – (This vision being freshly inspired by our recent trip to Phoenix, where most yards are filled with rocks and local species of cacti, requiring no upkeep whatsoever.)

May 3, 2009

May 3, 2009

And here we have the mess around our large tree by the deck (surrounded by yellow patches, you can see). I think it would be nice to achieve some kind of finished look here- frame the edges of the dirt with cement bricks or something – which should be easy enough – you see them in yards everywhere. I’ve measured the area –  it’s about a square yard.  I am picturing those cement bricks made just for this purpose, framing the area with a smooth, rounded cement border (with no grass bursting out through loose seams!).  Or not.  Could just dig that dandelion out, for starters. And then, just continue  imagining what the area around the tree could look like, for the next five years, like I’ve been doing for the past five years.  By then we will likely have moved into a condo.

a footnote…

April 29, 2009

I had a discussion with my husband last night about my last blog entry.  It’s been hard on him, the unyielding expectations I have of him to read and comment on my blog, but, too bad!  Isn’t it his duty as my husband to read my blog!  If only he reads it and responds kindly then I might keep it going.  No pressure here!

So I forward him the link after each new entry, followed by a verbal cue – “Hey, honey, I’ve made another blog entry!”  And then I wait –  sit, chatting at the hearth with him through the evenings,  extending bedtime, waiting for him to say something about my latest blog …  Good job, wife!  Keep writing! It’s great that you are writing your blog, ignoring dinner! (etc.)  Well, he’s my resident critic, right?  Shouldn’t he be?

So last night he was out with it:  “I am glad that you are writing, but I don’t want to be your critic.  I don’t want to tell you what I think of your blog, whether it’s good or not, or how to make it better” … “I did read your latest entry.”

“And … ?  I responded with expectant eyes.

“Well, some of it’s good.”  (Some?)  “… Okay so that word you used, ‘sprinter,’ quoting your brother, to describe our season now – I was there when he said it, and you got it wrong.”  (What?) … “The word isn’t  ‘sprinter,’  he continued.  ” It is ‘spwinter.’  The season we have here is  ‘spwinter!’  Spring in Idaho is just like winter, and ‘spwinter’ captures it, and that’s what your brother calls it. ”

My husband continued, “The term, ‘sprinter,’  leaves the reader confused. You got the wrong word there and that’s the most remarkable thing about your last blog  entry.” (Ouch!)

I slept on it.  Crap! He’s right!  ‘Sprinter’ is the word for one who sprints.  We are certainly not sprinting into spring or summer.  (Unless we sprinted through three seasons in the four warm days we had and are now back to winter.  Ugh!)   Great.  Well, it’s just a wrong word, and it won’t do!  So what do I do?  Go back and change it  in my blogs?  Can’t do it!  Have to go forward! (Must spend time right now explaining it in this blog and, aw, too bad.  Now there’s no time left to handle any responsibilities around the house –  cleaning the toilets, for starters, would have been a good thing – Darn it!)

Well anyway, just wanted to make that  correction:  The season is ‘spwinter.’  Now I can jet off into my day.  With a new word:  GREEN! That last snow melted to uncover the greenest Idaho landscape I have ever seen.  It must have been green like this in previous Idaho late Aprils or Mays, but I don’t recall.  Daffodils, hyacinths, tulips (and dandelions!) are bursting out everywhere.  The trees are coming out too!  I believe it actually is spring!

My ‘Sprinter’ … Dream?

April 27, 2009
April 26, 2009

April 26, 2009

So we’re Baaaack home now from our trip to Arizona! With a ‘fresh’ start – Ah yes! This morning, our first morning back, we awoke to … well, see for yourself.  I shot this picture out our kitchen window – see the tulips ’round our flowering (not) crab tree!  My thoughts are swirling in my head like a spring blizzard – I’m in a ‘sprinter’ mind jumble – and my thought-censoring button is flashing as I write this blog : “Caution!” – “No!” Don’t say that!” But hey, we wouldn’t want my young, budding blog to die a silent, cold, ‘sprinter’ death right here, right now, would we?

Speaking of ‘budding’ and ‘dying a silent, cold,’sprinter’ death,’ I must say, transplanting those hyacinths in my garden two or so weeks ago turned out to be a bad idea. The hyacinths would have done fine growing up co-joined with the tulips compared to, uh, dead. They  look like, uh, well, accidents that should never have happened.   I hope they come up next year. But then if I hadn’t separated them from their Siamese tulip twins and transplanted them this year then next spring (sprinter) I would be like, “Oh, there’s those dumb hyatulips again!” Now I know: Transplant them after they have bloomed and waned,  if I must. Hyatulips, though, are harmless and likely lovable just the way they are – that’s what I know now. I am the one with the problem! How about pluck me out of the garden! Well, to be honest, I suspect my two-green-thumbed-gardening-dynamo neighbor would not be pleased with hyatulips sprouting in her garden.

We had a great trip to Phoenix, Arizona (which, even though we returned yesterday,  now feels like a distant memory).  We stayed in a condo at South Mountain in Tempe. I learned a few things too. First of all, concerning carry-on liquids, everyone who flies knows that you MUST CARRY NO MORE THAN 3.4 FLUID OUNCES AND ALL LIQUIDS MUST GO THROUGH SECURITY SEALED IN QUART (ONLY) ZIP LOCK BAGS. Which I followed. I faithfully laid all my quart ziplocked liquids in the security bins. I took off my shoes, and my watch and my belt and held up my pants so as to kindly not expose my aging butt crack while transporting myself through security. I also just had to bring my Paul Mitchell mousse on vacation to volumnize my fine hair, at least while I still have hair. And I figured I had about 3 ounces of mousse left in my 8-oz foaming can (tucked inside my suitcase) and so I was good. But NOOOOOOO. I learned (while standing barefoot still holding up my pants) from the security agent digging in my suitcase to confiscate my mousse, that they go by CONTAINER size, not by the amount of liquid.

I must make a plug for a restaurant in Tempe called Z-Tegas, on I-10 and Ray Road – where we had a delicious lunch. We took an overnight side trip up to Sedona and Flagstaff – stayed in Uptown Sedona with its exquisite red rocks and shopping and … more shopping!  Not much night life, unless you enjoy window shopping by lamplight, although The Cowboy Club in Uptown Sedona was a great dinner spot.

We hiked on South Mountain in Tempe- before 11 AM, as the temperatures rose to a hundred degrees.  A hundred degrees! We played several vicious games of scrabble with my husband’s 96-year-old mother who lives near Tempe and I vowed after my pathetic last-place scores to start unscrambling the daily jumbles in the newspaper (or the jumbles in my head, whichever comes first). We did other stuff that tourists do, and thoroughly enjoyed our week in the hot temperatures.  A week in the hot temperatures! Really?  Or was it all just a jumbled-up  ‘sprinter’ dream?