The Dorkiness Continues....

You know what is worse than vacation photos? Vacation videos. Yep, enjoy:



It is a sad, yet hilarious fact that I square dance on vacation each year. And what's even more pathetic is that I'm damn proud of that too. I mean, how many of you can boast of being able to do a mean "Blue Moon of Kentucky" or a "Grand Square"?

Yeah, I thought so.

Each year, a group of us get together in the Daniel Boone National Forest to relax, breathe a bit, enjoy each others' company and knock back a few traditional line dances and some squares--along with some cocktails. And we pass these dances on to our young--as good parents should, so there will be generations of future dancers to enjoy the thrill of Appalachian entertainment of days gone by.

Don't be sniggering at me and Em hippity hoppin' round the 'ol pavilion floor--the Salty Dog Rag is beastly. I swear that one of these years, I'm gonna have a grabber on my 4th time around the ring. That second musical interlude gets me every year and I honestly don't think I'm gonna make it--but I do. And I don't bail like some of those folks are doing. (Busted, Joan and Pete.)

So, while the rest of the world is going exotic places on their vacations, know that I'm whoopin' it up, Appalachian-style in the hills of Kentucky each summer. 

And no, I'm teachin' ya'll how to do it.

This is my life......

Joe and Em were watching "RepoGames" and the question posed to the guy trying to save his car from being repossessed was "How many months have the letter 'e' in their name?".  I'm ashamed to admit that this was an actual, honest-to-goodness conversation in my house last night:

"Hmmmm....how many months have an 'e' in their name?" Joe says to no one in particular.

"February. That's one. June. September..." Em helps him along.

"No, it doesn't. February doesn't have an 'e' in it."

"Yes it does. FEB....bruary"

"No, it doesn't. February does NOT have an 'e' in it."

Tsk. "YES it does! FEB.....F....E....B....."

"No, it doesn't."

"YES it DOES! F.....EEEE.....B...." Em's gonna kill him at this point.

"Oh. I was thinking of January." To which Em and I just look at each other.


I live with idiots.

Skyping Fools

My favorite question is "How's Colin?"--you know, the kid at school.  Yeah, I dunno. I mean, he's a boy. Away at college. Having fun. Guess how much he calls home?  (cricket. cricket.)

Yeah, not so much. But that's okay, I make him Skype us once a week--it's mandatory. I need to know he is alive at least once a week. The rest of the week I just pretend he's studying for all those A's and working hard to pay for next semester's books. 

I love Skype. There is nothing like seeing your kid to know if he is alright or not.  I tell all moms whose kids are going away to college to get Skype on their computer.  There is just something about being able to see your kid as well as talking to them. I think the picture is worth a cabillion words--especially when your kid is Colin, Man of Few Words.

While I'm all happy seeing Col's face and his dorm room decor in the background, I can only imagine what he sees at his end.  There is me, holding up one cat or the other to say "hi" to Col, Em in the background, flitting in and out of the picture.  Joe is typically next to me on a stool, yelling at the computer like an old man.  I'm not sure why he yells, but he does--like Colin can't hear him or something. We look like idiots.

Add to the visual, the ridiculous conversation--How are your classes? Are you working a lot of hours? How are your friends? What have you been doing? Do you have a roommate yet? Do you have a single for the semester?  You know--all those annoying "parent" questions that means we don't know what else to talk to him about--according to him.

Colin is like his dad--doesn't have a whole lot to say most days.  It's funny, with all this technology to help us all communicate on so many levels--Facebook, Skype, texting, land line phones, cell phones, email, etc.--we just don't have a whole lot to say each week.  Oh, we chit-chat, but it's pretty much over in 10 minutes.  And the rest of the time we just end up being silly on that darn webcam.

And it's great to see him roll his eyes at us from so very far away.  It's like he's home again.

Lemont Guy Coming....

There is this underground world of band directors and they all know each other. My cousin Kelly, who is a band director herself, sits with us at a contest or two each year and gives me the scoop 'cuz she knows all these guys and knows who's strong in percussion, horns, who is good, who isn't, etc. It's amazing--I don't know of many occupations that have such a network.

While we have a team of people who assist our band director with colorguard, drumline, visual and musical style, and logistics, he will still call on his colleagues for some thoughts on our show. One in particular comes each year--and the kids dread it. The show usually looks a lot better after he comes, but it is a whirlwind of a storm that he rides in on, leaving a trail of tissues in his wake.

I don't much agree on the method, but this guy comes out and rehashes every minute detail of the show--from the music to the visual.  He demands attention, precision, and absolutely no distractions.  It is not a nice day when he shows up and there are horror stories of the things he says to the kids. There is typically more than one kid in tears by the time he is done. The parents dread his coming as much as the kids because we have to pick up the pieces when he goes home. It's not fun.

Our show is okay this year and we have done fairly well, but not what we are used to.  Judging these contests is a mystery to me--what I look for in a good band isn't necessarily what the judges are looking for, so I can't tell you what is wrong, but we aren't scoring nearly as high as we usually do. After last weekend's performance, Joe said "I think it's 'Lemont Guy' time", referring to the dude who comes out to help our director.


And while Joe isn't usually the prophetic type, sure enough, Em came home and announced that tomorrow is "Lemont Guy Day".  Uh oh. That's today. 

While I may have to deal with a nasty kid tonight, I'm guessing the show is gonna look mighty different come Saturday. 

Spongebob is not a good influence on me

One of my favorite episodes of Spongebob is "I'm your greatest fanatic"--not that I'm a huge watcher of Spongebob, but it is one that makes me laugh whenever I seem to catch it. And with two kids in the house, the odds of catching it is pretty great. So it makes me laugh, but I'm easily entertained--I think you know that already.

Anywho, the Reader's Digest version of this episode is that Spongebob follows Kevin the Sea Cucumber around and tries to become part of his Jelly Spotters Club. Kevin doesn't find Spongebob nearly as funny as I do, so he sticks him in various situations where he is going to be stung by jellyfish. Problem is, it backfires every single time and Kevin ends up getting stung instead.

And when he gets stung, one of his lemmings does this:



I was reminded of this as I was reading the paper this morning. You see, Diana Nyad, swimming superstar of the 80's (NOT of the Senior Recreation Center in Weirdville), was attempting for the second time a swim from Havana to Florida without a shark cage. She tried it a month or so ago, but had to bail mid-swim.I think she got sick or something, I don't remember.

Early this morning, poor Diana was struggling again because of jellyfish stings--to the face. Owie. And as of this afternoon, she was forced to quit because after receiving two Man-O-War stings to the face, her body was overloading on jellyfish venom.Somebody said that was not a good thing and made her quit. Bummer.

And while that poor woman was suffering, the only thing I could think of was this video. And I made that sound. Out loud. As I read the story.

And the funny thing is, my family  knew exactly what that meant.

Marching Band Saturday

Not only do we have a rockin' band, 

but we also have flaming sousaphones.

Happy Autumnal Equinox!

Oooooh, I love autumn--the crisp air, the smell of burning leaves, vibrant colors, pumpkins, Indian corn, scarecrows, and apples.  Just about everything good is going on in Autumn.

 I was just saying to Joe last night that we have to start working on wrapping up the yard.  While I love summer, I do like sweeping up the place and tucking in the gardens for winter.  And yes, I will miss all the caterpillars and hummingbirds, I do need the rest. I think we all do. So, I run around like a little squirrel washing this, cutting back that, digging and moving the perennials, and packing the shed with our patio furniture. Such a busy time, fall.

Marching Season continues this weekend with another contest.  It's always interesting to see what our director has changed from last week, as he takes into account what worked, what didn't from what the judges had to say.  Every time we see it, something new is happening. And while that challenges the kids, it keeps it interesting for us all.  I just hope it brings us some awards--the kids deserve them for all of the hard work they put into that band.

Our pally, Vanilla, is out of commission for a bit, having had some eye surgery done.  Why not pop over and wish him well?  I'm sure he's got his best gal reading the comments to him while he recovers.  I offered to phone him up and read all the blogs together with him and then we could make goofy comments together, but I haven't heard from him on that one yet. But I'm waiting...

Happy Autumn, pallies. And Happy Weekend too.  Make the best of it--remember to breathe a bit. Turn off the computer and stick your nose in nature a bit.  Go see if you see some colors changing.  And if you live someplace where that doesn't happen....well....I dunno....go feel the sun on your face or something good like that.  Either way, just have fun.  I'm going to.

It's not the stroke you swim.....

But the shoes you wear.

Yep. One of the seniors had her gymmies on in the pool yesterday.  No, they weren't pool shoes--they were honest-to-goodness gym shoes, all laced up and tied in 2 neat little bows.  

NOT kidding.

I wish I was.

And after she was done water-walkin', I watched her water-step on the stairs for 15 minutes.  With her shoes on. IN the pool.  

And no, they didn't match her suit.  

Because THAT would be weird.

Wordless Wednesday

There is something very handsome about this guy--in that "prince" sorta way. 

I'm not kissing him though.

Esther Williams in Lane 2

I still swim a couple of days a week and I'm finding that while the temps are dropping outside, the pool gets emptier.  Either my senior swim pals are not digging being cold and wet or I'm just hitting the pool on Senior Outing days. 

I found myself alone with two old guys in the pool the other day.  And while I pounded away at my mile swim, Ichabod Crane sloooowly paced Lane #4 and the male version of Esther Williams swam the sidestroke back and forth, back and forth in the lane next to me.  I wanted to tell him that he should switch sides as he's gonna be all bulked up on the right arm from all that sidestroke--but I didn't. I think he'll figure it out when his shirt doesn't fit........on one arm.

Oh, there are all sorts of funky swim strokes going on at that pool.  And while I try to mind my own breathing, I find myself cracking up at the silly swimming that is going on around me.  Things like the "butterback" where the legs are doing a breaststroke kick, while the person is on their back, flailing both arms at once to move forward. It's sort of like the butterfly--but on their back. I'm surprised they don't drown doing that.

There is a lot of Ester Williams-type swimming--you know, where your hair never gets wet.  There is the sidestroke, the breaststroke, and the noodling along as you hold the lane line marker.  But they look good--not a hair is wet.

Then there is the Jacques Cousteau group, where there is mostly underwater swimming.  And that doesn't bother me so much until the dude with the mask and snorkel does that--it sort of creeps me out wondering what he is looking at with that mask.  Any man I tell that to tells me that he's looking at one thing--so now I'm creeped out by that dude.  EEK.

I had a friend post on FB last night that his gym is all full of wacky Jersey Shore types.  He says they all stare at themselves in the mirror, flex, gel their hair, and parade around trying to impress everyone.  Well, I can say I definitely don't have that.  I guess I count myself lucky that all I have is my senior buddies--who continue to make me laugh.

And  make me feel young and in shape.

Boxing - Marching Band Style

While our band is relatively small for a high school marching band, moving them is still no easy feat.  Getting 90 plus teens from here to there, fed, watered, and dressed for performance isn't for the faint of heart.  It's no wonder things get a tad stressed every now and then.  And how it all comes together is a miracle, for you would never know the madness that it takes to get those kids to do what they do so well.

Joe and I rarely hang around the "backstage scene", where all the band parents help get those kids and the equipment out to the field--we are usually busy making a crowd in the stands as the built-in cheering section for our band.  Saturday was a bit different because we ventured into that beehive of activity, helping here and there and sort of just dodging the mayhem whenever possible.

I quickly found out that I'm better off being the stand crowd--not for the work, but for the personalities that all come to light in the frenzy of pre-performance preparation.   And I'm not talking about the kids--some band parents can be downright beastly at times.  It's a good thing I'm not king because I'd have them all beheaded.
 
For the past two years, my mantra has been "Shut the hell up" in a goofy I'm-only-half-kidding voice to those who are getting on our nerves. This year, I've sort of progressed into "I'm gonna hafta punch you" in a silly I'm-really-almost-not-kidding voice, which Joe says I shouldn't say because it is too violent, but I'm thinking there is no other silly way to deal with some of these wienies.  And I'm being kind by calling them wienies.  Criminy, I don't think I can go back there by the bus again.  How the band director deals with this crap, I'll never know.

Oh, maybe that is why he pretty much doesn't speak to us for the entire marching season. Now I get it.

We did well considering that we've only run through our full show 2 times--most bands didn't even perform their entire show on Saturday.  We won second place in our division of 3 bands and lost by a mere point or two.  But while there will be some who argue with me, I think second place is a good thing your first time out--you don't want false confidence heading into the more difficult contests.  You gotta want that win and you definitely have to work for it.  Winning should never be easy--there is no glory in that.

The kids--well, they are great.  They hate on each other, but pull together when they need to.  They are a team, a whole--with no part greater than the others.

The parents--well, this is a new breed. The old regime moved on last year and left us with too many chiefs and not enough indians.  They have their little baby fits and boss everyone around........and they keep on going.  If it keeps up, my friend Carrie says she's gonna get me some boxing gloves. 

I'm not really gonna punch anyone, but I sure do think a lot about it.

Kicking Off Marching Season

People tell me we're crazy for hosting Colorguard Breakfast before each competition.  I dunno, making breakfast for a 7:00 invasion of our humble abode isn't such a bad thing--I mean, years from now I'm still going to be reminiscing about it, I'm sure of it. And that's about when the cats will be fully recovered as well.

We're off to our first competition of the Marching Season--and we count ourselves lucky that the temps aren't below freezing and it isn't raining.  Okay, so the thought of damp metal bleachers haunts me throughout the rest of the year, I'm not thinking about that just yet.  I'm anticipating 6 hours of drum line, colorguard, incredible music, and jam-packed stands with respectful crowds who truly appreciate the world of marching band.  I can't wait.

You never know what the season holds and I always start out apprehensive about the program.  After last night's first official run-through of the show, I'm a wee bit hesitant, but that is normal.  It isn't until we've had a few contests under our belt that we really learn to love the show and Mr. P never lets us down. 

Wish us luck. May our division be tough, our music strong, and our field show a winner. 

And pray for me that I survive those damn bleachers. Owie.

Happy Friday, Walmart Shoppers

Since I know how much you all love my YouTube finds, I'm posting an extra special one for today. While this one runs a little long, the photos are worth it.

Enjoy!



I'm off to our very first marching competition and ColorGuard Breakfast this weekend. Wish us luck!

I love Hobbes Thursday - Who's under the hostas?

I looked out at the yard the other night and I noticed that the hostas were moving--you know, Hobbes' hostas--the one where he finds his mousie friends.

Those leaves were rustlin' while Em and I watched to see who was causing the ruckus. Hobbes was inside, so it really made me curious as to was under those leaves.

"It's the opossum" Joe said confidently, but those leaves were moving too fast for that slow movin' guy and I said so. And with that, this appeared:

Cutest damn thing I ever saw---from the safety of the house.

I'm putting wagers on either Joe or Hobbes meetin' the stinky end of this little guy. I'll be stocking up on tomato juice this weekend--just in case.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

Fall is coming--or so the frogs are telling me.  Sunshiney days are spent warming their bodies and hanging out by the sedum--where all the yummy butterflies, bumblebees and flies can be found. Every one of them are getting chubbier by the day.

And yes, this is one of this summer's taddies--he's a big boy (girl?) now.

Crossing the line

Have you ever been asked to do something that you know is wrong? I mean, morally, ethically wrong?  Not illegal kinda stuff, but just something that just goes against everything you believe in. And you know it isn't right and it makes you feel all icky just thinking about it.

Would you do it? 

Now, I ask the same question--but imagine it was at work.  What do you do?  Do you do it to keep your job? Or to be a "team player"?  To show your boss that you are "on board" with the company?  Where is the line?

And while it is easy to answer in the comfort of your recliner and you can say to yourself "Oh, I would never..." , it is a much different scenario when you are faced with this dilemma at the place where you earn your paycheck.You don't have many options at that point, and you sort of just have to do what you have to do, right?


I'll be over here poking myself in the eyeballs while you all drop your pearls of wisdom on me.

Mean-mugged by a Mantis

You know, sometimes life hands you lemons. And you've got to deal with those lemons otherwise you've got yourself some rotten fruit and a bunch of fruit flies swarming your head.

I've been drinking lemonade at work for the past few months and that is the worst place to have to drink it because they don't allow you to mix vodka with your lemonade there.  Well, you can, but there is sort of a "no vodka" rule for jobs and that would typically get you fired.  So, I try to add a lot of sugar to my work lemonade and try not to make that soury face too often 'cuz co-workers tend to notice stuff like that. Let's just say that I'm getting tired of lemonade, but what can you do when you've got a kid in college and you'd like to eat and stuff.

Lemonade must be the drink of choice this fall as it is being served at a lot of football games by some band parents. Seems that some people have their undies all tied up in a big 'ol bunch and so they are all snappy and yelly at other band parents, which does not make things very fun.  Lemonade is a new drink for band parents, so I think they may need a little recipe re-vamping. And I have a feeling one of these days I'm gonna tell them so.

So, while the lemonade cart seems to be parked in front of my house lately, I tried to make the best of the weekend by hanging out with friends and enjoying the garden a bit.  And as I was walking to get the hose, I noticed a praying mantis on the grass mean-mugging me as I went by him.  Damn, if that little guy wasn't gonna take a chunk outta me--his nasty little head watched me go back and forth, back and forth.  Heck, Em was so scared, she wouldn't go by the little dude.

Later I saw him all over a lady-friend, so I'm not sure if he was looking to eat me alive or if he thought I was hot.

Sigh. This is my life.  I'd better stock up on sugar.

It's still too fresh

At the football game last night, there was a remembrance and a moment of silence for the victims of 9/11.  I felt my eyes tear up when the band started to play the national anthem--those memories of that horrible day ten years ago are just still too fresh.  I can't imagine how it is for the families of those victims.

I'll be honest, I'm trying to avoid all things 9/11 related this weekend. I can't bear to watch the documentaries, the media coverage, the "remember when" shows--it's just all too darn sad for me. And while I remember that day and the weeks afterward, I can't spend my weekend crying--I think it gives those darn terrorists too much power over me, and I don't like that feeling.

My children were young at the time--1st and 4th grade. I was already scheduled to volunteer at the school, but my first inclination was to run there to see if they were safe. I was lucky--how many other parents probably wanted to do the same thing but were at work and couldn't leave? I physically had to go look at my children to know they were safe. It was a very odd, but scary feeling. Especially when all of the tragedy was taking place so very far away from where we were.

We had planned a Disney trip for well over a year--to take place exactly one month to the day after 9/11. Oh, you can bet your bippy that we thought about canceling that trip--my fear level was so high. How do you put your entire family on a plane after the horrible things that just transpired?  And I cursed those damn terrorists, a lot.  I also did an awful lot of crying--but who didn't?

After a thousand calls to Disney to figure out how to reschedule the trip, I had one rep say something profound to me.  Maybe she was coached. Maybe she was told what to say. Maybe she just was a mom, I don't know--but she made my decision clear.  She said to me "Maybe getting away is exactly what your family needs right now.  A little bit of happy in all of this sadness."

And she was right.

And we went and escaped to the fantasy world of Disney--where nothing bad happens and the world is princesses and happy animal characters.  Okay, so I was still freaking out internally and keeping an eye on the sky for suicide airplanes--I still managed to smile while we ate a cabillion Mickey Mouse ice cream bars.  And I watched my children laugh again, unafraid to enjoy themselves after so many weeks of somber. It was good to be there--to let my family have fun again, without fear.   It was the best decision in the world for us, to go on with that trip and to laugh in the face of terrorists. They did not win this battle.

I guess that is what I'm feeling this weekend. Oh sure, I can sit here and absorb myself back into those days of horror and fear. Or I can tap my inner Disney and not let those terrorists reclaim my fear again.  I want to laugh and live, and not be afraid or sad.  But that does not mean that I don't remember or I don't honor those who lost their lives that day. Quite the opposite--I'm going to enjoy our freedoms and our country this weekend to show the terrorists that they did not win that day.

Or any other day, for that matter.

Such a lovely couple

You know you've got some wise-acre friends when stuff like this shows up in your yard.

There we were, hosting the Band Parent Bonfire and our "friends" were out front, trashing the place with yard sh*t art. Yeah, thanks Sue, Wendy, Maggie, Diane and whoever else was in on that hilarity.  It's a good thing Mr. P is such a snitch, otherwise I would never have known who did it.  Yeah, right.

So, I've got this master plan of get-even though. Every time I go to someone's house, they are gonna get a lovely hostess gift--I've got an entire shed full of crap now to dump on unsuspecting lawns. Carrie already got some wacky angel--but I think she actually liked it. Rats.

The sad part of these two is that I actually think they are hilarious. Zoom in on Lin's eyes--Wendy claims that she didn't draw those bloodshot eyes in, but I don't believe her. Either way, they are hilarious.

And I think they sort of capture the "real" Joe and Lin, don't you?  Well, except Joe doesn't have that big brown beard.

Whatever.

I love Hobbes Thursday

Poor Hobbes. I think the neighbors behind us got a dog and Hobbes isn't too keen on that.  He loves hopping over the fence and hanging out in their yard, so this is putting a huge damper on that fun. Sheesh, the nerve of some folks.

He's not going too far lately, but enjoying the last days of warm sunshine and fresh air before it turns cold again.  Funny how he wants to come in each evening now, I think his warm bed is beckoning him.  Nothing like a cozy basket at the end of a long day. Ahhhhhh.....

The Anti-Grab-Me Shield

This has been in place since the pterodactyl sighting of a few weeks ago.  See? Not so bad, eh?

After much research, I learned that you have to string fishing line around your pond at varying 6 inch heights in order to prevent that massive bird from fishing in your pond.  And while the thought of stakes, fishing line, and netting covering the entire pond was disappointing, the end result isn't too ugly--especially when you know that it is protecting your fish and frog friends. 

Netting has always been a bothersome issue for the pond, as I imagine the frogs getting tangled in it and dying.  But I like this compromise--they can hop into the yard to hunt bugs, but they can also retreat to the safety of the water when raccoons, opossum, or blue heron come-a-knockin'.  It's a win-win, and it isn't too conspicuous either.

The end of summer frog count is 5. There are 3 big guys who are over a year old and 2 little ones--from the tadpoles we brought in.  It will be interesting next year when I will have to mail-order my taddies--my favorite garden center and tadpole provider closed this summer, which leaves me searching for another source for pond necessities like tadpoles and water hyacinths.  Nothing is ever easy, is it? Although getting some tadpoles stuffed in my mailbox is going to be exciting I think. I'm sure Juan the mailman is gonna think I've really lost it this time.

As the auditors are making their appearance today and tomorrow at work, I'm gonna be wishing I had an Anti-Grab-Me Shield as well.  How nice life would be if mere netting guaranteed our safety from threats and harm.  Sigh. 

Pray they don't eat me alive....

More Foot Fun With Lin

I'm all about independence. Really I am. 

As my kids get older, I like that they are making their own decisions and living by the consequences. I like that they know how to cook a few things, feed themselves, drive on their own to wherever they need to be, call in their own prescriptions, and do their own laundry.  That's the part of them growing up that I like--needing me just a little less with each day. I can handle that.

I do have a wee problem with independence when my body parts start doing their own thing independently of the other parts.  You know, I had this small issue of not being able to sit down for, oh, 7 or 8 months--which was sort of a drag. But I dealt with it--got that tailbone to work with the muscles nicely again.

Then I had/have GERD--which is basically my stomach acids doing their own thing--causing havoc with my esophagus and throat and such. Daily meds make that group cooperate.

Now I'm dealing with this toe that has decided to do its own thing. Look at my stupid second toe. (Well, not the scratch. I have no idea how I scratched my toe--but then again, I had no idea how I broke that foot this summer either.)  Isn't that toe ridiculous?

Really, toe? What is with that?  Are you just fond of the letter "r" that you need to imitate it?  Do you like yoga or something? I mean, why can't you just be like the other toes and just line up all nice and straight and such. Why must you go all wiggly and look wacky?  Is it just for attention?  Do you like the big toe more than the third toe? Criminy.

Sigh.  This is the lovely things I inherit from my ancestors.  Thank you, Grandma, for the wacky toes.  Oh no--don't pass me the cottage by the lake or the huge trust fund--just give me some crappy feet that look funny when I wear flip-flops.

Good thing I saved that big shoe from my stress fracture this summer. I have a feeling I'm gonna be wearing it again soon.

Chapter 2: The Bob and Blab

The only relief from work stress these days is swimming.  As I sit at my desk doing my daily round of a cabillion new-found duties, I find myself anticipating the solitude and the calm of my lap lane at the rec center pool.  Okay, so I have to wrestle a lane away from the old dudes over at Golden Acres Rec Center--the battle is worth it considering I wear my body out to match the already-worn-out brain. 

While the old guys are floating/snorkeling/side-stroking like Ester Williams in the lanes, the other half of the pool is claimed by the senior women--for "exercise class".  But it's not really--there isn't a whole lot of working out going on. Well, unless you count the jaw hinges.

I'm thinking that space is a huge issue for Seniors. Take a gander at the early crowd at McDonald's some weekday morning. Is there some strange, unwritten rule that Seniors cannot sit at the same table? Why must they all grab their own table and yell across to the other tables to talk?  Is this some ownership deal? Because it is weird and it transfers to the pool. Observance #4: Seniors have huge personal space.

These women sit on their noodles (or two. or three.) and they yak. And yak. And yak. They yak in the shallow end and they yak in the deep end. They yak in the locker room, while they are taking showers, and while they are neck-deep in the warm waters of Golden Acres Rec Center pool. And they yak at a distance.  We can't float too close to another Senior--there is that unwritten McDonald's rule, remember.

Oh, they "water-walk" (whatever the hell that is) and they move their arms around a lot, but their yappers are moving more than anything else.  And while they consider this "working out"--I can tell you that not one blade of hair on their head is wet. I swear the only calories burned are those used while struggling to get in and out of their skirted swimsuits in the locker room.  Unless you count the talking calories. Then you've got yourself a workout.

I refer to this Senior exercise class as the "Bob and Blab". Observance #5: Perfect hair does not equal working out.

Every so often, one of those blabbers gets weary of yappin' and they sort of just float. You know, on their backs with their arms out.  And they float----into the lane markers. And their arms and/or legs just happen to float under the lane markers and into my lane. And when I come a kickin' and splashin' by, they get all miffy because I have gotten them wet and ruined their hair--which is half wet.  Observance #6: Floaters have wet hair in the back, dry in the front.

There is a hot tub at Golden Acres, but it isn't really needed because the water in the pool is so darn warm to begin with. I think they must keep up the water temps for the Senior crowd that dominates this pool. But why then, the hot tub? 

For more talking.

After the Bob and Blab, the whole crowd gets up and meets with the guys over in the hot tub for more socializing.  It's hilarious. I swear they are waiting for a waitress to show up. 

It's the most wonderful time of the year....

Guess what tonight is?  Yep, the first football game/band performance of the year. It's gonna be a hot, muggy, night, but that's okay--we are still all excited.  Even if I have to sit on metal bleachers. For hours. Watching a sport I can totally do without. I'll just be chatting it up with friends and enjoying the band--making the best of all that time between songs.

Oh my gosh--it's a holiday weekend too! I nearly forgot. I'm gonna be trying to get some swim time in, catch up on laundry and ironing, plus maybe read all my favorite blogs and maybe the new book I started as well.  Oh, I'm gonna squeeze in a nap or two, plus maybe buy some new clothes because I'm darn sick and tired of the ones I have now.

Criminy--now I know why they call it Labor Day. It sounds like I'm gonna be busy. 

Happy Labor Day, pallies. Be sure to make some time in your last-weekend-of-the-summer for relaxing too. Remember to breathe deep--for all those lovely flowers are all going away in a few weeks. Enjoy the last of summer and let's welcome fall. It's my favorite season of all and it just happens to coincide with my other favorite season--Marching Season.

I love Hobbes Thursday

I think he knows summer is ending.  The days are getting shorter, the grass is dewy and there has been a little nip in the air in the mornings.  And so, he takes full advantage of what remains, staying outside until he absolutely has to come in.

Hobbes is an outside man. He loves the sun, the rain, how the mulch scratches his back when he rolls on it, and the little mousie that comes to eat birdseed under the feeder.  He enjoys a good long drink from the pond and to poke the frogs--if given half a chance. He'd rather be outside in any weather watching what is going on than to be bored and comfy in the house.

I guess it's the freedom and the fresh air. And you know, I don't blame him. I'm having a hard time saying goodbye to summer and outside too. Goodbye August. Sigh.