The Program

Maybe it's the weather.  Maybe it's because every other commercial reminds me that I haven't kept the New Year's resolution I never made to lose weight and swimsuit season is barrelling down upon us.  Maybe it's because I feel as if I haven't left the house in decades. 

Whatever the reason, I've realized that I need to start moving more in order to feel happier.  And because I'm too cheap to join a gym I'd never go to for fear of the living, I've developed the Workin Hard While Rockin Your Bod(c) program (hereafter referred to as "The Program").  It's a low impact fitness program designed to incorporate exercise into everyday life.  The goal of The Program is to turn as many ordinary things as possible into opportunities for exercise.

I start with my office chair.  Replace the creaking hand me down with a ball chair!  Unwilling to spend that much money on a place to rest your ass while you do things you'd rather not?  Make one yourself! 

A home-made ball chair has between one and two pieces for easy assembly.  First you need an exercise ball- try to find the biggest one you can.  If you're lucky it will be tall enough to serve as a chair on it's own.  If you need more height or enjoy a death-defying challenge, simply place the ball on a small, preferably sturdy, step stool, and...  Voila!  I give you Ball Chair! 

Now that you're following The Program during working hours, it's time to tackle the rest of your time.  Multitasking is a skill valued in life as well as in The Program.  Which brings me to step two of The Program: making everyday tasks less mundane by adding lunges!  Do you find yourself walking down to your mailbox every day just to check the mail?  Well, in The Program you'll find yourself losing weight as you do!  Simply lunge your way out to your mailbox.  You might be a bit embarrassed at first if you have neighbors, and even if you don't, but don't worry, a loss of shame is a part of The Program (this is obviously due to the rockin new bod you're sculpting).  For a challenge, walk on your tip toes back from your mailbox to maximize the number of muscles used.  Do some lunges while you vacuum or while you wait for the spin cycle to finish.

Another aspect of The Program is to try to use everyday objects as weights.  Small children are perfect for this.  So are fifty pound bags of chicken feed.  Use what you have and get creative!  Do you find yourself constantly picking up toys that have been littered all over the house by kids and dogs who don't seem to understand the concept of picking up after themselves?  Get a workout as you clean by carrying as many of these rogue toys as possible and dancing as you put them away!  Try to stay unorganized or you run the risk of only making a few trips across the house as you clean.  However, if you clean willy-nilly you'll find yourself putting in a lot of extra steps as you criss cross your house in an attempt to make it presentable.

Now, The Program does not have a diet section so it's up to you to eat whatever you want.  And if you change nothing about your diet you'll still see results with The Program, it really is that revolutionary; although it is advised that you feed your chickens your leftovers so you're not tempted by them.

And now, armed with the basics, you too can develop your own Program.  So get moving and enjoy your rockin new bod!

Please note that The Workin Hard While Rockin Your Bod program is under copyright and is in no way real.  Results are neither guaranteed nor accurate.

A Cat Called Chowder

The Clutter family made a mistake.  It wasn't a big one, but it was definitely a mistake.

The family got a dog one day and they named her Chowder.  She was a rescue dog from a dealer of ill repute.  But she was cute so they brought her home.  Soon afterwards they noticed that there was something different about Chowder.

Chowder never came when they called.  Mrs. Clutter would stand at her front door whistling, clapping, and calling.  But Chowder didn't seem to care.  She could obviously hear well because she jumped at every little sound.  But no matter how long or how loud Mrs. Clutter called, Chowder simply wouldn't come.

She turned up her nose at the dog food that Little Clutter tried to get her to eat.

And she hid when company came over.

No one knew it yet, but Chowder was a cat and her identity couldn't be kept hidden forever.  Sure there were signs, but they were subtle and the Clutters didn't pick up on them.

Chowder liked to spend her time either curled up in the sunshine or out wandering the fields.  She rubbed on the furniture and had dainty feet.  But Chowder also weighed around forty pounds.  She rarely wagged her tail, but the Clutters chalked that up to her reticence to settle into her new routine.  At first the Clutters thought that Chowder growled a lot, but it soon became apparent that what they took for a growl was more of a purr.

When they took her to the vet the doctor asked them what they had been feeding her, he'd never seen a cat so large.

Mrs. Clutter told the doctor that he must have made a mistake for they had clearly gotten a dog.  Look at the size of her neck for Lord's sake!  The doctor assured Mrs. Clutter that the size of her neck was exactly his point.  This was no dog, this was a humongous cat!

Well that certainly changed the Clutter's opinion of their new pet.  Chowder's snobbish attitude suddenly made sense.  They quit buying so much dog food and invested in a cat food company instead.  After all, a forty pound cat can really eat a lot.  They stopped trying to make her come when they called and cut their losses in the department of attitude adjustment.

But they were not without a dog.  The cat they thought they had gotten, turned out to be a Golden Retriever trapped in a kitten's body.  Life has a funny way of working itself out.

Miss Communication

I often wonder why no one in any auto parts store seems to have any idea what I'm talking about.  Same goes for any home improvement store.  It's like I walk into Menard's and suddenly I'm speaking another language, one that is completely unintelligible to everyone else.  Okay, okay, I don't exactly know the technical name of the do bobber that I'm talking about, but c'mon, you seriously have no idea what part I'm talking about?  You're not even willing to make a guess?

I realize that men and women see the world in different ways.  But do we really process it THAT differently?

Yes.

Last night Other Half and I stared at a package containing a curtain rod and it's hardware and hemmed and hawed over whether or not we should put it up.  To be fair, it was around 11:30 when I proposed this project and Other Half was, justifiably, not as excited about as I was.

Holding the package Other Half suddenly giggled, Ha, so this thing comes with a gear?, pointing to the picture.

Gear?  Gear?  What do you mean, gear?  I stared at the picture having no idea what he was talking about.  Do you mean like accessories?  Does it come with a cute little carrying case or something?  Why does it even have a carrying case, isn't it fastened to the wall?

These thoughts ran through my head as I stood there, presumably looking like a complete idiot.  I may have even drooled a bit.

I finally had to ask, What do you mean, gear?

Like a bike.

Huh?

The gears on a bike...  Doesn't this look like the gears on a bike?

Um.  Oh yeah, it kind of does.

That would just have, never in a million years, been my first thought.  And probably not my second or third either.

It's true, we really do see the world in different ways.  Men see bike gears; women see purses.

Thinking Of You, Molly Mae

There was a time in life when I wanted nothing more than to be punk.

Pink hair, black eyes, piercings, wristbands, star shaped accessories.  Punk rock in what I perceived to be all it's glory around the year 2000 or so.

Problem was that I had (in my mind) an overbearing father who obstinately refused to let me dye my hair and pierce my face. I told myself that I just didn't dare defy him. But let's be honest, if given consent, I'm still not sure I would've pulled the trigger.

I've also never looked good in eyeliner which means that the heavily lined eyes I yearned for made me look like a six year old dressed up like a raccoon; and one can't possibly leave the house looking like that.

My lion's mane of hair refused to stay stick straight like Avril Lavigne's and an hour of straightening time just wasn't worth the fifteen minutes of good looks I got out of it.

And that's if there was absolutely zero humidity.

Baggy pants and skater shoes just never looked right on me.

But then again, do they ever really look right on anyone?

I'll admit that this particular phase was relatively short lived.  But the desire to look more exciting than I really do most certainly was not.

I used to resent my so called "classic style". Aka, I don't go out on a limb because I'm always afraid I'll look ridiculous. Which is a good thing because when I go out on a limb I usually do. Now I can appreciate that when I look back at pictures of myself in earlier times I've never gone too far in any direction. I tried a few things here and there, and there is for sure an Emily Look, but I never went totally punk. Or totally homeless as I longed to do in my Phish following days.

But there's something about youth that makes us want to dress up.

Maybe it was the insecurity. Not really knowing who I was or where I fit in that caused a desire to look like someone else. But no matter how long I acted, I never felt like the character I played. I just felt like me acting and no one can live that way for any length of time. I admire those that can fully become the character they've developed. They have dedication that I will never know.

Oh the weight of age.

We get older and learn that while the world is still a stage, there should be no spotlight on you as you hurry through Target to pick up some pads.

There's nothing wrong with standing out in a crowd, in fact it's great when applying for a job. But there's something not right about spending that much time on yourself.

I look at people now who, at one time, would have been an idol of mine if only for their dedication to a certain style, but now I can only think of how unfulfilled their lives must be. Have they really no social or professional obligations that require naturally colored hair?  Ever?  How do they find the time to try that hard to look like they didn't try at all? I'm not fooled. You didn't just wake up in those layers of tattered skirts over worn leggings and wool socks with boots.  I know how much those boots cost and you really aren't as poor as you make yourself look. Which is just fine.

But why are you trying so hard?  Doesn't that get exhausting?

I'm not saying that everyone needs to be so consumed with their daily life that they never take the time to consider what they look like. Some personal vanity is necessary, but there's a time and a place for everything. But at a certain point life does become consuming, and things like complicated clothing and accessory combinations just fall by the wayside.

Moderation in all things...

Damn that Louise for having grown up during The Depression and preaching her scorn for all that's wasted in life.

Wasted time preening in the bathroom. Wasted money on clothes you'll hate in six months. Wasted energy consumed by self absorption.

As for me I choose to save my energy for the things that really matter. Things like peeling the glow in the dark silly putty off the lamp in the living room when I mistakenly said "sounds great!" to Lou as she yelled something incoherent as I tried to pee amidst the chaos of my house with a radio that had somehow been turned up way too loud in the mere moments I had been disposed in the bathroom.

Point is that I need all the energy I can gather. So I no longer want to look punk. Or homeless. Or really anything other than moderately put together.

Style is fine, just keep mine simple.

November Snowstorm

Have we truly no blankets warmer than these?

Is this really the day that  I'm destined to freeze?

My nose is running, I'm ready to sneeze.

But can't get a kleenex from the bathroom I can't see.


For all is dark and black today.

With the storm all our power was carried away.

It's been rather dark and it's been getting colder.

Each night, with sleeping on the bed, Gidget gets bolder.


She snuggles between us, a thing never done.

Usually, the slightest move puts her on the run.

But tonight it is cold so we all snuggle in

And pray that soon the power comes in.


But until that glorious day, I'm left here to say:

Are these really all the blankets we own here today?

Fall Paranoia 2010

With Lou's recent revolt against nap time, bedtime has become considerably more simple.  Suddenly, Other Half and I have more evening free time than we probably know what to do with.

Actually, we have plenty to do, there's always something.

Anyways, we have some free time and the weather's been great so we've been making a point of doing nothing but sitting outside and enjoying the night.

We can hardly see our closest neighbor and the backyard opens up into a field.  So while we can't hear cars or people in the dark we can hear plenty: owls, coyotes, geese, ducks, loons, and rogue racoons to name a few.  And then last night we heard someone walking through the field.

Who was that?

Oh my God, is there someone walking out by The Shed?

Is there someone by the garage?

Who the hell are all of these people?  Where are they coming from?  What are they doing?!?

Ha. Nothing.  There's no one there.

We heard the sound of leaves falling in record numbers.

There's nothing to compare to country living and while there are many benefits, there may be a few drawbacks too.  The isolation can make you a strange and paranoid individual...

Burrs

(Sung to the tune of "Oh My Darlin")

Burrs on the blankets
Burrs on the pillows
Burrs on the bathroom rug

The dogs bring burrs in
And I must clean then
Oh my life is so much fun!

Repeat