Nike's Work Out; Watch Out

I don't run. I don't like to be cold.

So when Running magazing and Outside magazine show up in the mail box, I am all over it.

I take in the advertisments and articles, find out what are good shoes to run in, how to train for a marathon, and how horrible it would be to have to cut your arm off after an 800 pound boulder has fallen on it and you're by yourself, forgot to tell anyone you were gonna day hike into BlueJohn Canyon in Southern UT., and subsequently had to use a dull knife to escape your predicament.(The movie about Aron Ralston, 127 Hours, Starring the kid from the Spiderman movies: James Franco is due out soon.)



Why?

Well, one, Padre has so many Frequent Flyer miles, that he can choose free magazine subscriptions, and Two,


I used to run and exercise, frequently outside, a lot.




If I hadn't been slammed by a debilitating illness in college, I'd be out there right now, using the Iphone and Nike's phone app system built into the heel of thei shoes, running somewhere. All the while advertising great brands.

Paired up with an Ipod I could listen to music, report my heart rate, speed and distance right to my social networking sites and easily into the hands of the government and inevitably; the Taliban.

The company's idea is good, to get us all networking and funneling data back to them so they can improve the shoe, but I gotta side with Padre on the whole 'accountability helps us perform better philosophy'. That kind of mentality will possibly help push you on those days you'd rather not work out, but there has to be some sort of angle to letting a big corporation in on where and what you are doing. Sounds like a blog.

Maybe my shoes could blog for me as I ran. I'd just have to think outloud and ka-pow!; a book is on the door step at a publishing company.


They wouldn't even have to send a rejection letter in the mail, simply notify me while I was running and let me know people were NOT interested in hearing my stories during their triathalon.

Yeah, I would've been a gear geek, wearing the latest and greatest in exercise and outdoor gear. Not the old T-shirts, shorts or bundled up in the winter in so called 'gear' that I used to run around the college campus in with my brother, The Torment.

No, I would be sweating in style at the nearest Athletic gym right now, preparing for something Big and Noteworthy for my posterity, and the public in general.

oh, just a second, Fed Ex delivery....

Delivery Guy


What he brought and I get to sign for, in my jammies.





Doesn't my shot look good under the Christmas Tree?

Side note: I finally got a third of the lights strung two days ago. another third yesterday when we picked up more lights. And Madre finished the last third after we found we didn't have enough. (The day I dragged the tree upstairs, I found 5 sets of lights burned out. But that's okay. I didn't have the energy to do the whole sha-bang right then. Good thing I started this whole Christmas decorating early this year.)

Where was I?

Oh, running and telling the world how much you've done.

So had I NOT been struck with a life altering disease, I'd be out there making all my facebook friends feel guilty for not working out. I would have never read in the WSJ about the CEO of facebook selling all our information, etc. and gotten off facebook so I could fool those fools and put all my info up on a blog! )

So, basically, I would be in good shape AND famous.


You'd see pictures of me in WSJ at the head of The Boston Marathon, summitting Aconcagua or Mt. Everest with a team of somebodies.

It would have been so cool.

Now all I can account for to the blogosphere is that I did 10 push-ups and sit ups- in my jammies and answered the door in the same 'garb'. Where is the fun or reality in that?

I just wonder if Nike would be able to come up with some sort of special app for me. It would down load blood samples and other inconvenient tests to my Dr.s in Utah.
I wouldn't have to keep track of my weight, fluids lost, or anything. Just put a pair of cool Nike's and zing!;all the hard stuff is done for me.



It would tell me when I needed to get Gatorade from the store so as to avoid dehydration. Best of all, it would let me post all that great stuff to my blog.
I can't think of a better gift from Santa this year. First I gotta get those guys at Nike to see that their running shoes can be for the athlete at heart, that Professional Patients need good arch support, sturdy and dependable shoes to go to work in.

However, there are SOME drawbacks. And you can rest assurred when you and I both see terrorists training in Nike's, trying to do our workouts or wanna be one of our social workout friends, Padre is gonna be there saying:

"I told you so."

Finding Overdue Library Books

Coming across a library book you hadn't seen in awhile can feel a bit like Christams morning.

Going through the books and magazines brought a magical moment when The Cow Who Wouldn't Come Down was found. J ran around telling everyone proudly that we'd had a library book for a good three years. (Librarians, it was NOT that long. He thought he checked it out kindergarten year, which in his mind was that long ago.)

I don't know how proud he was to take it in but apparently he sheepishly told his pal, Raymond, who then told a library aide. He was heralded a hero and given the privilege of all second graders; to check out TWO books. It was a big day for him.

One of the books he brought home was Rocking Horse Christmas, to read to his little cousin who, at two, is already bustin' broncs atop his playhorse. I poured over the pictures painted by Ned Bittinger and smiled as I read about the author, Mary Pope Osborne's, inspiration.

Recalling many times that we hitched lil brother's horse




to our 'covered wagon' and crossed the West facing the elements, starvation and an occassional Indian. Our wagons were stocked with blankets to homestead amongst the basement furniture and rifles to hunt down food.

This morning I read it to J as he ate his sugar, sprinkled with Corn Flakes. Putting it down to shove his foot into a Sorel, I noticed I'd placed it next to the Rocking Horse box decoration I'd put up the other day.




"Oh, look at this." I said picking it up. "This little fella came to listen a story about him." J was surprised that it wandered into the vicinity.

I watched as he left, chuckling about the mutt that followed him home the other day.
Then showed Madre the book and the box.

"Oh, can you believe Kade pulled that from out of the boxes I pulled out to decorate when he was over?"



I could picture him snortin' like one of the few that kick around in the corrals at his house and hear him confirm to us admirers: "Horse." and then whinny to our applause.

Isn't there another one, a bigger, one?" I asked my mom over her Corn Flakes.

"No, that is the big one."

Surprised, I thought it must have looked bigger through the eyes of a child. But then I found the bigger one and mom must be seeing through the eyes of a grandparent.

Coca Cola Advertising Geniuses Shake Up Christmas

The Folks at Coke, Inc. have scored again, at least in our household.

With the economy on the down side, Coca Cola teamed with Santa's magic, and the rock band Train, to help us Scrooges wake up.

With Santa Claus in his shop, tipping and turning water globes, the soft drink's long haul drivers start to deliver the product, a kid working Christmas Eve's night shift makes it home for dinner, and the family dog slides into the house through the doggy door to join in on trimming the tree. Even people with no tickets, manage to be spilled into Train's concert with back stage access.

I did find the hot guy being stood up by a girl to be a bit hard to believe. But Santa delivers him a date to the concert with a girl he bumps into as the globe tips.

After this kind of wonder J asked me:

"Do you think Santa will turn our Globe upside down?"



And would you believe it tipped me to decorate?

To Decorate or Not to Decorate

I was really hoping to get away with decorating the pepper plant Padre salvaged from the back yard this year. It survived the first frost due in part to living by the dryer vent and Padre wrapping it on colder nights.

Then it sat on the table for a few days after winter really set in.

It would have made a perfect Charlie Brown style tree until Padre had to go and dry the peppers.

Full of Effort: Non- Martha Stewart Style

"Make it look effortless." Kathleen said as she pulled the rolls, shaped like bunnies, from the oven.


(Kathleen's Kitchen)

We'd been working together on an Easter Feast. Wiping the sweat from my brow I logged the Martha Stewart advice away for another time.

Weeks later, I toiled in the same kitchen making a surprise picnic for a friend.

He came over and we ate at the round table I'd set up in the picturesque back yard.



I'd placed cute tableware on the pink and white checked table cloth. Homemade lemonade sat in the clear pitcher, lemons bobbing along with the ice.


(looking toward the garden room Grenn put in while I lived with him and Kathleen)

It was summer.




The whole meal took A LOT of effort. But I tried to play it cool until he left. After bringing in the food I went downstairs, climbed into the shower and let the hot water soothe my aching muscles.

Once my hair was drenched and the tears mixed in with the water, I turned the shower head so I could lay down in the small cubicle, put my feet up, and let gravity relieve the swelling that had pooled in my legs and feet. (A side effect of prednisone.)

Thank goodness yesterday's meal didn't have prednisone as a side dish. I woke up, showered, and readied myself for the day. Then I rolled up my sleeves to get to work.

As you can see, we have a lot to be thankful for here:



(All the effort that went into growing our Prize Pumpkin', can't fit into a single post. But doesn't it radiate the TRUE Thanksgiving spirit the Pilgrims felt when the Indians showed up and shared a meal with them?)

Fortunately, my mother was training the baby of the family, all 6 feet of her, how to cook. When I heard her ask: "what is this" and my mom explain to her that it was the neck of the turkey simmering in the pot on the stove to help moisten and flavor the gravy followed by gagging noise- I had to grab the cam.


(Yup, my parents saved all the tall genes for the last child who wanted nothing to do with sports.)

So to the strains of Abby's holiday CD, I got the mop out, filled a bucket with hot water/cleaner, and took to the galley:



and the dust.

I shined the toilets for the company we were expecting. Pulling out my finest towels with Great Grandma Smith's tatting so as to put on the "airs" of a Martha Stewart holiday.






But I wasn't about to make the mistake of acting like it was nothing.

Heck, if ya do that here, your kin is lible to think: "You 'ain done nuttin'". If you go around looking like you just stepped out of a salon after getting up at 3 am to get the Turkey ready, they will think it hopped in there and stuffed itself.

Besides, I can't pull off insider trading and serve prison time as effortlessly as Martha.


(The Danish inspired re-modeling is so lovely, Kathleen! Thanks for letting me take pictures of what I love about your house!)

WHAM !

There is nothing like being blindsided by the opposite sex. When this time of year rolls around, I get the jitters.

To top it off, every Christmas we get to listen to George Michael and the rest of WHAM, remind us about it in their song: 'Last Christmas'.

One minute we are wearing bright, colored clothing from:



-located at our own, brand new Grand Teton Mall, and suddenly the trendy store isn't able to keep up in this rural town, is replaced by Jay Jacobs, and George Michael is NOT Bringing Sexy Back to us Girls.

Thankfully, we could at least try to keep up with European fashion but getting over the latter would be A LOT harder. I am not speaking for other women, just those of us from rural Idaho.

While cautiously navigating holiday traffic, the synthesized bells coming over the radio are a traditional reminder of being jilted, by Michael, all those years ago.

I had to pull up the "Official Video" for 'Last Christmas' to see how in the world he pulled the wool over my eyes. ( Idaho never got those videos or I never watched them, til recently. Those short, shorts in Jitter Bug were a dead give away.)

In the Christmas video, the girl (wearing the same permed, bell cut I religiously wore through Jr. High and the first two weeks of HS) he'd given his heart to 'last year', was now prancing around in the snow, looking happy as punch in her Kool-Aid coat with the other guy from WHAM.

Michael, in fashionable revenge, brings a new girl 'this year', to Saas Fee, Switzerland for the annual cozy cabin Christmas break. Poor George finds his fellow feather-haired band member wearing the diamond floral broach he'd given bell girl the previous Christmas.



Did she give Rigley the broach the very next day or did Mike really give it to him in the first place and pretended to give Belle his heart?

Dear Michael,

It's bitter-sweet to hear your voice melt over the air waves when the weather is freezing, my breath is forming clouds in the car; raw, Idaho wind blasting the car off the highway, and to top it off, Christmas is on its way.

All those memories of you, in your videos.... leading me and countless other ignorant/naive girls to believe you were singin' to "us". ?

It's pure torture.

(Nothing like having my Sophomore haircut canonized in the year book year at all.)

How'd I let you fool me in those short, shorts beggin' to be woke up, when you'd already left?


(Your hair looks hot jet black even though you've gone grey. We still like you, either way.)

Christmas is already tough with out this melodic reminder to listen to as I shop, drive to work or pine for love without having to add the fact you opted "out".

Was it the hair, G?



P.S. You always wear hot shades/glasses. Where do you get them? Write Back Soon!

Forgivingly,

Shovels and Self Sufficiency

(Harriman Park- Great for Cross Country Skiing)

Dear Grenn,

Hello! How are you? In Idaho we are excperiencing blizzard conditions! The clouds finally let down and dumped snow on us. As I watch the wind whip up the snow on the lawns, shake it down from the trees like an airport check, and see my neighbors little red snow blowers exit their garages, I can't help but think of you.

Remember shoveling together? How you didn't break down and buy a snowblower or install a sprinkling system until after all the "kids" left the house?

One Half of Grenn's drive..


the other half.


Kids these days are soft because we don't require the manual shovel to dig out of snow storms like this.

Padre has had this week off from work so I surprised him the other day by getting up early to work. I was outside shoveling the drive so when they pulled the car out, it wouldn't pack down the snow.

Through the raging storm I looked up to see him standing by the garage door so I unfogged my glasses to talk to him. He was in his flip flops. The guilt had gotten to him, he offered up the snow blower.

I guffawed.

Why would I need the snow blower??

"I didn't want to have to give this instruction this early in the morning" he hollered over the howling wind.

Unable to lip read due to the glasses I just shook my head and put my gloves up in the air.

He opened the garage, pulled the snowblower out using a 70 point turn to avoid hitting the car and garage door opener eye.

Leaning in to hear his instruction I pulled out the choke, yanked the cord and the grumbling machine came alive.

He didn't see me roll my eyes as I reluctantly used his wimpifying machine.

I took off carving a straight line toward the road and when I turned he was waving his arms like a castaway.

"Now what," I muttered heading back up to him with the snow blowing back in my face.

He said something about the choke, I tried to peel his cold fingers from around my neck and sputtered snow as he pushed one of the contractions buttons in.

Taking off my glasses, he blurred like the white storm around us. His instruction was totally lost in translation. If he wanted me to use the snowblower that bad- I would do it. But I don't think he realizes that he is creating more of the social ills that surround us.



If he wants to create self sufficiency, he needs to not teach us about using a snow blower. Unfortunately, he has already passed on the useless information to J and now it will be difficult for me to undo the damage.

Don't you agree?

Well, I hope you have a great Thanksgiving!!!

Love,