I am trying something new, readers. I am trying a "writing prompt" from a blogger website. What is the prompt? See the title of this entry.
COMMENCE!
If you knew me in high school, you probably did not find me very exciting. I was a rule-abiding, school-attending Borey McBorrington, that's for sure.
How do I know for sure? Take a look at my yearbook sometime. If you dare.
If you do, you will find that I participated in one of the hallmarks for boring kids who secretly wish to be exciting and cool: band.
Don't let those stupid people on Glee fool you. The real nerds are not in choir. Nobody throws beverages on kids who can sing like that. If you want to find some good old-school geekery, go to the band room. (Of course, anyone at my school could tell you that the really hopeless yokels were actually in orchestra, but that's a different story.)
When I was in middle school, 5th grade to be precise, my band journey began. It all started with the age-old question, "What instrument is right for me?"
Always a bit of a non-conformist, I was drawn to the eerie and bizarre qualities of the oboe. I had my sights set clearly on this instrument and no one was convincing me otherwise.
Before I could officially begin my life as an oboist, I had to meet with the band teacher. His name was Berge. Pronounced "burr-jeee." He was an old fart, but that is again besides the point.
Essentially, Berge managed to talk me out of the oboe. This was accomplished in a sneaky way. Actually, no. It was not sneaky. It came down to the fact that we already owned a clarinet that formerly belonged to my mother. Clarinets look an awful lot like oboes, and according to Berge, they were easier to learn. Thus, I became a clarinetist. Clarinetter? What is the right word? Someone Google it, quick!
By some amazing act of God, I remained a clarinetist right up through my high school graduation.
Lest you think that clarinets are girly, let me notify you that we had THREE male clarinetists in my high school band, all in my grade.
Two of these guys were screw-offs. My assumption is that they were high most of the time, but they may have just been dumb. I have no idea why they stayed the course so long when they were buried at the bottom of the pecking order.
What do I mean by "pecking order?" If you are a fellow band geek, you probably understand the "chair" scheme employed by most directors to reward the best players with the most prominent positions. In musical arrangements, first chair parts typically are closer to the main melody and are a bit higher in the register scale. The level of difficulty is often higher for first chairs as well.
As one might expect, there are usually second and third chair parts to be had. For instruments with larger populations, clarinets included, this leads to subdivisions in the section. For example, in my band, there were usually three or four people on the first chair part and at least that many on the lower ones.
Within each instrumental section, there was always one person designated as the titular leader (or tyrannical despot) known officially as the Section Leader. Not only did this person get the solos for the group automatically assigned to them, but they were in charge of collecting and distributing music. Sounds like fun, right?
You may recall that I mentioned there were three guys who played clarinet in my band. Two of them were no-good slackers. One was my nemesis.
OK. Maybe nemesis implies a more sinister tone than really existed. Let me explain.
Adam (my nemesis) was honestly a very talented guy. Musically, anyway. Unfortunately, he had a problem when it came to truancy. Sorry, is that not a word you know? Sucks to be you!
In many situations, Adam was able to skate his way through things simply because he was pretty good at music stuff. As I was a person with broader interests that did not involve practicing my clarinet (ever), I did not have a problem with the fact that he was named Section Leader of the top band in the school as a 10th grader. Some of the juniors and seniors may have done, but I had bigger things on my mind. Like cute seniors. Ha.
When a new school year started, the band director would set us up in order within our sections. Usually our placement was determined by prior year performance, but I have no way of knowing this for sure. So up until senior year, I was more than content to sit wherever I was placed as long as it was next to my friends.
At the beginning of my senior year, my band director decided to radically change the order of things. How did he accomplish this? He made me Section Leader.
Honestly, I was flabbergasted. Especially as he put Adam, my nemesis, three chairs down the line. You can imagine that Adam, having held this "prestigious" position for two years running, was not pleased.
Almost immediately, he initiated his plan to regain control.
In band, this is accomplished through the process of "challenging." It has to be done slowly and it can take a long time for it to work. Essentially, you must inform the band director that you wish to "challenge" the person sitting in the seat ahead of you. The band director then notifies the challengee and assigns the two a song or even just a difficult passage of a certain song. Both parties get a certain amount of time to practice and then they each perform it for the director who then decides the winner. If the challenger wins, they move up a seat. If they lose, they must wait a certain length of time before challenging again.
Oh but wait, there's more. If the challenger should win, there is always the possibility that the challengee can request a challenge. This is both time consuming and a pain in the butt.
Luckily, I had a few things working for me. Number one: he was three spaces down the line. To get to me, he had to get through a couple of other people first. Number two: his issues with truancy. Several times in the course of challenging my fellow clarinetists, he failed to show up to class on the day of the challenge. Many teachers would probably have called this a forfeit, but ours were nice and allowed him to reschedule.
This had the unfortunate effect of keeping the challengees on unsure footing as the date of the actual challenge was constantly in flux.
Oh, and the third thing working for me? Everyone else in my section considered Adam their nemesis. They found him to be arrogant, and I think they were all secretly pleased when he was taken down a few pegs in the pecking order. Hence, they did their darnedest to keep him embroiled in challenges all year long.
Eventually, he did get far enough in the process to challenge me. Did I practice for it? Honestly? No. I did not. I figured if my God-given talents were not enough to keep my seat, I did not deserve it.
After several failed attempts to have the challenge (again due to Adam's truancy), we finally performed. And guess what? We tied!
This meant that not only could I keep my seat, but he had to wait another two weeks before challenging me again.
By this time, it was nearly the end of the school year. Seriously, it was about three weeks from commencement and I had a lot going on in my life. By this point, I was feeling a bit more punchy about the issue, and I decided that I would absolutely be sitting Section Leader at graduation.
So I went to the director. I explained my situation. It was the end of my senior year and things were pretty busy. I had held the seat all year long, and I felt I had done a good job. I had held off Adam's last advance, but I really did not need the stress of another attack. Could he just tell Adam that the challenge was off?
To my surprise, my director agreed. It is my secret belief that the director was as annoyed with Adam as the rest of us and was happy to have a reason to shut him out of his crazy dream of winning at the last minute.
Oh, believe me, Adam did not take this well. But the rest of us rejoiced in our victory for the underdogs.
In conclusion, or rather, as a postlude, I have not played my clarinet since graduation. Adam, on the other hand, went on to play clarinet in the Marine Corps Band. Good for him, I say. But I will always know he never defeated me in a challenge and that gives me no end of satisfaction, no matter how ridiculous or petty it makes me sound.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Evening: a narrative
Clearly, Lena wants something.
She has already been on a lengthy and smell-filled walk during which time she voided both her bowels and bladder. Upon returning from this perambulation, she rapidly consumed her pre-portioned 1/2 cup of food and a small amount of water.
Now that she is done, she does not appear satisfied. As her human companion eats her dinner in a much more refined and less rapid manner, she paces. Occasionally she pauses to pick up an errant toy, thrash it about before tossing it across the floor. Each time she completes this show of prowess, she furtively glances at the girl to see if she notices.
When the girl finishes her dinner, she returns full focus to Lena. She even goes so far as to pick up toys and attempt to play in the way that Lena likes. This is not what Lena wants.
After several more minutes of miscommunication, the girl finally acquiesces to Lena's implied demand and gives her a chew-toy treat. Lena happily consumes this gift within 10 minutes and is again restless.
As the girl has used the 10 minute break to start her computer and check out the world on the Internet, Lena now has to try a bit harder to get noticed.
She tries for a physical attack. As she is clearly barred from standing on the computer, she cozies up next to the girl and dramatically throws her body towards the girl's lap. She repeats this exercise until the computer is put away and the lap is clear. Success!
Lena contorts her body into odd shapes on the girl's lap and throws in some alien-like noises for good measure. The girl tries to calm and cuddle Lena, but this is not what is really needed.
Once she is certain of the girl's attention, Lena leaps off of the lap to the floor. She play bows to the girl with her plume-like tail waving wildly. The girl stands up. Lena eagerly runs to the front door with an expectant look.
Although the girl is doubtful that Lena needs to perform bathroom duties, she decides to be safe rather than sorry and grabs Lena's collar and leash. The two then emerge into the fading sunlight covering the front yard.
With her head held high, Lena surveys the surrounding area for friends, enemies and squirrels. Finding none, she lowers her head and sniffs out a trail on the ground. Eventually this trail leads to the grass and she begins a more intensive sniff investigation. When a scent of interest occurs, she pushes her nose further into the grass, as if to force out anything that might be hiding.
Most of the time, nothing emerges. In rare instances, tiny frogs or insects have fled the nosy intrusion, but tonight there is no one home to disturb. Lena continues her hunt for several minutes before the girls realizes that there is no imminent need for them to be outside as any urgent bathroom needs would have been attended to already.
While the girl would love to allow Lena to remain outside without a leash, this is not possible. First of all, the rules of the association forbid unleashed dogs to roam free in the neighborhood. Second, Lena has a tendency to snatch up and eat foreign and potentially harmful objects if not carefully monitored, and the outdoors is teeming with such things. The bill for the full day of vet care Lena received two weeks ago for an unknown stomach issue still remains prominent in the girl's mind.
The girl simply says, "OK," and the Lena gives up her search. She turns and walks towards the front door willingly. They enter the house and the girl removes Lena's collar and leash.
After a short break in which Lena drinks some more water, the girl fills Lena's treat-dispensing ball with small chicken-flavored treats, and Lena is occupied for another 10 minutes. When this exercise is over, Lena is satisfied. She lays down at the opposite end of the couch from the girl and dozes. She does not sleep soundly as one eye is always kept open on the off chance that the girl moves or is inclined to give her another snack.
I call this, "The Nightly Routine of Megan and Lena."
She has already been on a lengthy and smell-filled walk during which time she voided both her bowels and bladder. Upon returning from this perambulation, she rapidly consumed her pre-portioned 1/2 cup of food and a small amount of water.
Now that she is done, she does not appear satisfied. As her human companion eats her dinner in a much more refined and less rapid manner, she paces. Occasionally she pauses to pick up an errant toy, thrash it about before tossing it across the floor. Each time she completes this show of prowess, she furtively glances at the girl to see if she notices.
When the girl finishes her dinner, she returns full focus to Lena. She even goes so far as to pick up toys and attempt to play in the way that Lena likes. This is not what Lena wants.
After several more minutes of miscommunication, the girl finally acquiesces to Lena's implied demand and gives her a chew-toy treat. Lena happily consumes this gift within 10 minutes and is again restless.
As the girl has used the 10 minute break to start her computer and check out the world on the Internet, Lena now has to try a bit harder to get noticed.
She tries for a physical attack. As she is clearly barred from standing on the computer, she cozies up next to the girl and dramatically throws her body towards the girl's lap. She repeats this exercise until the computer is put away and the lap is clear. Success!
Lena contorts her body into odd shapes on the girl's lap and throws in some alien-like noises for good measure. The girl tries to calm and cuddle Lena, but this is not what is really needed.
Once she is certain of the girl's attention, Lena leaps off of the lap to the floor. She play bows to the girl with her plume-like tail waving wildly. The girl stands up. Lena eagerly runs to the front door with an expectant look.
Although the girl is doubtful that Lena needs to perform bathroom duties, she decides to be safe rather than sorry and grabs Lena's collar and leash. The two then emerge into the fading sunlight covering the front yard.
With her head held high, Lena surveys the surrounding area for friends, enemies and squirrels. Finding none, she lowers her head and sniffs out a trail on the ground. Eventually this trail leads to the grass and she begins a more intensive sniff investigation. When a scent of interest occurs, she pushes her nose further into the grass, as if to force out anything that might be hiding.
Most of the time, nothing emerges. In rare instances, tiny frogs or insects have fled the nosy intrusion, but tonight there is no one home to disturb. Lena continues her hunt for several minutes before the girls realizes that there is no imminent need for them to be outside as any urgent bathroom needs would have been attended to already.
While the girl would love to allow Lena to remain outside without a leash, this is not possible. First of all, the rules of the association forbid unleashed dogs to roam free in the neighborhood. Second, Lena has a tendency to snatch up and eat foreign and potentially harmful objects if not carefully monitored, and the outdoors is teeming with such things. The bill for the full day of vet care Lena received two weeks ago for an unknown stomach issue still remains prominent in the girl's mind.
The girl simply says, "OK," and the Lena gives up her search. She turns and walks towards the front door willingly. They enter the house and the girl removes Lena's collar and leash.
After a short break in which Lena drinks some more water, the girl fills Lena's treat-dispensing ball with small chicken-flavored treats, and Lena is occupied for another 10 minutes. When this exercise is over, Lena is satisfied. She lays down at the opposite end of the couch from the girl and dozes. She does not sleep soundly as one eye is always kept open on the off chance that the girl moves or is inclined to give her another snack.
I call this, "The Nightly Routine of Megan and Lena."
Pondering the past
Today is the first day of the Minnesota State Fair. I have written about this before, I think, so I will spare you the details. While I would love to be there for opening day, I sadly must heed the call of duty and be at work. Again, I would love to partake in the festivities this weekend, but I have a wedding to attend on Saturday.
Lucky for me, my brother and his girlfriend are coming home next weekend specifically to go to the Fair, so I know that I will get there eventually. Hopefully they will save a Pronto Pup for me!
Last night I spent some time on Facebook. Due to some changes in my internet connectivity at home, I have not been as much of a FB stalker as I used to be, but I think that it alright. I have noticed that some people reach a point of burn-out with the site and opt to simply inactivate their profiles rather than just cut back. I suppose this demonstrates a lack of discipline, but I am always surprised. It is never the people you wish would try it; it always seems to be the people you don't see on FB that often anyway.
Oh well, I have no intention of quitting any time soon, and I think that I have managed to get to the point where I can just check in occasionally on random friends and find out who is engaged, pregnant, divorced or taking a vacation.
In the course of my perusal, I happened across a picture of me with three of my friends that was taken approximately three years ago. We were gathered for my friend Emily's bachelorette party in her sister's apartment. Everyone is smiling and holding martini glasses with the yummy grapefruit cosmo that her sister served us way to many of over the course of the evening.
Anyway, the drinks are not the point. When I looked at the photo, I realized that the ratio of married to single in that photo is now inverted. At that moment in history, Jill was the only married girl of the four. Emily was shortly to be married (as it was her bachelorette party), but technically she was still unmarried. Rox, the third friend, was definitely still single, although she had just started dating Bill, her future husband, about two months prior.
Now here we are three years later. Jill is still married. Em is married with a two year old daughter. Rox is married and she and her hubby are building their dream home. As for me? Well... I got a dog, didn't I?
Don't worry, this is not a pity party. I am not here to lament the fact that I appear to be the cheese left standing alone at the end of the Farmer in the Dell. Although that is a good analogy, right? I haven't played that game for a loooong time. Maybe we will play it at Saturday's wedding dance? I can always request it.
I really do love that my friends are all married. They are all still my friends; they just have an added support person in their lives. True, on occasion I do wish that I had such support (especially in driving situations), but I have done alright so far and I can continue to take care of myself if that is what I need to do.
My point is that things can change quickly. One minute you and your friends are all single, sitting around and sharing your dating horror stories, and the next minute you are discussing gift registries, house plans and family planning.
In my social life, the most obvious change is that I get out far less often. At first, this bothered me quite a bit. Now that I have adjusted (mostly by adding graduate school into my schedule), I don't notice it as much. This may change once I graduate, but maybe I will take up a new hobby. Embroidery? Cooking? Dog fashion designer? The possibilities are endless.
Lucky for me, my brother and his girlfriend are coming home next weekend specifically to go to the Fair, so I know that I will get there eventually. Hopefully they will save a Pronto Pup for me!
Last night I spent some time on Facebook. Due to some changes in my internet connectivity at home, I have not been as much of a FB stalker as I used to be, but I think that it alright. I have noticed that some people reach a point of burn-out with the site and opt to simply inactivate their profiles rather than just cut back. I suppose this demonstrates a lack of discipline, but I am always surprised. It is never the people you wish would try it; it always seems to be the people you don't see on FB that often anyway.
Oh well, I have no intention of quitting any time soon, and I think that I have managed to get to the point where I can just check in occasionally on random friends and find out who is engaged, pregnant, divorced or taking a vacation.
In the course of my perusal, I happened across a picture of me with three of my friends that was taken approximately three years ago. We were gathered for my friend Emily's bachelorette party in her sister's apartment. Everyone is smiling and holding martini glasses with the yummy grapefruit cosmo that her sister served us way to many of over the course of the evening.
Anyway, the drinks are not the point. When I looked at the photo, I realized that the ratio of married to single in that photo is now inverted. At that moment in history, Jill was the only married girl of the four. Emily was shortly to be married (as it was her bachelorette party), but technically she was still unmarried. Rox, the third friend, was definitely still single, although she had just started dating Bill, her future husband, about two months prior.
Now here we are three years later. Jill is still married. Em is married with a two year old daughter. Rox is married and she and her hubby are building their dream home. As for me? Well... I got a dog, didn't I?
Don't worry, this is not a pity party. I am not here to lament the fact that I appear to be the cheese left standing alone at the end of the Farmer in the Dell. Although that is a good analogy, right? I haven't played that game for a loooong time. Maybe we will play it at Saturday's wedding dance? I can always request it.
I really do love that my friends are all married. They are all still my friends; they just have an added support person in their lives. True, on occasion I do wish that I had such support (especially in driving situations), but I have done alright so far and I can continue to take care of myself if that is what I need to do.
My point is that things can change quickly. One minute you and your friends are all single, sitting around and sharing your dating horror stories, and the next minute you are discussing gift registries, house plans and family planning.
In my social life, the most obvious change is that I get out far less often. At first, this bothered me quite a bit. Now that I have adjusted (mostly by adding graduate school into my schedule), I don't notice it as much. This may change once I graduate, but maybe I will take up a new hobby. Embroidery? Cooking? Dog fashion designer? The possibilities are endless.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Heed this
Months of research have rendered up results that I find a bit surprising. Keep in mind that this research is far from scientific and probably not reliable. Highly subjective, you could say.
For all you men out there who are a bit squeamish about things related to women's health, avert your eyes from this blog entry.
Once a month, pretty much on time down to the minute, I experience my period. (Please note: I did contemplate using a euphemism for "period," but I think the time for delicacy is long gone.) If you are too young to know what I mean at this point in the entry, you can probably skip this entry as well.
When discussing periods (or menstruation if you want to be proper), the discussion almost always leads to PMS horror stories. PMS, if you did not know, is Pre-Menstrual Syndrome. It is that blessed span of time shortly before the start of the monthly menstruation when hormones start to get all funky which leads to some fairly erratic mood swings.
Honestly, I think that the PMS excuse gets abused a lot. Let's face it, sometimes we're just crabby and we like to have a medical excuse for it. Men fear the letters. If you're a man who is still reading, you know what I mean.
This is not to say that PMS is bogus. Oh no, I can definitely say that hormonal mood swings are for real and that they greatly increase in intensity when my "monthly visitor" is due to arrive. (There. I used a euphemism. Happy?) This does not always equal anger. It can sometimes mean a greater tendency to weepiness, which would explain why I got teary-eyed during a recent episode of Ice Loves Coco on the E! Channel. Do NOT ask.
My recent research has been into a strange phenomenon that seems to happen at the end of my period. Obviously, hormones are still in play, but it seems that all my rage comes out when I am almost done with the cycle. Seriously. One minute I am calm, fine, at peace with the world. The next minute, some minor setback that would normally just cause me minor annoyance has my blood pressure skyrocketing and my internal temperature increasing rapidly.
Why does this matter? Maybe it doesn't. But maybe this can serve as a warning or wake-up call to people who have wondered why their moods didn't immediately improve once their periods were done. Maybe you've been wondering if you're just a crabby person that hates everyone and this troubles you. I am here to say that you're not alone.
If you are the person who has to deal with a woman who turns into a fire-breathing dragon at the drop of a pin once a month, let this be a warning. Once you know when the woman in your life is scheduled to entertain Aunt Flo (another euphemism), you should just plan to keep your potentially controversial comments and suggestions to yourself. Maybe you can bring them up in a week or so. If you dare.
For all you men out there who are a bit squeamish about things related to women's health, avert your eyes from this blog entry.
Once a month, pretty much on time down to the minute, I experience my period. (Please note: I did contemplate using a euphemism for "period," but I think the time for delicacy is long gone.) If you are too young to know what I mean at this point in the entry, you can probably skip this entry as well.
When discussing periods (or menstruation if you want to be proper), the discussion almost always leads to PMS horror stories. PMS, if you did not know, is Pre-Menstrual Syndrome. It is that blessed span of time shortly before the start of the monthly menstruation when hormones start to get all funky which leads to some fairly erratic mood swings.
Honestly, I think that the PMS excuse gets abused a lot. Let's face it, sometimes we're just crabby and we like to have a medical excuse for it. Men fear the letters. If you're a man who is still reading, you know what I mean.
This is not to say that PMS is bogus. Oh no, I can definitely say that hormonal mood swings are for real and that they greatly increase in intensity when my "monthly visitor" is due to arrive. (There. I used a euphemism. Happy?) This does not always equal anger. It can sometimes mean a greater tendency to weepiness, which would explain why I got teary-eyed during a recent episode of Ice Loves Coco on the E! Channel. Do NOT ask.
My recent research has been into a strange phenomenon that seems to happen at the end of my period. Obviously, hormones are still in play, but it seems that all my rage comes out when I am almost done with the cycle. Seriously. One minute I am calm, fine, at peace with the world. The next minute, some minor setback that would normally just cause me minor annoyance has my blood pressure skyrocketing and my internal temperature increasing rapidly.
Why does this matter? Maybe it doesn't. But maybe this can serve as a warning or wake-up call to people who have wondered why their moods didn't immediately improve once their periods were done. Maybe you've been wondering if you're just a crabby person that hates everyone and this troubles you. I am here to say that you're not alone.
If you are the person who has to deal with a woman who turns into a fire-breathing dragon at the drop of a pin once a month, let this be a warning. Once you know when the woman in your life is scheduled to entertain Aunt Flo (another euphemism), you should just plan to keep your potentially controversial comments and suggestions to yourself. Maybe you can bring them up in a week or so. If you dare.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Walking Wisdom
Due to thunderstorms this morning during our awakening/walk time, Lena was forced to do all her bathroom duties in our own yard while I waited under the porch overhang, holding her leash. Of course, as soon as it was time for me to leave for work, the clouds had parted and the downpour had ceased. Forecasts are calling for high temperatures accompanied by high humidity, so our afternoon walk could be a completely different story.
Now that we are doing morning walks, I have started to notice some different things about my neighborhood that were heretofore unbeknownst to me.
First, I am starting to know the sprinkler schedule. Ours is a fully automated system, the timing of which is determined by some unknown and all-powerful lawn expert. For example, I have learned that if I want to take Lena out for her last bathroom break of the day around 10:30 p.m., the sprinklers for my yard will be going in full force and I will need to walk her down the street to find dry grass. Therefore, it is generally a good idea to wear pants.
At 5:45 a.m., on the other hand, my yard is quite safe. Unfortunately, this is the time that many of the walkways through my neighborhood are transformed to a bit of a gauntlet set up. If you time it right, you can run or briskly walk on the sidewalk without getting soaked. However, trying to do this while tethered to a very curious part-terrier is a bit tricky. As of late, when in doubt, I opt to walk in the street. Now that the sun is rising a bit later, this may be a bit more dangerous. Maybe it is time to invest in some reflective clothing?
The second thing that I have noticed is that there are a LOT of people who leave for work at 5:45 a.m. in my neighborhood. Frankly, I am a bit impressed. While I am struggling to get out of bed just to throw on shoes and do the zombie walk with Lena, my neighbors have showered and are ready to operate heavy machinery. Wow. It should be noted that I am not the only resident to be up walking the dog at this time. I am never quite cognizant (or groomed) enough to really want to encounter them up close, so we usually do the head-nod greeting from a safe distance.
In the center of my neighborhood there is a lovely little man-made pond. I suspect it serves as a drainage area, but during the day in warm months, there is a fountain that sprays and makes it look all nice. At 5:45 a.m., the fountain does not run. As of late, there has not been much by way of a breeze in the morning, which means that this lake remains quite still.
This body of water attracts a certain breed of waterfowl known as geese. I am no ornithologist, and I dare not make the incorrect identification of the breed, but they are large, have black necks and leave green poop all over the place.
Like I said, the sun is rising later as the days grow shorter, which means that we are walking in near-dark for most of the time. This makes it much harder for me to note and identify goose droppings that may attract the attention of Lena. So far we have managed to avoid them, but I know it is only a matter of time before one finds its way to her mouth or the bottom of my shoe.
I don't know if some sort of charm has befallen us for most of the summer, but today was the first morning that we were officially rained out. I learned my lesson a week ago on why it is not a great idea to go walking in the rain. It was after work and raining lightly. I knew Lena needed to get out, so I put on my old rain jacket and some waterproof shoes for a "quick" jaunt.
About three blocks into the walk, it started to pour. Hard. Thankfully, Lena made the decision to poop right before this happened, so we were able to feel that we had accomplished something before we ran through sheets of water back to shelter. My shorts, shoes, jacket and Lena's fur, leash and harness were soaked through. After laying everything out to dry, I decided not to make that mistake again, if I could help it. Running through downpours may have been fun in college, but I am not into it so much any more.
Now that we are doing morning walks, I have started to notice some different things about my neighborhood that were heretofore unbeknownst to me.
First, I am starting to know the sprinkler schedule. Ours is a fully automated system, the timing of which is determined by some unknown and all-powerful lawn expert. For example, I have learned that if I want to take Lena out for her last bathroom break of the day around 10:30 p.m., the sprinklers for my yard will be going in full force and I will need to walk her down the street to find dry grass. Therefore, it is generally a good idea to wear pants.
At 5:45 a.m., on the other hand, my yard is quite safe. Unfortunately, this is the time that many of the walkways through my neighborhood are transformed to a bit of a gauntlet set up. If you time it right, you can run or briskly walk on the sidewalk without getting soaked. However, trying to do this while tethered to a very curious part-terrier is a bit tricky. As of late, when in doubt, I opt to walk in the street. Now that the sun is rising a bit later, this may be a bit more dangerous. Maybe it is time to invest in some reflective clothing?
The second thing that I have noticed is that there are a LOT of people who leave for work at 5:45 a.m. in my neighborhood. Frankly, I am a bit impressed. While I am struggling to get out of bed just to throw on shoes and do the zombie walk with Lena, my neighbors have showered and are ready to operate heavy machinery. Wow. It should be noted that I am not the only resident to be up walking the dog at this time. I am never quite cognizant (or groomed) enough to really want to encounter them up close, so we usually do the head-nod greeting from a safe distance.
In the center of my neighborhood there is a lovely little man-made pond. I suspect it serves as a drainage area, but during the day in warm months, there is a fountain that sprays and makes it look all nice. At 5:45 a.m., the fountain does not run. As of late, there has not been much by way of a breeze in the morning, which means that this lake remains quite still.
This body of water attracts a certain breed of waterfowl known as geese. I am no ornithologist, and I dare not make the incorrect identification of the breed, but they are large, have black necks and leave green poop all over the place.
Like I said, the sun is rising later as the days grow shorter, which means that we are walking in near-dark for most of the time. This makes it much harder for me to note and identify goose droppings that may attract the attention of Lena. So far we have managed to avoid them, but I know it is only a matter of time before one finds its way to her mouth or the bottom of my shoe.
I don't know if some sort of charm has befallen us for most of the summer, but today was the first morning that we were officially rained out. I learned my lesson a week ago on why it is not a great idea to go walking in the rain. It was after work and raining lightly. I knew Lena needed to get out, so I put on my old rain jacket and some waterproof shoes for a "quick" jaunt.
About three blocks into the walk, it started to pour. Hard. Thankfully, Lena made the decision to poop right before this happened, so we were able to feel that we had accomplished something before we ran through sheets of water back to shelter. My shorts, shoes, jacket and Lena's fur, leash and harness were soaked through. After laying everything out to dry, I decided not to make that mistake again, if I could help it. Running through downpours may have been fun in college, but I am not into it so much any more.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Dress-up
I continue to impress the people in the world around me with my thorough knowledge of pop culture, and I owe it all to Nintendo Wii. Without Wii and its assortment of games, I not would know the words to any Katy Perry songs. I would not know how awesome I am at dancing to Anita Ward's "Ring My Bell." My skills at defeating all the odds to be super champion of MarioKart would still be undiscovered.
To be clear, I am not openly declaring myself to be the champion of all Wii games ever made. But I am pretty good at some of them. Maybe not Call of Duty or Raving Rabbids, but maybe someday. Actually, combat games are never going to go well for me, so let's just forget about those. I get too disoriented and just start shooting everything. Never a good sign.
Now to totally change subjects! Tonight I am going to a wedding. It should be fun, but wearing a dress is always a little bit scary for me. Why is that?
Well.
When I was a child, we were a regular church-going family. Every Sunday, rain or shine, we were up earlier than is decent for a weekend, freshly scrubbed, dressed to the nines and expected to sit nicely in a pew and attend Sunday School.
Most of this routine was not bothersome to me, but the part where we were "dressed to the nines" always caused some consternation. At least for me.
First of all, the prerequisite item of clothing to be considered "dressed up" is right there in the title: a dress. I did not hate dresses. I was actually somewhat ambivalent towards them. Sure I wore them on occasion in my daily rotation, but I wasn't the kind of girl who insisted on them (or against them).
Next, when wearing a dress, at least back in the 1980's, the ensemble could not be considered truly worthy of a formal occasion unless tights were worn underneath. This served multiple purposes. First, we lived in Minnesota and sometimes the weather was inclement. Tights provided added protection for the legs from the elements and sometimes additional warmth. Second, modesty is sometimes an issue for children as they are prone to climbing, running and jumping all over the place regardless of what they are wearing. Underwear may come into view at some point, and this simply is not acceptable in public, especially at God's house.
Now that you know why I wore tights, I will tell you why I hated wearing them. There is some inherent flaw in the design of tights, likely due to the fact that they encapsulate the feet as well as the legs and have a tendency to take a downward dragging direction in the course of movement while wearing them. This sometimes leads to one's mother stopping to hike them up, often in an obvious and slightly embarrassing manner. The top of the tights also have an odd propensity to "roll." As in rolling down. As in eventually rolling off. This problem is uncomfortable and even more embarrassing to remedy.
The final piece of dress up that was required were "nice shoes." While children's fashion has now evolved to include much more stylish and comfortable varieties of footwear, during the 80's in rural MN, there were far few options. Buster Brown Shoes were the haute couture items du jour. Mine were usually black flats with some sort of dressy punch out design on the toes and featured buckles. They were not wildly uncomfortable, but they were extremely cumbersome to put on and remove. Also, they were quite slippery on all surfaces, but apparently snow boots and/or Care Bear Velcro sneakers were not acceptable alternatives.
Now that I am older and have more control over my wardrobe, things are different. When I wear dresses, I do not wear tights, or even panty hose if I can avoid it. I also have a wider variety of shoes, some with buckles, but mostly with a heel. I have now achieved some degree of master over buckles, but I have to admit that most of my dress shoes are slip-ons.
Unfortunately, I still must contend with the sometimes inclement weather of Minnesota. For this reason, I rarely wear dresses after October or before May. As it is August, tonight I will be going without tights and wearing heels. With buckles. I hope this means that they will stay on securely as I intend to use some of my new-found Wii dancing skills to impress at the wedding reception. Wish me luck.
To be clear, I am not openly declaring myself to be the champion of all Wii games ever made. But I am pretty good at some of them. Maybe not Call of Duty or Raving Rabbids, but maybe someday. Actually, combat games are never going to go well for me, so let's just forget about those. I get too disoriented and just start shooting everything. Never a good sign.
Now to totally change subjects! Tonight I am going to a wedding. It should be fun, but wearing a dress is always a little bit scary for me. Why is that?
Well.
When I was a child, we were a regular church-going family. Every Sunday, rain or shine, we were up earlier than is decent for a weekend, freshly scrubbed, dressed to the nines and expected to sit nicely in a pew and attend Sunday School.
Most of this routine was not bothersome to me, but the part where we were "dressed to the nines" always caused some consternation. At least for me.
First of all, the prerequisite item of clothing to be considered "dressed up" is right there in the title: a dress. I did not hate dresses. I was actually somewhat ambivalent towards them. Sure I wore them on occasion in my daily rotation, but I wasn't the kind of girl who insisted on them (or against them).
Next, when wearing a dress, at least back in the 1980's, the ensemble could not be considered truly worthy of a formal occasion unless tights were worn underneath. This served multiple purposes. First, we lived in Minnesota and sometimes the weather was inclement. Tights provided added protection for the legs from the elements and sometimes additional warmth. Second, modesty is sometimes an issue for children as they are prone to climbing, running and jumping all over the place regardless of what they are wearing. Underwear may come into view at some point, and this simply is not acceptable in public, especially at God's house.
Now that you know why I wore tights, I will tell you why I hated wearing them. There is some inherent flaw in the design of tights, likely due to the fact that they encapsulate the feet as well as the legs and have a tendency to take a downward dragging direction in the course of movement while wearing them. This sometimes leads to one's mother stopping to hike them up, often in an obvious and slightly embarrassing manner. The top of the tights also have an odd propensity to "roll." As in rolling down. As in eventually rolling off. This problem is uncomfortable and even more embarrassing to remedy.
The final piece of dress up that was required were "nice shoes." While children's fashion has now evolved to include much more stylish and comfortable varieties of footwear, during the 80's in rural MN, there were far few options. Buster Brown Shoes were the haute couture items du jour. Mine were usually black flats with some sort of dressy punch out design on the toes and featured buckles. They were not wildly uncomfortable, but they were extremely cumbersome to put on and remove. Also, they were quite slippery on all surfaces, but apparently snow boots and/or Care Bear Velcro sneakers were not acceptable alternatives.
Now that I am older and have more control over my wardrobe, things are different. When I wear dresses, I do not wear tights, or even panty hose if I can avoid it. I also have a wider variety of shoes, some with buckles, but mostly with a heel. I have now achieved some degree of master over buckles, but I have to admit that most of my dress shoes are slip-ons.
Unfortunately, I still must contend with the sometimes inclement weather of Minnesota. For this reason, I rarely wear dresses after October or before May. As it is August, tonight I will be going without tights and wearing heels. With buckles. I hope this means that they will stay on securely as I intend to use some of my new-found Wii dancing skills to impress at the wedding reception. Wish me luck.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Taking a break
As is often the case, my gas tank is perilously near empty. It used to happen that my father would graciously utilize my vehicle to run his weekly Saturday morning errands, after which he would fill up the tank for me. Those days appear to be over.
I exit the building and dart across the parking lot to my waiting oven-like car. I would prefer to stroll leisurely as it is a nice day, but I am on a mission and time is of the essence.
In order to avoid being stranded on the side of the road during my lunch break, I make a pit stop at my local Petro Pad. Pay-at-the-Pump has made my life so much easier, and I ponder this as I stand and wait for the tank to fill with regular unleaded gasoline.
When the pump shuts off, I carefully remove the nozzle so as not to squander any precious and overpriced liquid petroleum. After my receipt is in hand, I depart. The whole transaction has taken less than five minutes. Perfect.
Today is my lucky day; all the stoplights are timed in my favor. Before I know it, I am on the freeway on the way to my mission's destination: my house. In good traffic, this journey takes about 15-20 minutes. Traffic is good today.
I arrive in my neighborhood and wonder at the lush beauty of August in Minnesota after a good season of rainfall. Unfortunately, I do not have time to stop and smell the grass in front of my house for too long. I push the button for my garage door to open and drive in.
After fumbling for my keys for what feels like several minutes, I am finally in the house. I consult my list of tasks. First is "dog meds." This is because today is Lena's day for Heartguard and Frontline. Like an absent-minded fool I neglected to take these with me before I left. I grab these quickly as I have made a point to keep them in a central location to avoid 30 minutes of hunting through cupboards and closets.
Second on my list is "scarves." In my rush to depart on Tuesday, I was not able to locate the black shawl/scarve that my mother asked to borrow for a wedding on Friday. In the meantime, I have thought of another potential hiding place for this item, and I go to find it. Eureka. I make a split second decison to grab a pink and blue pashmina for myself. Time is of the essence, you know.
Third on my list is "mail." As this is located outside the house at the end of my street, I opt to move this to the bottom of the list and move on to the next item: "chocolate." My mother picked up some wonderful confections from DB Infusions of Madison, WI last weekend, and I need to have them with me so that they don't go bad before I get home this weekend. Into the bag they go.
There is nothing else left on the list except for the mail, so I grab my bag and head out the door. I briefly ponder whether it would be more efficient to walk to the mailbox or drive. I decide to walk. As usual, my mailbox lock fights the insertion of the key with extreme valor, but I prevail. It is only a matter of time before the tide turns against me, but for today, I am victorious.
Thankfully, the piece of important mail I seek is NOT in the pile. Oh well, you can't win them all. I walk back to the house, throw all my listed items in the car, and back out of the garage. Absently I push the button to remotely close the garage. As I drive out through the neighborhood, I pause in a brief panic to try and remember if I closed the garage. I consider looping back, but this would take too long and traffic on the return voyage can be unpredictable. If someone wants to steal my old bike and the foosball table, oh well.
Sadly, the lights are not in my favor on this leg of my journey. People are driving like slow-witted dust mops, and I grow impatient. After what feels like two hours (but is only 10 minutes) I am back on the freeway. I drive over the speed limit, but within the threshhold for tolerance. I breeze into the parking lot just in the nick of time to find the my parking space is still available. It's a small victory, but it pleases me.
I march back into the office and return to my desk, slightly out of breath, but ready to resume working.
Mission accomplished.
I exit the building and dart across the parking lot to my waiting oven-like car. I would prefer to stroll leisurely as it is a nice day, but I am on a mission and time is of the essence.
In order to avoid being stranded on the side of the road during my lunch break, I make a pit stop at my local Petro Pad. Pay-at-the-Pump has made my life so much easier, and I ponder this as I stand and wait for the tank to fill with regular unleaded gasoline.
When the pump shuts off, I carefully remove the nozzle so as not to squander any precious and overpriced liquid petroleum. After my receipt is in hand, I depart. The whole transaction has taken less than five minutes. Perfect.
Today is my lucky day; all the stoplights are timed in my favor. Before I know it, I am on the freeway on the way to my mission's destination: my house. In good traffic, this journey takes about 15-20 minutes. Traffic is good today.
I arrive in my neighborhood and wonder at the lush beauty of August in Minnesota after a good season of rainfall. Unfortunately, I do not have time to stop and smell the grass in front of my house for too long. I push the button for my garage door to open and drive in.
After fumbling for my keys for what feels like several minutes, I am finally in the house. I consult my list of tasks. First is "dog meds." This is because today is Lena's day for Heartguard and Frontline. Like an absent-minded fool I neglected to take these with me before I left. I grab these quickly as I have made a point to keep them in a central location to avoid 30 minutes of hunting through cupboards and closets.
Second on my list is "scarves." In my rush to depart on Tuesday, I was not able to locate the black shawl/scarve that my mother asked to borrow for a wedding on Friday. In the meantime, I have thought of another potential hiding place for this item, and I go to find it. Eureka. I make a split second decison to grab a pink and blue pashmina for myself. Time is of the essence, you know.
Third on my list is "mail." As this is located outside the house at the end of my street, I opt to move this to the bottom of the list and move on to the next item: "chocolate." My mother picked up some wonderful confections from DB Infusions of Madison, WI last weekend, and I need to have them with me so that they don't go bad before I get home this weekend. Into the bag they go.
There is nothing else left on the list except for the mail, so I grab my bag and head out the door. I briefly ponder whether it would be more efficient to walk to the mailbox or drive. I decide to walk. As usual, my mailbox lock fights the insertion of the key with extreme valor, but I prevail. It is only a matter of time before the tide turns against me, but for today, I am victorious.
Thankfully, the piece of important mail I seek is NOT in the pile. Oh well, you can't win them all. I walk back to the house, throw all my listed items in the car, and back out of the garage. Absently I push the button to remotely close the garage. As I drive out through the neighborhood, I pause in a brief panic to try and remember if I closed the garage. I consider looping back, but this would take too long and traffic on the return voyage can be unpredictable. If someone wants to steal my old bike and the foosball table, oh well.
Sadly, the lights are not in my favor on this leg of my journey. People are driving like slow-witted dust mops, and I grow impatient. After what feels like two hours (but is only 10 minutes) I am back on the freeway. I drive over the speed limit, but within the threshhold for tolerance. I breeze into the parking lot just in the nick of time to find the my parking space is still available. It's a small victory, but it pleases me.
I march back into the office and return to my desk, slightly out of breath, but ready to resume working.
Mission accomplished.
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