Sunday, June 22, 2008

My car hates me

So, yesterday, my daughter and I had big plans to go to the local ren faire and then go swimming, if our bodies were still up to that. I drove on out to her place at the end of a dirt road to fetch her. So far, so good. We got back into my car, and then I realized I need to get something out of the hatchback. So I got back out, opened the hatchback, lifted the cargo lid, and bent over to get the item. As I was bending over, the cargo lid came falling back, smacking me hard on the bridge of my nose. It was one of those blows that leave you literally unable to see anything for a moment, as all the nerves of my face reeled in shock. Somehow, though, it wasn't broken so I got back in the car, only to hear MD's horror as the blood began to bubble up through the cut I couldn't feel since my entire face had gone numb from the blow. Yes, it hurt horribly, but that didn't stop us from continuing our plans.

We went on to the faire, down another dirt road and had a pleasant time. Then we left. After a couple of minutes on the road, I heard a strange noise. Then MD piped up that she heard it too. I pulled over, and, sure enough, my brand new tire on my brand new car was completely flat. With a hole in the sidewall. Poop. Now I have to deal with getting the tire replaced through warranty, and I can't say as I want one from the same manufacturer.

Oh, and my face still hurts. The cargo lid hit me right where my glasses sit (fortunatly, I wasn't wearing them at the time) so everytime I put them on for up close work, I aggravate the injury.

Despite my car revealing its Decepticon leanings, it was still a good day. We were rescued by Sir Lancelot (MD promises to describe this) and learned from the woman whose drive I had pulled into all about an evac insurance plan that will cover emergency helicopter cost for just $50 a year. Once MD is signed up for that, I won't worry so much about her down there at the end of her dirt road.

Saturday, June 21, 2008


This has been a hard week on my pissy joints. We're shorthanded at work, so I put in some extra time during what turned out to be a very busy week. It isn't so much that I hurt. It's the feeling while walking or standing that I am about to collapse. MD was getting after me for not using my cane, but, seriously, my hands and arms are also about played out this week, too. Everything is a bit tingly all over, and achy all under.

But the weekend is here! I can take my time at my own pace! I will do laundry, and hem up another pair of pants or two, and maybe do something fun. And pay some bills and do some prep work for my summer class. Oh, and buy groceries. That's very important, what with there being nothing left in the fridge. I try to fix enough food on weekends that on weeknights, getting dinner consists of dishing out leftovers. But I didn't do that last weekend, and I have paid the price by mostly not eating when I got home.

Oh, and I have managed to teach the boss how to reduce my shoulders for me. I can't do it myself because I have too much scar tissue built up in my left shoulder; ironically, I'm not flexible enough to do it myself. Usually, it's just my right shoulder slipping out of place, but this week has been so hectic that my left has also been trying to make a break for it. If it wasn't for having a laptop and the ability to lean back with strategic placement of pillows keeping my shoulders in place, I couldn't be typing right now. Anyway, the boss reduced my right shoulder twice for me today. She's getting quite skilled at it, and is no longer squicked out when she hears the joint snap back into place.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Looking for Something to Read?

Go read Happy Fun Spaz. Encourage her to keep writing.

Thank you.

Monday, June 16, 2008

All in all a nice day, with a gimp superpower

Sunday was Father's Day here in the US. Though I wasn't all excited about eating at Applebees, the prospect of hanging out with 2/3rds of my sisters and a niece as well as making my parents happy was irresistable.

Planning on hitting the river after eating, I put on my swim gear--long black workout leggings, long-sleeved high neck stretch shirt, and river shoes with old orthotics. Then I hit the road.

On the way, I realized I had forgotten Dad's card. I stopped at the dollar store on the way to see if there was anything left worthwhile. Amazingly, there was my dad right there. Not in the store. On a card. It looked just like him, down to the mustache. Only, anyone would know it wasn't him, because the guy in picture was jet-skiing. He had a look of terror on his face similar to what my dad would have if anyone could manage to get him in the water at all. It was, therefore, perfect. Dad thinks he may have to frame it. He spent the time before the meal came imitating the facial expression of the guy on the card and generally being silly. Dad may not always have been the steadiest provider, but he may well be the most unselfconsciously goofy.

Taking leave of the parents, we headed for the river, that bain of Dad's existence. The parking lots were full, but I have a tiny car, so I was able to park fairly near the jump-in point. Yay, tiny car! We got to the river bank, tubes, towels and car keys in hand, and put the non-water stuff to the side. (You might think that's just inviting theft, but no one takes anything there. All they'd ever find would be towels and random keys.) We forced ourselves into the frigid waters. And then made a serious mistake.

We started tubing downstream without having planned to.

About half a mile down, I pointed out our predicament. Three vehicles, and not one of them would be downstream. Baby Sister suggested we walk back. I said, if we were going to do that, I had to do it now, because I can't walk far and we were already too far. I tried to get over to the bank, but my feet got stuck in the muck. With a great deal of effort, as my sisters and niece floated on ahead, I freed my feet at the cost of my shoes. Now there would definitely be no walking back. Good thing those were old orthotics. I wonder how far down those shoes were sucked?

Having learned from Dad that serious situations without any good solution require enjoying the moment, I paddled up to the sisters. Baby Sister again said we'd have to walk back to the starting point. I said that wasn't happening since I no longer have shoes, and stuck out my bare feet. A good laugh was had by all and we floated the rest of the way down to the usual getting out point, observing various waterfowl and swimming snakes (yipe!) and splash fighting with gusto. The splashing resulted in me seeing, for the first time in years, Niece with no mascara. She got the worst of it, but she loved it.

At last, we were at the get-out spot. The river taxi was there, picking up people who had rented tubes from them. That was not us. I suggested we ask for a ride anyways and discovered at that point that my gimp experience made me the only one of us four who didn't think anything of asking people to do things for me. The river taxi people didn't care at all. I excitedly informed the siblings and child, telling them to see if they could go, too, since there was plenty of room. But they cowered in fear.

With great power comes great responsibility. Which meant, I was the one who had to go for the SUV to fetch the others and their tubes. At least I got to soak Baby Sister's seat with my wet butt instead of my own car seat. And Sister J and her daughter got to go down the perilous rapids in my absence that I couldn't have managed anymore, what with the whole needing fast reflexes to not crack your skull thing that goes on there.

I did have to end up walking, though. On the hot gravel parking lot. With no shoes. My feet, which would usually simply be in pain from the experience, are now shredded and toasted, too. And my hips hurt. But I look forward to doing it again, only with better planning. And new river shoes. I have many ancient pairs of shoes and orthotics waiting their turn to appease the river goddess.

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Goodbye, Harriet McBryde Johnson

As no doubt everyone knows by now, Ms. Johnson has finally died, neither young nor old. In Too Late to Die Young she explored her realization that she need not spend her life preparing for death but live as if she had as many tomorrows as anyone else. She was as sassy, as fiesty, in her writing as you'd expect from a southern belle. May she long be remembered and celebrated.