My Prize......

You know what's wonderful about a tough Monday at school, coming home in the drizzly rain, and knowing it's nine lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng weeks until we have another day off?

Getting a package in the mail.

I wrote last week about being a winner, and today my prize arrived in the mail, along with a very sweet note from its creator.

I apologize for the poor photography. (I seem to be doing a LOT of that lately.) My big camera is at school, and I didn't have the forethought (or energy or time or inclination or even the idea) to write my blog post when it was still daylight so the natural light would be better. I'm afraid this photo doesn't do the artwork justice. This creation will serve as a constant reminder of the wonderful friendships we can build even with people we have never seen (and may never see) in person.

On the back of the piece is a .... what? .... saying? .... quotation? .... inspiration? .... that I found  poignant. And as a card-carrying member of the American Association of Professional Cynics, I don't throw words like "poignant" around lightly. Unless I'm being sarcastic. And in this case I'm not.

She signed the piece with her real, live, birth certificate name, too, but I cut that out of the picture just in case she wants to preserve her privacy. (It's a precarious tightrope we walk in the blogging world sometimes, isn't it?)

Is it wrong to use "precarious" and "tightrope" together? Is it redundant? If so, I apologize.

Thanks again to the blogger who held this giveaway. Drop by her blog and leave a kind word on my behalf. Or leave a kind word on your own behalf. I'm unselfish that way.

#34 - Go to a UGA Women's Basketball Game.....

I'm not a HUGE basketball fan, but because it has a ball in it, I can enjoy watching a game. I loved watching my nephews play in high school, and I try to catch UGA games on television every chance I get. The nail-biter yesterday to a team they were expected to dominate wasn't good for my blood pressure (they won in overtime). Even when I was in college, though, when I'm pretty sure it was either free or at least cheap, I never went to a UGA women's game. Until today.

When I bought the tickets, I had to schedule around the men's games and gymnastics, because I didn't want to drive to campus too many times in one week. I knew Hubby wouldn't want to go watch women play, but I figured I could bribe him if necessary. I can usually persuade him with the promise of eating at the Varsity. You'd have to be from Georgia to understand the attraction. It's greasy, you have to stand at a counter and order your food, and then you have to squeeze through the multitudes to find a seat in one of the rooms (rarely the one with the television on the channel I would like to see). Because it's always, always packed.

Hubby was out of town this weekend, though, so Katydid went to the game with me. I felt bad asking her to drive an hour to go to a basketball game on one of her few days off, but we met at the Varsity, and she's just as easily bribed as Hubby.

The UGA women's team has enjoyed greater success on a more consistent basis than the men's team. I promise I'm not going to give you a play-by-play of the entire game. UGA won over 'Bama by a comfortable 27 points. They led 10-0 at one point and never looked back. Sorry.....I neglected to take my camera.

I was reading about our coach, Andy Landers, before the game (because we were there an hour and a half early, literally the third and fourth people in the entire Coliseum), and I was in awe of what he has done with that program.

He came to UGA the same year I did, 1978, when he was only 26 years old. He's the only full-time women's basketball coach UGA has EVER had. EVER.

He has NEVER had a losing season. NEVER.

It was worth going to the game just to see him in action. He's very ... intense. He would get in the faces of his players, gesturing wildly and yelling. Not screaming, just making his point(s) very ... emphatically. He was doing that one time to one of his players seated on the bench, and I looked at the scoreboard. We were leading by 20 points. "Dude," I thought, "don't have a coronary when you're leading by 20." But I guess that's why he's never had a losing season.

Today was the game to raise money for breast cancer research, so our team was wearing pink. That looked strange, with Bama in their crimson and us in pink. Yet the refs still referred to the home team as "white" when calling ball possession. I guess it's too hard to retrain yourself for one game.

I wouldn't mind going to another Lady Dawgs game, but I wouldn't want to have season tickets. One sports obsession is all I can handle at a time.

#12 - Take a Spin Class.....

When I posted my 50 Things to Do list in my sidebar, #12 bothered me. Not because I was concerned about doing it....it just didn't sound right. It took me until today to realize that what I meant to say was a "Spin Class," not a "Spinning Class." The latter makes me sound like I wanted to make my own wool. And while I do enjoy creativity, that might be taking things a bit too far.

Even though I've been cycling (off and on.....a whole lot of off) for almost 20 years, I had never taken a spin class. I had heard (correctly) that the classes would kick your butt even if you WERE a dedicated cyclist. I guess I avoided them because I was afraid. I'm not a terribly fast cyclist (except downhill, then I'm REALLY fast because heavier things go downhill faster), and I don't do the kinds of rides where you feel compelled to push yourself to keep up with other people. I am only interested in staying in front of Katydid (we ride a tandem ..... ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha) and preferably within sight of Rozmo.

I was also unsure about the whole concept of cycling to music. I do listen to music on my bike every now and then, and it does help if I try to pedal to the beat. (Unless the song is something like Billy Joel's "Lullabye," and then it has a counter effect.) I had walked by the room where they were doing spin classes from time to time, and I also noticed that they are held in the dark. I was puzzled as to why. Today I did my first spin class, and I'm still puzzled about the lights off thing.

The spin class was indeed an excellent workout. I didn't do everything the perky little instructor said to do, but I did what I could. A couple of times when she told us to turn the tension to the right (harder), I actually turned it to the left. Maybe that's why they hold those classes in the dark? She couldn't see which way I was turning the knob.

I can understand why cyclists would use spin classes to stay in shape in the winter, but I'm not sure they are for me. For one thing, it isn't quantifiable. She started off the class by telling us to put the tension on "medium." What the heck does that mean? It was my first time, and I didn't know medium from well done. (Ha ha ha ha ha - aren't I a scream tonight?) When I'm on my real bike, I use miles per hour or average speed to gauge how well I'm doing. I can also see the top of a hill (usually), so I know how hard I need to work to get up it. She would tell us to turn the tension one full turn to the right, but what if I didn't start off in the right place to begin with? I wish the knobs had numbers on them. "Put it on 4" would make a lot more senses to me. And then I would know to put it on 2.

It didn't help matters that I chose today's class because the instructor is one from whom I've taken various classes at two different locations over an 18-year period of time. I felt comfortable telling her it was my first time and asking for some basic beginner information. Only she wasn't there, and the substitute was the same perky little thing who teaches both the line dancing class and the hip hop class, neither of which I enjoyed very much. She was also the person working the front desk when I went to sign up for the multi-sport club at the "Y" last night. (What on earth am I thinking?)

I think there are some things about spin classes that go against my cycling philosophy. For one thing, on our real bikes we pay thousands of dollars to buy enough gears so that we never have to get out of the saddle, no matter how steep the hill. I stand up occasionally to go up a hill, but I've been told that you aren't supposed to do it too much, because it's hard on the knees. But almost an entire spin class is spent standing on the pedals. Even if I did enjoy the spin class, my knees did not.

I won't say I won't do another spin class, but I don't think it's anything I want to do two or three times a week.

While I have you enthralled with my exercise class, I'll tell you about a couple more.

I went to zumba class last night, mainly because Hubby is out of town. I didn't put zumba on my 50 Things list because I had done it before, albeit a couple of years ago. It rained all day yesterday (and all night last night and part of this morning), and it has been cold. Just wet and miserable. I thought to myself that a 6:00 zumba class on a rainy Friday night in February, when a lot of folks have given up their New Year's resolutions already, might have about three people in it. I was off by about thirty-two. I couldn't believe how many people were there! And I loved the instructor. She knew which ones of us weren't regulars, and she made sure to make eye contact and give personal feedback. She could lead the class and at the same time nod, smile, give a thumbs up when we were doing a move correctly. I really enjoyed that class. I'm not sure I will go every Friday night, but I think she teaches one other night during the week as well. It's so much fun, because you feel like you're just dancing instead of working out.

After the spin class this morning, I went to a step aerobics class. It is usually taught by the same instructor as the regular spin class, and I have often wondered how on earth she teaches spin for an hour and then immediately does step aerobics for another hour. I figured if she could do it, so could I. But since she wasn't there this morning, another instructor had to fill in. She said she was going to do "double step," which sounds a lot scarier than it is. Instead of ONE step bench, each person has TWO. She had us put them in an "L" shape, and our routine carried us from one to the other and back.

It was fun at first. I got the first combination fairly quickly and was getting a good workout. We also used a weighted bar and hand weights for some upper body work, which I desperately need. The second combination of steps, however, proved too much for me. I got aggravated and frustrated, and I finally packed up everything and left. (It's hard to walk out in a snit when you have to disassemble not one but two step benches and put them away, along with all the other paraphernalia we were using. All while the class was still going on.)

I don't understand the trend in aerobics classes in the past few years. I realize they want to mix up the routines and keep them interesting and not boring, but why the necessity to make them as COMPLICATED as possible? I'm not stupid, and I have above-average coordination. I was on the drill team in high school, and I was in my one and only dance recital at the age of 34. When I go to an aerobics class, I want to .... maybe EXERCISE? .... I'm not trying out for a Broadway musical.

I didn't want to walk out, and I really tried to avoid it. I tried not to be frustrated. When she first started introducing the intricate combination of steps, I just did the basic up-and-down step on my bench, figuring I was still exercising, which was after all the whole point. She kept adding on more and more complicated things, though, and pretty soon I was standing at my step going up-and-down and up-and-down while people danced and hopped and stepped and spun and shuffled all around me. I looked like the queen of step aerobics, and my subjects were earning their keep by dancing for me. Or maybe not.

Two other people picked up their benches and equipment at about the same time I did, and I wonder if it's for the same reason. I was going to stop at the front desk and ask if maybe they have a "Step Aerobics for Idiots" class, but the person working the desk was ....... you guessed it, Miss Spin-Hip-Hop-Line-Dance Perkiness herself. Good grief, she's EVERYWHERE!

I also ran into the instructor for water aerobics at the "Y" today, and I showed her where I was broken out (don't worry, just my arms .... not my nipples). She said she had already complained about the level of chlorine in the pool last Monday. She said it had done a number on her brand-new swimsuit, and she could smell the chlorine on her skin three days later. Apparently it was an abnormally high level, and they are aware of it, so maybe I don't have to avoid the pool completely.

I apologize for the length of this exercise-related post. You may now return to your own chosen level of activity. Mine for the rest of the night will be quilting and reading.

Dear Fat Gods.......

Those would be the Gods of Fat, not corpulent deities.

Seriously?

SERIOUSLY?

Aren't you taking this middle-aged metabolism thing just a wee bit too far?

For the last week I have done everything almost perfectly. I have not had one bite of chocolate, nor have I had a beer. I had ONE glass of wine on a night when I couldn't sleep. But other than that I didn't cheat. And even that's not really cheating, is it? Aren't I allowed ONE STINKIN' GLASS OF WINE?

I worked out every day....except Tuesday. But on Saturday I ran/walked in a 5K AND THEN came home and rode my bicycle 29 miles. Shouldn't that counteract the not working out on Tuesday?

I mixed up my exercise. I ran, I walked, I bicycled, I did water aerobics, I did the elliptical. Doing water aerobics caused me to break out in a horrible rash ON ALL MY TENDER PARTS (you're welcome for the visual on THAT one - does anyone out there realize how hard it is to scratch one's NIPPLES? Sorry......) because I'm allergic to chlorine and our podunk YMCA didn't think about .... oh perhaps using a salt system .... when they installed their fancy schmancy new indoor pool. Don't I get bonus points for my pain and suffering? And itching and scratching?

I ate rabbit food all last week. To give myself a treat I sometimes put chicken on it. And I used FAT-FREE DRESSING! Which I abhor! We had a baby shower after school today. You want to know my contribution? A veggie tray.

VEGGIE TRAY!

"Dessert" these days isn't the no-sugar-added low-fat ice cream sandwich that I used to enjoy. Oh no, that would be way too decadent. Now my after-dinner treat is a banana popsicle. I guess I'll have to give up those FORTY CALORIES too.

Because with all my hard work and my diligent attention to what I ate and drank, my reward when I went for my weekly weigh-in last night was:

.8

That's a decimal. And an eight.

Eight tenths of a pound.

Twelve ounces and some change.

Really?

If that's to be the rate of my weight loss, I will reach my goal weight sometime around my ninetieth birthday. Why not just die fat at an earlier age? It's really all the same to me.

To make matters worse, did they HAVE to assign a size-zero little twit to do the weigh-ins? Yeah, did they train her to say quite chirpily, "Well it's better than nothing! You lost half a pound!"?

IT'S EIGHT TENTHS OF A POUND, BONEYARD, AND I WANT CREDIT FOR EVERY SINGLE TENTH!!!!

Her advice? Try the exercise of the week: push-ups. Instead I tried MY exercise of the week: a right hook.

Her other tip: Try not drinking sweet tea and sodas next week.

My tip? Try asking me first if I do EITHER OF THOSE THINGS TO START WITH.

Eight tenths of a pound.

Good grief.

Willing to make a deal with the devil for a higher metabolic rate,

Bragger

Monk Moment #3.........

It has been quite a while since I had a Monk Moment that was worthy of blogging about. If you have never seen the series Monk, you may not know that the lovable character is extremely OCD. To the point that he cannot hold down the job he once loved, but he is still called in on some cases because of his superior powers of observation. The other officers refer to him as the "Defective Detective."

My friend Lawanda the Warrior Princess got me started on Monk. I watched a few episodes, but then I got sidetracked and didn't pick it back up. And I don't watch it on television because naturally I HAVE TO WATCH THE EPISODES IN ORDER. LWP gave me a Monk bobblehead for my desk because she and I share a few of Monk's characteristics. I wish the ones I have would extend to housekeeping, but alas a little clutter is fine with me. When Hubby opens only ONE set of blinds on one of our double windows, however, that is NOT fine. Plates have to be stacked a certain way in the china cabinet, and the flowers have to be pointing in the right direction even in the dishwasher. The bed has to be made every day, and the decorative pillows have to be pointing in the same direction. I only use a certain kind of ink pen, I do NOT loan those out to students (or co-workers), and if I lose the cap to a pen, I throw it away. My dresser drawers are neatly arranged, and everything has its place.

I had a Monk Moment this afternoon when I stopped at Wally World for an eclectic bunch of stuff. (Diapers, doggy pee pads, dog treats, baby shampoo and wash, grapes, a yoga mat, and a veggie tray. The baby stuff and veggie tray are for a baby shower at school tomorrow.)

They restriped the parking lot at our local Wally World not too long ago, and naturally the stripe went right over the sewer cover.

The sewer checker guy, however, is apparently unconcerned about trivialities like stripes, so when he finished HIS job (whatever that is), he just slapped the sewer cover down any old way.

When I told LWP about it on the phone, she asked if I had attempted to pry the cover up and straighten it out. I answered that the thought crossed my mind, but the people who were waiting for me to cross were already perplexed that I stopped in the middle of the crosswalk IN THE RAIN (actually it was sleet) to take a picture.

If only I had Photoshop, I would fix this little problem. At least on my computer.

Another Entry for the "Is This Really Necessary?" Department......

Does anyone remember the days of yore, long ago, when newspapers were all black and white? (And read all over, I know, I know.) The "want ads" (known as the "classifieds" these days) were not only all text, they had clever abbreviations and codes that made it a challenge just to figure out what was being sold.

These days you sometimes find sections of the classifieds that are in color. For an additional fee, you can request bold type, perhaps an icon or clip art. As printing options became cheaper and more readily available, photos actually started appearing in advertisements.

I can see the advantage of using a photograph to sell a house or a car. Even a small picture generally gives a pretty good idea of what shape the car is in, and a description of a house is nothing without an accompanying picture.

Photographs began appearing with other items for sale, though. Baby crib for sale (with a picture). Well, yes that is indeed a baby crib. Grandfather clock (with a picture). Never mind that the picture gives no indication of how many scratches the clock may have. It simply verifies that the seller indeed has a grandfather clock. Or a picture of a grandfather clock.

Pictures of motorcycles are useful, as the many number and letter combinations used to distinguish different models mean absolutely nothing to me. Likewise a picture of an RV for sale - the fact that it's 30 feet in length meant nothing to me before we actually had an RV, but a photo would help me decide whether or not I wanted it.

Putting pictures of puppies in the classifieds is playing dirty. We don't want or need another dog, and Gus would NOT be an ideal big brother. But for the past week there has been an adorable black Pomeranian puppy in the classifieds of our local paper, and if he stays there much longer, I'm afraid Hubby won't be able to control himself. We already have a name picked out for him: Deets. If you are aware that Gus' name came from the character played by Robert Duvall in Lonesome Dove, you will get the Deets connection.

I have seen a couple of pictures in the classifieds here lately that make me wonder why the seller would fork over the extra money it costs to include a photo with the ad. One person is offering firewood for sale, and he includes a picture of a neat stack of firewood as proof that is indeed what he is selling. Really? You have to SHOW me what a stack of firewood looks like? Unless he's advertising that he's going to stack it just that neatly when he delivers it (in which case I'm calling him immediately), I'm thinking the photograph is unnecessary.

The one that really boggled my mind, though, was a photograph accompanying an ad for a ...... burial plot. It's sad enough to offer a burial plot for sale in the newspaper. But a photograph? Do you know what a photograph of a burial plot looks like (unless it's in the process of being used, which would be a whole different can of worms)? It looks like a picture of the ground. With possibly some flowers in the distant background. The picture was black and white, though, and about two inches square. I think it must have been an unscrupulous salesperson who talked that person into an accompanying photograph.

I know, I know, half of you think you would like to trade your problems for mine. And the rest of you think I should consider professional help.

I Am A Winner.........

For the first time ever, I have won something in a blog giveaway. This goes beyond the time that Hubby won a new Harley and gave it to me. It even goes beyond my winning a motorcycle the very next year.

My relatively new blogging pal Elena had a little giveaway contest, and I won! I also recently discovered (only because it was in front of my face the whole time) that Elena is the one from whom I shamelessly stole the idea for my 50 Things to Do list. She has a similar list in her sidebar of things to do before her birthday.

When I emailed her to give her my address so she could mail my prize, she said she loved my name. Said it sounded like poetry.

Poetry.

My name. 

That is such a sweet thing to say. It was only in adulthood that I came to grips with having an unusual name that people can't pronounce when they see it or spell when they hear it. I have finally embraced the name (did I have any other choice?), but to hear someone say it sounds like poetry is pretty special.

Sometimes a small thing happens and provides a pick-me-up that I wasn't even aware I needed until it happened. Such is the case with Elena's prize and her sweet remarks. I will hang her creation up at school, where it will remind me not only of Elena's kindness, but of the need to spread that sort of kindness myself. I can't wait for the package to arrive.