Mud is very nice to feel
All squishy-squash between the toes!
I’d rather wade in wiggly mud
Than smell a yellow rose.
Nobody else but the rosebush knows
How nice mud feels
Between the toes.
- Polly Chase Boyden
I’m in trouble again. Remember when I started training for Tough Mudder in the Fall. That fell through when the girls I was exercising with once a week, decided they didn’t want to continue. In fairness to them, they all have little people at home and it was hard for some of them to stay motivated. It’s not easy to do push-ups with a screaming child sitting on your head, or skip rope with a child glued to your upper thigh.
Tough Mudder came and went, but starting today, I am “training” (a.k.a. hopelessly farting around trying to get in shape by myself) for a Mud Run…I haven’t actually registered yet. And if when I do, I’m joining a team of regular Exercisers with a trainer and everything, and I have high expectations of humiliation, followed by weeks of self-loathing and ibuprofen! Wish me luck!
James Agee wrote, “How far we all come. How far we all come away from ourselves. So far, so much between, you can never go home again. You can go home, it’s good to go home, but you never really get all the way home again in your life”…but that may not always be completely true compliments of google maps! The other day, Hubby noticed that his sister had posted her hometown as Geashill, Offaly, Ireland…and he went looking. What were the chances that he’d be able to find his childhood home 43 years after immigrating to Canada? Apparently, with google maps, his chances were good!
Next, Hubby talked to his Mom to confirm what he thought was the house, was indeed the house! Then he sent an email to his Dad “I was just on http://www.maps.google.com looking through their satellite view. I ran across this strange looking place. Happy Father’s Day!!!” and the link to the house…
The next day, Hubby’s Dad responded: “Hi Ron, thanks for the best wishes and the pictures. After looking at them I had no idea where they were from, and I planned to tell you that I built a shed very similar to that. It was while talking to your mother this morning that I realised that the pictures were of Ballydownan (where Hubby was raised). Brings back lots of memories”.
We both had a good laugh. Hubby may not always have the best memory, but it turns out his memory is a little better than his father’s memory…for now…
Photos courtesy of: maps.google.ca
Yes! Yes! Yes! I wanted to scream it out while experiencing a deliciously intense and delirious moment of ecstasy! Not only were my curves being hugged, but the button was done up…and I was comfortable!
I had a decision to make; one that I knew would inevitably end in tears. I seriously did not expect this decision to end in tears of joy. The dilemma: Time is running out before the end of school, so do I go shopping for jeans or bras? I’ve lost enough weight (of course I’m bragging! I worked hard for it…well…sort of…) that my jeans and skirts do not fit! In December, I researched how to find the right style of jeans for my shape, but only found it more discouraging! In October, I wrote about the world’s heaviest jeans, but I’m no masochist (and they’re unjustifiably expensive). So I have put it off and worn jeans that ” bag and sag, and drag me down behind”. But I’m also 4 months overdue for my annual humiliation bra fitting…
Jeans it is! This time my straining efforts paid off, but not before trying on 4 different pairs of jeans (and 2 dresses that really looked better on the hangar). I was ready to walk out and cheat with Henry (O Henry), when I dared myself to try just One. More. Pair. in a size I am pretty sure I haven’t worn since the late 1980′s. I know what you are thinking…I was thinking it too…the emotional and physical strain has become too much for me. I am aiming for “a bridge too far”. This last pair could be like that bomb in the Dam Busters, hitting the mark with such force that I will explode in a torrent of uncontrollable hysteria, forcing the staff at Old Navy to call in the Funny Farm.
To make a long story short, check out the tag.
Check it out again. I promise: the label on the jeans matches this tag, and the sticker tag that ran down the leg. I wore them yesterday, and I wanted to leave on the sticker tag that ran down the leg so that passers-by would notice and point it out to me. Then I could play dumb and remove it with a flourish like Vanna White!
Believe me! I am not wasting away – there’s still plenty of me left. But I’m suddenly finding myself with a renewed sense of urgency to avoid O Henry’s temptations so I can take these jeans new places! I’ll even write the date on this tag and laminate it for posterity, and put it in a place of honour…probably the fridge with the Grade 1 artwork and Hubby’s fridge magnet collection…and for the next few washes I will (internally) scream out: “Yes! Yes! Yes!” (I’m not ready for the Funny Farm just yet)!
p.s. I was tempted to post a picture of me in my new jeans, but it’s really hard to take a flattering picture of yourself! Happy Weekend!
That’s what I did last night…I played with the Pickle Heads! The Pickle Heads are the Awana youth band at our church and they will be leading music in the first Sunday morning service led by all the kids and youth. Last night was the first practice, and for that Sunday, I am the Pickle Head Pianist. I am really excited for them and really excited to be part of it.
It went pretty well…I only channeled my Grandmother once or twice. I caught myself thinking, during the break, “do they have to play that loud?” and “does he only know that one song?” I rejected the thoughts immediately – that kind of thinking makes me feel “old”!
After rehearsal, we did a team building exercise – we played a board game. That’s when I really started to feel old. First, we sat on the floor, and I seriously wondered if I’d ever be able to get up. We played the game, Apples to Apples. Each player has 7 red cards containing nouns, names of famous people, fictional characters, etc. One player chooses a green card with an adjective – some we had last night were manly, mischievous, and unusual. The other players must choose a card from their hand that they feel best fits the word on the green card, and lay it down, upside down. The player with the green card shows the red cards and chooses the one that they think best suits the word on the green card. The person who collects the most green cards wins the game. Some of these guys didn’t know a lot of the “famous people” – like Katherine Hepburn, Rosie O’Donnell or Whoopi Goldberg. Ok, not exactly super current pop icons, but…really? I understood when they didn’t recognize names like Dr. Kavorkian or Confucius. I even understood when they didn’t know about the movie, Casablanca. Most teenagers don’t watch black and white movies from 1942.
I also realized I don’t think like they do any more (did I ever?). For example:
|Word||My Card||Winning Card|
|Unusual||National Enquirer (they didn’t know what that was either)||High school bathroom|
|Manly||Darth Vader||The Little Mermaid|
Obviously, I didn’t get any cards. What I did get was another sampling of how it feels to be “old”…So this “old” Pickle headed home at 9:00 o’clock and ate a bowl of cereal before putting the Grandma in my head, to bed!
It’s not the greatest song in the world (by any stretch of the imagination) but it kept this girl moving…especially when she’s standing on a chair with a sponge and a scraper. There are all-girl construction companies, and I think it’s fantastic, but this big-bottomed girl lacks the brains and the brawn to do much beyond the basics, like painting and plastering…
It didn’t take long before I was getting tired, standing on a chair and stretched on my toes, sponging and scraping off my “bad fruit” wallpaper border. Then I had a revelation – I could stand on the kitchen counter, and since I’m under-tall, my hair barely touched the ceiling. Maybe that’s why the line from Alanis Morisette’s “One Hand in My Pocket“, which was playing on the radio at the time, struck me – “I’m short but I’m healthy”. It made me laugh out loud. I was also straddling a pile of dirty dishes and it would have been easier to work if I had washed and put them away first. However, I’d rather have the extra fiber (the little bits of wallpaper) on the dirty dishes rather than on the clean. After 45 minutes, my dishes were washed and I had stripped as much wallpaper as I could stand, but I really need a ladder.
Phase 2 was to remove the trim in the kitchen, the same trim that I had so painstakingly painted with a tiny brush and a toothpick. Apparently it was both nailed and glued to the wall, making its removal a brawny challenge. I only hugged one wall this time, the same one as Monday, but this time it wasn’t to hide from someone at the door. The longest piece of trim ran behind my massive teak cupboard. I can’t move this thing even when it’s completely empty. I succeeded in pulling out the trim, but not before working up a sweat! Some pliers and a hammer made quick work of all of the remaining nails, but one. That last nail did not want to “go gentle into that good night” and I raged, raged against it. I have several nasty nail holes to show who is boss, but in the words of Starship, Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us [ME] Now!
After all that tip-toe stretching, this Fat Bottomed Girl is feeling it today.
I may have made a mistake. I’ve been feeling restless these days and finding it hard to concentrate on what needs to be done, or to get motivated enough to find something on which to concentrate. So after meandering aimlessly in the house after lunch yesterday, I started a big project in my kitchen.
I was very proud of the walls in my tiny 1960′s kitchen because I painted them myself one very hot summer. It required painting a little bit every evening after a full day of work. I also spent hours holding my breath, hunched up in front of the television, painting the wooden trim engraved with ivy and vines with a small paintbrush and a toothpick. My Mom also helped me put up my fruit border. I loved the colour…once upon a time. It was 9 years! I had planned to sand and paint the cupboard doors the following Summer, but I was pregnant with Little Guy and not painting anything!
So I started with something, well, mostly simple. Someone knocked on the front door in that irritating, overly familiar “Shave & a Haircut – 6 pence” knock while I was standing on the microwave cart tearing down the bad fruit. Even though the light was on in the kitchen, and the television was on in the other room, I was hidden so I hugged the wall and prayed for whoever was at the door to leave their calling card and move on! It wasn’t until I was stretching high on my toes and poking at the paper in the corner over the fridge, with a fork, when I heard a truck roar down the street. That was about 5 minutes after the irritating knock and I realized it had probably been the courier at the door with my package.
In less than an hour, all that remained was a layer of paper stuck fast to the wall (and the memory of what the top of my fridge looks like – yikes)! So it seems I’ll be spending more time on my toes, on the chair, with a sponge and a scraper, and maybe even a fork (it never hurts to improvise). Hubby hasn’t noticed yet…but the bad fruit is gone.
Last weekend, Big Guy came home with some laundry. But his choice of transport for this stinky pile of towels and clothing was this:
At first glance, you probably chuckled or, like me, rolled your eyes and sighed…
But if you think about it, a garbage can and a laundry basket are both vessels used to contain something. The only difference is what you choose to contain (except for maybe the smell…) At least it was brand new and clean?
Big Guy was able to bring down a lot of dirty laundry and this Mama got it all “de-funked” for him…the hard part was figuring out how to fold clean laundry to put it back in…I’m very thankful he made the car trip down without losing consciousness!! I sent him home with his can of clean clothes, buckled into the front seat. Wish I’d had my camera then!