I awoke this morning to the sound of a lawnmower. Music to my ears!
Even though it was 74 on Thursday, and it snowed on Saturday, it’s still Spring and nothing says Summer is right around the corner like a lawnmower. I’m not sure what it is that’s being mowed. There are a few sprigs of grass here and there, but evidently the landscaping company is as anxious as I am for green grass and flowers.
I love to mow grass. It’s a great combination of time in the sunshine, exercise, and there is something so satisfying about the instant gratification of a lawn freshly mowed. If you have a yard and a lawnmower, I’m your girl. I won’t even charge you…a cold Diet Pepsi will be gratuity enough.
After my recent “tumble,” I decided to walk rather than run, at least until every sore, aching bone in my body recovers. This may be TMI, but I must have really puckered up on my descent; even my butt cheeks hurt.
I don’t like walking near as much as I love running. There is something about a 5-mile run that leaves me feeling great. Walking 5 miles, not so much. I also enjoy running hills. I love the challenge of standing at the bottom of a steep incline knowing that when I get to the top, I’ll be dancing around like Rocky Balboa. Walking up a hill reminds me of Dorothy and Toto when they realize they‘re not in Kansas anymore.
I know walking is great exercise, I just don’t get the same exhilaration and sense of satisfaction I achieve from running. Even when it’s hot outside and the run is exhausting, it’s still a good run. Walking is just right foot, left foot until I want to throw myself on the ground and roll home. But then again, that’s what got me here in the first place.
P.S. Many thanks to those who read my blog last week and checked in to make sure I was still alive. I may have to add you to my ECN list.
I took a tumble yesterday. It all started with spilling my water bottle in my office. I jumped up to grab the papers on the floor (don’t judge me) so they didn’t get wet, slipped on the water, and things went to hell in a handbasket after that. Further proving most accidents happen in the home.
When I slipped, I fell onto my desk (aka parson’s table) which then turned over, sending my computer, lamp, candle, marble coaster, and myriad other desk adornments to the floor, including me. Had the Russian judge been there, I’m pretty sure I would have scored at least a 9.2.
I’m happy to report, no bones were broken as a result of this colossal fail. I’m bruised, sore, and it feels like I was run over by a dump truck, but no pins, plates, or casts were required. (IYKYK) Either my bones have gotten stronger as I’ve aged (highly unlikely), or I’ve finally learned the fine art of falling gracefully (also highly unlikely).
As I so often do, I looked up the word tumble in the dictionary. Webster says:
- To fall suddenly and helplessly
- To suffer a sudden downfall or defeat
- To decline suddenly and sharply
- To fall into ruin
- To turn end over end in falling
- To roll over and over
- To perform gymnastic feats.
Nailed it!
Have you ever:
Accidently looked in the magnified side of your makeup mirror?
Felt a scratch on your cheek only to discover it’s actually a really deep wrinkle?
Been told, “At your age, light is your friend?”
Wore your yoga pants inside out?
Locked yourself out of your house twice in one week?
Saw your reflection in a storefront window and thought you saw your mom?
Forgotten the one thing you went to the store for in the first place?
Left the drive-through without your food?
Remembered you forgot (fill in the blank)?
Only wore one earring?
Had a cashier say, “You’re eligible for the senior discount, right?”
Been asked to count backwards from 100 by 7?
Lost something you put in a “safe place” where you wouldn’t forget it?
Had a salesclerk at Sephora suggest a product for “aging skin?”
Wish you could remember what you forgot?
Bought alcohol without being carded?
Sneezed and peed at the same time?
If not, lucky you…enjoy it while you can!
I’ve been spending time in the passenger seat as my gbabe learns to drive. In general, I love to be chauffeured. As a single person, I’m typically the one doing all the driving. I usually enjoy it when someone else takes the wheel and I can relax and marvel at the scenery…usually.
Although the gbabe has had his permit for a while, he hasn’t been interested in driving until the past few months. According to an article in the Washington Post, the hesitation or disinterest in driving is typical of his generation. His reluctance to drive is so contrary to my experience with his mom and uncle. Had it been open, they would have been at the license bureau at 12:01 AM on their birthdays.
It’s possible that an earlier episode of “Driving with Mimi” traumatized him. I thought he had already driven on the highway, so I instructed him to merge onto Highway 70. In hindsight, I learned he had NOT driven on the interstate before, AND my frequent, elevated directives to “SLOW DOWN” and “SPEED UP” may have caused a tiny little bit of anxiety in the lad.
He’s really doing a good job and I tell him that with each outing. He’s still working on navigation, so he drives to the far end of a parking lot and lets me walk 2 miles to the store. We haven’t tried parallel parking, but he assures me he can fail that on the driver’s test and still get his license. I’m taking his word for it.
All in all, he’s been very patient with his instructor. There have been a few, “You already told me that,” and more than one, “I KNOW!” I’m glad my hair is already white; I would hate for him to think he’s responsible for that AND my panic attacks.
It snowed in Colorado yesterday…a lot. Some cities reported snowfall amounts in feet, not inches. Where I live, Doppler Dave says we have 19” of snow.
As is the case with so much of life, the public response to Snowmageddon has been mixed:
Parents are scrambling to find childcare since the schools are closed. Students are elated that their Spring break has been extended by 2 extra days.
We were warned the volume of snow would make driving almost impossible and very dangerous. Yet, first responders and medical personnel were out risking life and limb to rescue the guy who decided his Honda Civic with balding tires could weather the storm. (Skiing is life!)
Highway 70 (You know, the major interstate highway that connects the United States from East to West) was closed in Colorado for 24 hours. I’m sure the inconvenience that caused skiers (aka Honda guy) attempting to get to the fresh pow was nothing compared to those folks stranded in their cars for 24 hours on the closed highway. Reminder: Don’t eat yellow snow.
Kids who want to make extra money are loving Snowmageddon. The elderly will be lucky if they get out of their homes by the 4th of July.
Looking outside, one is reminded of a winter wonderland. Hard to believe Spring is 5 days away.
It’s all about perspective.
I was listening to a podcast this week and heard the term precious time. The phrase was described as a kinder, gentler alternative to the words actively dying, the medical idiom used to indicate the end of life is imminent. The physician who coined the phrase would tell families, “You are in the precious time now,” as their loved one was nearing death. I love the term precious time. What a beautiful way to sojourn a loved one from this world to the next.
When I think about precious time, I see it as a lovely descriptor for all life’s phases. When a young couple discover they are pregnant, it is precious time to dream, and plan, and anxiously await the miracle of life. Time doesn’t seem to move fast enough, but it’s still precious time.
Parents of newborns may be sleep-deprived and blurry-eyed, but meeting your new son or daughter, and learning to live as a family, is precious time. In this phase of life, time may seem to stand still, and you may wonder if you will ever sleep 8 hours again, and yet, it’s still precious time.
Toddlers, tantrums, the terrible-twos, and time-outs may seem anything but precious. Life can be hard when parents are trying to manage family, home, and work. The hours may pass at a snail’s pace, but the years fly by; it’s all precious time.
Homework, soccer, football, assemblies and bleacher butts, driver’s licenses, college applications, and before you know it, they are walking across the stage in a gown and mortar board, brandishing their newfound freedom in the form of a diploma. Your precious time raising that child flashes before your eyes and you wonder, “How did we get here so quickly?” What I wouldn’t give for more precious time.
I came across this Nietzsche quote while I was reading Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. (If you haven’t read this book, I highly recommend it.)
“He who has a why to live for can bear with almost any how.”
Although simplistic, the thought has stuck with me. The fact I am contemplating the message on the daily is also confusing me. I know what it means, I just don’t know why it has struck such a chord.
Why can be a charged word. In Social Work class, we were encouraged to refrain from asking a client why. We were told it could sound accusatory (i.e., Why did you do that?). I understand the premise; I don’t agree with the directive. Sometimes, we need to know why to fully comprehend a person’s motive or intent. Sometimes, we need to know why to understand the whole story. Sometimes, there’s a darn good reason why someone said or did this or that. We won’t know if we don’t ask why.
I don’t think Nietzsche had that kind of why in mind. My interpretation is that we can cope, endure, or survive almost anything if we know our why. For instance, ‘I exercise so I remain healthy – that’s my why.’ ‘I’m graduating early so I can start making money – that’s my why.’ ‘I don’t drive a fancy car so we can afford a family vacation – that’s my why.’
According to Frankl, if we can find meaning and purpose in our actions, we can bear the unbearable. It seems to me, knowing our why requires introspection and insight. Knowing our why may also require an awareness and trust in our values and beliefs. In other words, sometimes we have to dig deep to know our why.
Then again, sometimes it may be as simple as ‘Hold My Beer.’
🍺🍺🍺
So, now that you’re hooked on the Ted Lasso series, here’s my take on a few of the characters:
Just once, I wanna be Roy Kent for 24 hours.
Dani Rojas is my spirit animal.
Who hasn’t had the displeasure of knowing a Rupert Mannion?
Coach Beard shares my love of reading and all things inane.
Oklahoma (or Omaha).
Dr. Sharon seems like the obvious choice, but I would love to be Rebecca, sans heels.
Wonderkid or Wunderkind – Tomoto/Tomato.
Flo Collins is my alter ego.
Diamond Dogs for President!
Oi
I’m about to enter the deep, dark days of winter, AKA no more football. It’s bad. For the next few months, I will eek out an existence in a world of freezing temps and Ted Lasso reruns.
In 2020 (You remember 2020!), I lived on home confinement and Schitt’s Creek. I would be embarrassed to admit how many times I watched the entire Schitt’s Creek series on repeat. But that’s just it, I never got tired of the show, and I almost always heard something I’d missed the other 200 times I’d watched it. I feel the same about football and Ted Lasso.
I canceled cable a few months ago without realizing I would no longer have the ability to record football games, rewind outstanding catches, or replay Chiefs games when there was nothing interesting on TV. I definitely did not think that one through. My saving grace is Ted Lasso.
If you haven’t discovered Ted Lasso, do yourself a favor, stop reading this blog, and go watch the pilot. You will be hooked before you know it. Ted is a charming, winsome character who imparts pearls of wisdom when you least expect them. Here are a few of my faves:
Don’t let the wisdom of age be wasted on you.
Football is life.
Don’t you dare settle for “fine.”
Your body is like day-old rice. If it ain’t warmed up properly, something real bad could happen.
I do love a locker room; it smells like potential.
Let yourself enjoy that biscuit.
Believe.
What’s your favorite Ted Lasso-ism?
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