We All Have Our HI's and LO's!

 

I've been working out at the gym for 7 weeks now. I mean, I've been FAITHFUL! Spinning that elliptical machine like a hamster on one of those wheely-things. Pumping iron with the big boys in the weight room. Yep, it's me and a bunch of  twenty-something hunks, three times a week; listening to Ga-Ga and workin' those glutes and abs.  I can tell by the way those boys look at me they're in awe...or is it horror? Their jaws literally drop to the ground when I swagger in and grab my ten pound dumb-bells for a little bench pressing!

But I've got a few come-backs if ever one of them gives me any grief about my teensie-weenie weights.

I'll say, "Hey! I don't see YOUR grandma in here doing crunches. Bet she's sitting in her rocker crocheting doilies!"

 Or how about, "Why don't YOU come back here when YOU'RE fifty-eight. Let's see how firm YOUR butt is in forty years!" (Though I might have to concede that in forty years I'll be ninety-eight and probably won't be making it down to the gym to gloat over their middle-aged spread.)

I must say that I'm feeling pretty darned good, pretty strong. Except for one little thing...my digital scale. It just won't budge; no matter how many gallons of sweat I drip all over the benches in the weight room.

Early this week though, I thought we had a breakthrough. Got on the scales as usual, but instead of the normal one-hundred-something-or-another; there was a super-special digital message just for me. It said, " L0."

"Oh look, honey!" I called excitedly to hubby."The scales are telling me that my weight is LOW! All my hard work is finally paying off!"

"Yeah right! The batteries are low. We need to change them."

"No really, I believe this is a POSITIVE AFFIRMATION from the scale. It SEES how hard I've been working. How faithfully I've been eating my leafy-greens. It FEELS my pain. So instead of just giving me a number--I mean, ANY scale can throw a number on the screen. After all these years of morning chats, it knows me intimately--that I hate, hate, hate numbers. Especially high ones. So it's chosen to COMMUNICATE with me using my preferred medium--WORDS! How sweet is that!

"Whatever. I'll get some batteries tomorrow and fix the dang thing."

Tonight hubby calls to me from the bathroom. "I fixed the scale. It doesn't say L0 anymore."

"Great! Gee, I wonder what it'll say to me tomorrow morning? Maybe it'll say HI. As in HI there Debbie; aren't you looking FIT this morning!"

"Nope. It's gonna say, 'will one of you please step off?'"

Funny guy, my hubby. Lucky he's still standing. He better watch out. Just a few more months of lifting weights and he's in big trouble. When I get super-fit, if he makes another smart-aleck comment like that...I'm gonna pick him up and hurl him across the street like a discus!

Until then, I may have to dig the old batteries out of the trash and put them back into the scales.



pic is courtesy of Sangrea.net

***

 

She can't find her....meatballs?

I'm still pounding away at the keyboard, working on what Anne LaMott calls the "shi##y first draft." But I  stopped long enough to share an amusing conversation I had with an adorable, pudgy little round-faced first grader today...

Me: Hey Andrew, how was your weekend?

Andrew: Good.

Me: What'd you do?

Andrew: I don't member.

Me: I went out to dinner with my husband for my favorite food; spaghetti and meatballs. It was delicious.

Andrew: My mom don't got that. She keeps lookin' everywhere, but she can't find one.

Me (a bit perplexed): She can't find meatballs?

Andrew: Nope. Husbands. She keeps lookin' but they're hard to find.

Me: That's true Andrew. Guess you'll just have to be the man of the house.

Andrew: I'm not a man. I'm only six!

Silly me!

***

A Golden Girl Moment

Do you remember  Blanche Devereaux? She's one of the "Golden Girls" played by the late Rue McClanahan. I liked all of the  'girls' on that show. I loved Bea Arthur's wry sense of humor and Betty White's naivete; but what I always liked most about Blanche was her beautiful wardrobe, and I often commented on how really attractive she was in her senior years. I was not as impressed with Estelle Getty, but that's just me.

We have a "Blanche Devereaux" at our church. Nooooo, silly; she's not a the flirty, loose type. She just happens to bear a strong resemblance to Rue McClanahan and she dresses just as stylishly. I think this spunky gal told me she's in her mid-eighties, but she could easily pass for 67 or so. We're sort of new to the church, so I can't ever remember her name. I just think of her as Rue. Every Sunday we slip into the pew right behind her. During the 'fellowship' part of the service she always greets us with that engaging smile and we exchange pleasantries. Nice lady.

This week's sermon was all about regeneration. Our pastor gave us some remarkable statistics about how the human body actually renews itself many times over one's lifetime. For example, our skin replaces itself about once a month. Most of the dust in our homes is actually flakes of skin. Who knew?  I guess snakes aren't the only creatures that shed their skin! According to Pastor Gonzaga, our entire body regenerates about every seven years or so. Not bad!

With church over we headed for the fellowship hall for coffee and cookies. 'Rue' was right behind us. She linked her arms in mine, leaned close to me, smiled and whispered, "Can you believe what Pastor Gozaga said about our bodies renewing every seven years?"

I smiled and replied, "It's fantastic, isn't it?"

"Well I don't know about that," she replied with a laugh. "If my body parts are being replaced every seven years, I think God must be ordering them from the wrecking yard!"

Spoken like a true Golden Girl!

Who's your favorite Golden Girl?

***

How my exercise plans ran amuk

I haven't been posting much lately because of the kitchen remodel; which is still going on with no end in sight until sometime in June--I hope. That is, if I can make up my mind about the floor, and if the tile guy's schedule permits, if the counter-top guy can match my cabinet's stain to the trim;  and if Jupiter aligns with Mars...then just maybe we'll be done in June. Ah well, life goes on.

So this week I had a 'brilliant' idea for exercising Baron. Bicycling! When I told my husband about my plan he looked skeptical.

 "What if he darts after something?"

"I've got that covered," I replied smartly. "I'll  hold the leash loosely under my palm. If he darts...I'll just let go."

This was exciting. If my plan worked, Baron would get twice as much exercise as he did when we walked--and in half the time. We set out bright and early the next morning. I was in a hurry to get going so I slapped my helmet on my head and took off-- wobbling cautiously down the driveway with Baron in tow. Soon we were cruising around the 'hood' at a cautiously optimistic pace. Baron was loping along at my side like a champ. This was going pretty well. I envisioned myself and Baron whizzing over hill and dale--wind in our face...a woman and her dog...riding for miles and miles!

Then out of the blue, Baron decided to stop... right in the middle of the road--and no, I did not let go of the leash as planned. I flew past him, still holding the leash until the slack was taken up and then, yes, you guessed it, I stopped too. Abruptly. Very abruptly. (If you roller skated as a kid, you may remember holding hands with a couple of other kids and 'whipping them around the corners.' It was alot like that!) Whew! I somehow managed to stop without falling. Good thing since my helmet (which in my haste I'd neglected to cinch up) was jauntily tilted over my left ear. Behind me Baron was squatted, and pooping right in the middle of the road. How embarassing! Folks were eyeing us from their yards. Cars were cautiously circling around us. I straightened my helmet, fished a pooper scooper bag from my pocket, scraped the mushy mess off of the pavement, and set the the stinky bag in my pretty white wicker basket.  Then Baron and I rode home.

The next morning we set out again. I was not going to be deterred by a little pooping mishap. Things were going along very nicely. We'd ridden successfully for 20 minutes. I decided not to push our luck and headed for home. As we turned down our block, a couple of surly little daschunds ran out of their house toward us--barking their fool heads off. At the same time a big Siamese cat darted across the lawn. Poor Baron! It was more than he could take. He dashed right in front of my bicycle after that cat! Did I let go of the leash? Nope! I hit the breaks, skidded to a stop and crashed right there in the neighbors' lawn. Baron had the cat cornered on the porch and the daschunds were sniffing the basket on my bike. Must've still smelled like poop. The lady of the house came outside to see what the ruckus was all about.

"Did you crash?" she asked.

"What an astute woman," I thought to myself as I lie there on the grass atop her tacky lawn ornaments and her dogs are licking my 'poopy' bike basket. 

"Was it stupid of me--trying to ride my bike with my dog in tow?" I asked the doctor as she dressed my badly sprained wrist.

"Well, it's a lot to manage all at one time...a bike, a leash, and a big labrador retriever. I've been afraid to try it with my dog."

I think that was a polite way of saying Yes!

I'm not gonna ride bikes with Baron anymore. Hey, I've got a great idea...maybe he could pull me on a skateboard...



Shhhh, don't turn me in to the lawn police...

What a leisurely Sunday!

Took Baron to park where he made new friends...Dexter the Wheaton terrier, Queenie the Aussie mix, and a Border Collie whose name I've forgotten. The Border Collie stole Baron's brand-new squeaky ball and wouldn't give it back. It felt like the days when your best-friend's toddler stole your child's toy...whaddaya do?

When we left it started to hail really hard. This is NOT the weather I am looking for!

By the time we got home the sun was out...go figure!

I think the sun made Hubby feel ambitious so he decided to prune the Gravenstein tree. He does a great job of pruning; but we still get very few apples in the summer. Like 7 or 8. I suspect it's because I won't use chemicals to kill the little bugs that invade it every spring. They gobble the apple blossoms like it's Thanksgiving Dinner! So if you have tips for how to kill the bugs without using harsh pesticides, I'd love to hear from you!

Hubby spotted me wandering about the yard with my camera. "Why don't you pick up the sticks?" he asked hopefully.

"Maybe later..." I lied. It's not gonna happen. I'm off the clock this afternoon!

 I've been moving Iris bulbs all around the yard, then forgetting where I put them. I'm noticing that they are poking through the soil in the most unusual places! With some luck Baron won't mow them down while chasing his squeaky ball.

 Eureka! I spotted an actual flower! (aside from heather plants, which don't count.) Welcome little crocus!

Tulips are popping up here and there. You can't really live in Lynden without planting tulips. It's a Dutch town. The yards are meticulous. Well, except mine. Our's used to be meticulous, with the help of all of Lilly Miller's handy dandy pesticides. Our grass no longer looks like a putting green. We don't have lots of shiny, toxic apples, and when it get's hot, heaven forbid, I let my lawn scorch a bit! I try to keep the dandelions in check with my neat new dandelion puller, but they're not as afraid of me now that I don't use Weed-n-Feed or Round-up...so they keep returning to my lawn.

Same with the moles. Word on the street, or in this case, in the tunnel, is that we're soft on vermin here on Park Street. Our friend Bob has a personal war with moles. He's kind of a red-neck. Don't worry, if Bob reads my blog, he'll be flattered to be called a  red-neck. Well Bob got so perturbed with his moles that he ran a hose attached to the exhaust of his car down the mole hill. Apparently the moles have some kind of civil defense early warning system, because he didn't kill a one! He did manage to somehow kill one mole. You know what he did? He put that dead mole's carcass on a stake in the yard to show the other's what would happen to them if they didn't skedaddle. I kid you not! But the moles weren't impressed. Moles are not easily intimidated. Either that or they were too blind to see their comrade hanging out to dry in the front yard. Well somehow, Bob found out that if you put little windmills in the yard, with poles that extend down into the dirt--the noise or vibration scares the critters away. He sent away for a few and by golly, they worked! So he brought us one, and by golly, it worked...they all took refuge in the back yard. So we now have 2 windmills, one for the front yard and one for the back yard. Now we're pretty much mole-free, but we've noticed a lot of mole hills next door.

People joke about our town.  Lynden, it is rumored, has 'lawn police' who visit unruly, non-mowing citizens. I've never actually seen a lawn policeman-but I suppose that the rumor helps keep us all in line. It's probably an urban legend. But if there are lawn police, I expect they'll be calling on me one of these days. I wonder if they'll search the garage to make sure that we have a good supply of Diazinon...

Ahhh, now this is what I'm talking about! A very unusual sighting in the Northwestern sky in February...

"Blue skies, nothing but blue skies...I see!"

Oh no! Hubby just came in and gave me the news...I missed it. The sticks are all picked up! Aw, shucks! (wink-wink!)

Hope you're Sunday is leisurely and that all of your sticks have been picked up for you!

***

One of My Most Embarrassing Moments

          Back in our dating days, Kelly asked me to attend a wedding with him. Some guy he worked with was tying the knot. I didn't know the bride and groom from Adam, but I agreed to go.
     I chose my outfit carefully, wanting to impress Kelly and his friends. I picked a pretty black and white plaid skirt that I'd just sewn, and topped it with a simple white blouse. Conservative and classy. And gosh, that skirt was cute! It was made from a lightweight, kind of madras-y fabric; all summery and cool. It was full and gathered at my then-tiny waist, and draped nicely around my calves. Sewing it had been a breeze. It had only a couple of pattern pieces, straight lines, and a hook and eye at the waist; rather than those bothersome zippers. I was pretty proud of that creation.
     Well, we sat through a rather boring, non-descript kind of ceremony. I'm probably making it sound worse than it was; but I didn't know a single soul there, so it was rather like watching someone's home video of their wedding. After several hours a long ceremony, the vows were finally taken, the groom kissed the bride, and the reception was about to commence in the church's fellowship hall. The fellowship hall was located behind the sanctuary. To get there, we had to line up along the sides of the pews and file through a door by the side of the altar.  The line was moving at a snail's pace. I stood there- gift in hand, shifting from one uncomfortable sandal to the other...waiting for the line to move.
     All of a sudden I felt a breeze whooshing around my legs. Odd. I looked down to see my plaid skirt lying around my ankles. The hook and eye had broken and the skirt had fallen down. OH MY GOODNESS!  Thank God I had heeded my mother's warnings about wearing a slip in case you're caught in an accident or something! This definitely qualified as an 'or something'!  I glanced around. Amazingly, no one had noticed yet-not even the people right behind me in line. I inconspicuously reached down with one hand (still holding the gift in the other) and pulled the skirt up. But in doing so, the skirt was caught beneath my slip and pushed my slip up around my waist. I didn't want to attract any attention by setting the gift down, so decided the best move was to get out of there...fast! I grabbed Kelly's arm and said, "We gotta go."
     "Why?"
     "Look!" I hissed, pointing to my skirt.
     "Holy toledo...what are you doing?" he yelled.
     "C'mon, let's go!"
     "Geez", he quipped, looking around for an audience." I knew you were inspired by the wedding, but can't you wait until we get married?"
     I didn't look around to see who was laughing at his joke, I just headed for the door, shuffling along with my skirt still wrapped around my legs; kinda like someone trying to run with their pants down.
     "Wait, Debbie!" he hollered. "They're serving food back there, and I'm hungry." HE WAS SERIOUS!
     I never looked back. The minute I got outside I stepped outta that skirt and dashed to the car, praying that the doors weren't locked. Whew! They weren't.
     Kelly showed up a minute or two later. "Can't you just pin it back together so we can go back in?"
     "NO!"
     He was awfully disappointed, but agreed to go through the Burger King drive-through.

     You learn a lot from experiences like this.

#1. Never, ever depend on a little hook and eye to keep your skirt on you. A zipper with a button at the top is your best bet.
#2. When in a strange place, always look around for the nearest exit. You may need to use it.
#3. When your date responds to a personal crisis like this; you can view him as a tactless so and so; or you can think; hey, this guy doesn't take things too seriously, and he uses humor to alleviate tense situations...and since I'm pretty serious, this could be a good match. (I chose the latter, and I was right.)
#4. Embarrasing moments usually provide a lot of laughs down the road.

So now that I've shared one of my most embarrassing moments; it's your turn...what's happened to you that made your face turn seven shades of red?

***

Outwitted



Hubby and I are getting suspicious. It's about the dog. We think it just may be possible that she is smarter than she's letting on. And there's an outside chance that she's smarter than both of us...combined.  We fear we're being manipulated by a mastermind. Case in point...when we've thrown the ball for her over 100 times and have decided enough's enough...she pokes the ball under Hubby's chair...then pleads with him to get it out for her. He always caves and retrieves the ball, then gives it a toss in her direction...and Voila, there you have it...she's duped him into throwing it one more time. It's getting spooky. Now I'm wondering about that missing $20 bill from my dresser. Could she...Would she? Hmmm, maybe I'd better check her wallet.

OOPS!

OOPS! Today I went shopping at Fred Meyers while hubby was getting a haircut. As I went through the checkout; a nice looking gentleman standing behind me was smiling at me all the while I was there. Now this used to happen a lot when I was younger, but in these later years...not so much. So I left feeling very flattered. Once home, hubby was sitting in his recliner and I passed by him on my way into the kitchen.
He said, "Come back here a minute."
Again I thought, "I must be lookin'  good today." He asked me to turn around. Then he started to snicker. I had a big hole in my jeans all along the pocket line. It was gaping open and revealing my underwear! No wonder the gentleman at Freddy's was smiling! Too bad my underwear wasn't a little racier than those white cotton briefs! That nice gentleman is probably still chuckling!

I'm pretty sure that the sight of my derriere doe not classify as a 'thing that is lovely'; but  I shared the story because it is  pretty funny and we all need a laugh now and then!

Anything embarrassing happened to you lately that you'd dare to share?

O Bla Di, O Bla Da, Life Goes On

Poor Koda. She and Kelly were playing fetch the tennis ball in the dark the other night. Kelly accidently tossed the ball into a sticker bush, Koda charged right into it and got a pretty bad gash on her front 'wrist'. We doctored it ourselves for a day, but even though the cut was small it was deep. Last night she seemed to be pretty lethagic and I got worried, so we gathered her up and went to the after-hours vet.Two hours  and $150 later; she's gonna be just fine. But she's strictly forbidden to lick her owie...hence the lampshade on her head. She hates it. She can't scratch; can't sniff the ground and can't play ball for ten whole days! Kelly feels just awful about it, but it's just a part of raising kids; even if the kids are dogs. O bla di, o bla da, life goes on...right? So we're trying to keep an upbeat mood around here; and encouraging Koda to keep her chin up---literally. LOL.

And we're showing her our support by becoming cone-heads along with her.

There's just no limit to the silly things we'll do for our Koda!

So this is how life goes on in the Rorvig household.

***

Just Silly

I think my new dog has made a fool out of me; kinda like those new grandparents with a slew of baby pics-but what the heck!

Belly Laugh!

FUNNY BUMPERSTICKER

Make yourself at home...clean my kitchen.

My husband is known for his unique laugh. On one of our first dates we watched a funny movie together. He laughed so hard and long I thought maybe there was something seriously wrong with him! His laugh is like an automatic machine-gun...and it's loud. So loud that when we go out to movies or for dinner; people who know him can identify him by just hearing his laughter. Isn't that really a wonderful thing to be known for? It's part of what makes me love him. Sometimes I wonder how he was ever attracted to me. I am quite serious most of the time. I'm quiet, perhaps even melancholy. And there's nothing wrong with being quiet. But lately I've been analyzing that melancholy side of me. (Kelly would laugh at that last sentence; because truthfully, I analyze EVERYTHING.) Here's how our conversations generally go:

Me: I was just reading this book that's told from the family dog's point of view.
Kelly: That must have been a challenging read. Did chapter one say, 'bark, bark, bark...barkbark?'
Me: No really it was very moving. The dog's owner was accused of some terrible things and the dog was his only witness.
Kelly: Did the dog testify in court?
Me: He wanted to; but he couldn't talk.
Kelly: (laughing) Sure he could...'bark bark bark bark bark bark...'
Me: (exasperated) Very funny. You should read the book.
Kelly: Maybe you can just bark it to me...

But seriously; I've been doing some research on the benefits of laughter and have discovered that it can be very beneficial to one's health. Here are just a few of the benefits:

Laughter relaxes the whole body. A good, hearty laugh relieves physical tension and stress, leaving your muscles relaxed for up to 45 minutes after.

Laughter boosts the immune system. Laughter decreases stress hormones and increases immune cells and infection-fighting antibodies, thus improving your resistance to disease.
Laughter triggers the release of endorphins, the body’s natural feel-good chemicals.
Endorphins promote an overall sense of well-being and can even temporarily relieve pain.

Laughter protects the heart. Laughter improves the function of blood vessels and increases blood flow, which can help protect you against a heart attack and other cardiovascular problems.

http://www.helpguide.org/life/humor_laughter_health.htm

So I've realized that I need to lighten up. It will take some work on my part. I've nurtured this sense of melancholy for most of my life. It's true; there have been some tough things that were contributors; my father's death in my teenage years; being the child of an alcoholic... I could go on. But here's the point: I think that over- seriousness is a learned behavior-a compensatory reaction to one's environment. Well if it's learned-it can be unlearned. So I've asked my cheerful husband to help me. When something is funny and I'm trying to be serious, he looks at me and says 'belly laugh!' At first I just started doing a fake laugh. But that was so awkward that it was funny; and it made us both laugh! Now I really laugh. And it feels great.

I'm learning to take the time to look at the funny side of things. It's very similar to going for a walk and stopping to admire the autumn leaves or a constellation on a starlit evening. You just have to take time to notice them.

The Bible says that a merry heart does us good like a medicine. (Proverbs 13:22). So I challenge you to join me and start taking this wonderful medicine every day...BELLY LAUGH!

MORE FUNNY BUMPER STICKERS

I'm not tense, I'm just terribly, terribly alert.

A bartender is just a pharmacist with a limited inventory.

A fool and his money are a girl's best friend.

***