Here comes the game face... . . . . . . . . . . Wait for it.... . . . . . . . . . . Wait for it... . . . . . . . . . . It's coming... . . . . . . . . . . It's almost here... . . . . . . . . . . Aren't you excited? . . . . . . . . . . I know I am. . . . . . . . . . . Don't you love the anticipation? . . . . . . . . . . I know I do! . . . . . . . . . . Here it is... . . . . . . . . . . Voila!
Okay, that's not our game face; however, that is what I think "Crazy Aunt Isabelle" will look like when she's 80.. . . . . . . . . . Twas the night before the first “away” football game, when all through my home, I ran about trying to prepare thinking “This would make a good poem!”
The game in question was an hour and a half away, oh, great! So, we’d have to leave shortly after dawn to be there by 8!
A dinner of spaghetti was served at 5pm to the cheerleader girlie, In hopes of getting her into bed very early.
But before bed, we had to adhere to cheerleader code 1209-103b, which made Iz quite angry. I told Iz it was a small price to pay in order to say “Hooray!” Thus, it was time to abolish, according to the Cheerleader Gods, the purple polish!
Finally, Iz was snuggled all safe in her bed, while I’m sure chants of “oooh, shaga, laga” went through her head.
The directions were stuffed in my purse with care so they didn’t slip my mind, Because it would be disastrous to start out and leave them behind! And, since we were going far, I also packed a few granola bars.
The coffee maker was set up to brew its mix, and this would happen at six. One less thing in the morning I would have to make, but the most important thing to keep me awake!
The cheerleader uniform was laid out to wait for the cheerleader girlie who would probably tomorrow much prefer to sleep in late!
Cheerleader code dictates white socks, which do so not rock. And so sat the sneaks right by the door, because in light of last week, “I will forget shoes no more!”
Rubber band, barrettes, and purple and white hair ribbons, don’t let us fail, When tomorrow morning, we attempt to make the perfect pony tail!
Last but not least on this trip, I enlisted another, Who just happens to be cheerleader girlie’s brother.
Come with me on another adventure; you know it'll be fun for sure! Alas, there’s no BIG lipstick; you just get to watch your sister jump up and down like a crazy chick! He looked at me funny like he just may, and then he said, "Okay!"
Okay, what guy didn’t think Belinda Carlisle was totally hot then?! Gawd, I’m a woman, and I thought she was! :-)
Anyway…
Vacation All I ever wanted Vacation Had to get away Vacation Meant to be spent alone
I’m taking a vacation from my blog. Yes, really. I’ll see you all on Saturday. Yes, yes, I know, whatever will you read with your coffee on Saturday morning? Try these! I'm sure they're not as interesting as mine, but these are tough times, okay? :-)
Okay, pants on fire. That is not me now; that was me when I was in Las Vegas last year. Did I ever tell you about my stint as a Las Vegas Booth Babe? I would tell you, but as you know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, Baby! Unfortunately though, nothing from my experience needed to stay there; therefore, I may divulge all the sordid* details over the weekend.
*For example, how I dropped my “Marketing for Dummies” book in the bathtub, stupidly wore brand new black pumps to the trade show (walk-crippling BLISTERS ensued!), and how my toilet paper froze.
Oh, wait a sec – wrong trip! The frozen toilet paper was a side effect of my “Outdoor Pursuit" trip in the Fall of ’77 when I was 15 and hiked the Long Trail in Vermont for a week with a bunch of other kids from my high school.
On that trip, I shared a tent with this girl named Chris. We also shared a double locker. She plastered our locker with pictures from Smithsonian magazine. (I was reading "Seventeen" then!) I thought she was a total geek, though she’s probably the person who invented Viagra or some miracle drug like that. Anyway, Chris told me my first dirty joke. Yep. I don’t remember it exactly, but the punch line included the word “organ” and was, err, somehow related to guys.
BUT, I digress as usual. See you all on Saturday, and thanks to all of you for reading.
A Special Thanks Today to Youse Guys Note: Tommie, TomS, Trite&Patronizing, and Jeff. <3 Tommie, I know you’re not that much older than me, but will you be my mother?! I have a vacancy, I’ve looked at your resume, and Donald Trump says, "You’re hired!" Suffice it to say, you’re a beautiful girl.
I forgot to tell you last night, but today was a Fabulous and Fifty-Plus Cycling Dudes, Ltd. field trip! There were no permission slips, but I felt like I needed one.
Bill orchestrated this wonderful trip into Boston, starting at the Minuteman Bikeway in Bedford.
Funny, how the same trail in my neck of the woods is a "rail trail," but in a the posh community of Bedford, it's a...tip nose up in air..."bikeway!" :-)
Bill's wife works in Boston every now and then. On occasion, he rides in to have lunch with her. Earlier in the week, he thought that instead of riding by himself, he could ride with company; thus, he invited Jim, Jeff, me, and Leigh to join him on this excursion.
Bill's wife had a bunch of "free lunch coupons," given that certain restaurants want her work to order lunches from them; thus, she was going to be buying us lunch with these coupons. Last night, Bill sent out the link to the menu, and we all picked our luncheon choices. On Wednesday morning, we were to meet at the rail, oh, excuse me, BIKEWAY in Bedford at 10am.
This morning, I put my bike on my rack on the car, filled my water bottles, restocked my granola bars in my little plastic baggie with my $9.50 for emergencies, got my gloves, my helmet, put on my pink skull-n-crossbone socks, put on my Crocs (yes, Crocs with socks, but you can SO get away with it when you're a cyclist!), and I left the house.
At about 9:45am, I looked around the car, and I realized..................................SH*T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.......................I had remembered everything, except for my cycling shoes! I had done this once before. You'd think that I would end up doing this a second time, but there I was almost to Bedford without my cycling shoes!
When I was 5 minutes away from the "bikeway," I called Bill. He answered, and I said, "Bill, I can't bike with you guys today. I left my shoes at home!" Bill asked, "Where are you?" I said, "About five minutes away." He said, "Just come here, and we'll think of something. There's a bike store here. Maybe they have a pair of shoes you can borrow. Meet us in the parking lot!" I said, "Okay, I'll do that. But, I think I've totally screwed up here." Bill said, "No. Meet us in the parking lot!"
Five minutes later, I turned into the parking lot, and Bill, Jim, Jeff, and Leigh greeted me. (God, I love these people!) Jim said, "I could give you my sneakers and you could try riding that way." I said, "I don't think that's going to work to well with my clipless pedals."
Bill said, "The bike shop over there opens in 6 minutes. Let's go over now." I whispered to Bill, "Really, you don't have to wait for me, because I screwed up. You guys go, okay?" Bill said, "No. We're not leaving you behind." Just then I felt like I was in the movie "Saving Private Ryan."
We all walked across the road with our bikes and parked them outside the shop. We peered in the window at 10:05am, wondering when the shop owner would open the door. Ironically, while waiting, we noticed that Sidi, Mavic, and Shimano shoes were on sale!
At 10:08am, we saw a guy turn on lights and start up the register, but he didn't open our door. Just then Jeff said, "Well, maybe there's another door!" Jeff and I went around to the right of the building, and lo and behold, we found a door that said "OPEN" on it. We entered. Just then the "guy" opened the rear door at which we had all been waiting.
When I encountered the "guy," and said, "I forgot my cycling shoes, so do you rent them?" He looked at me like I was crazy, as I knew he would. I then said, "Err, do you have any cycling shoes in a woman's size 11." He frowned. At that point, I said, "Look, I don't care if they're men's shoes." He left and came back with a few boxes.
As I sat there trying on my shoes, Leigh, the other female cyclist, who is a Rock Star hill climber, saw THE pair of shoes that she had wanted for a very long time; err, her current cycling shoes were FIFTEEN years old). They were a pair of Sidi shoes, and she asked the guym, "Hey, do you have these in a 6.5?" At the bike store in her neck of the woods, they were $200; here, they were 50% off!
I had to try on several different pairs over 15 minutes, but I finally found a pair of Mavics that were (Goldilocks speak here) "just right." Leigh fell in love with her shoes before I did, whipped out her credit card, and she had new shoes before I did!
The funny thing was that I had said to Bill that I needed new shoes since I met him. Err, if you have all been following my blog, you'd know that the top strap on my right shoe does NOT remained velcroed! I kept telling Bill every day we rode, "I really need to get new shoes."
At that point, I felt horribly guilty because I had kept them all waiting, but then I was equally amused, because Leigh found the shoes of her dreams at a price that her wallet could afford.
Bill assured me that they were not going anywhere without me, and by 10:35am, both Leigh and I had new shoes and were ready to bike into Boston, because the stars aligned.
Anyway, if you've read previous blogs, you know that once upon a time my gears were squeaky; well, after my gears became unsqueaky, it was apparent that my shoes were squeaky a few days ago. After riding two miles with my new cycling shoes today, I said to Bill, "Hey, did you notice that? My shoes aren't squeaky anymore!" And, he laughed.
We biked from Bedford to Arlington, and then we reached Boston. How? I have no idea how?! But, we did. And, if my Bucket List was to bike on Mass Ave, Storrow Drive, and the McGrath highway, well...been there; done that, okay! :-)
At around noon, Bill's wife called wondering where we were. He said, "We're about 5 minutes away." We biked on and Bill said to me, "Jean, there's the Garden!' Okay, it wasn't really the "Garden" anymore. TD Garden, it was. Am I the only one that thinks that Boston Garden is still that much better than "TD Garden?" Tom, you agree, yeah? :-)
Finally, we met Bill's wife outside her building all our ordered lunches. She was just too lovely, providing lunch for all of us; however, it was like a Homeland Security nightmare when she tried to get us all into her building to pee after we had lunch, because they wanted IDs from all of us. And, we had all left them in Bedford with our cars!
After eating, we biked off, and I have to tell you that biking through the streets of Boston was a bit of a high. As we cycled through one intersection, I yelled back at Leigh, "We're not in Kansas anymore!'
When we finally arrived back in the parking lot in Bedford, we had cycled 35 miles. I found that hard to believe, but it was true. We all chit-chatted, and then I said to Bill, "Thank you so much for waiting for me this morning." He said, "We wouldn't have left you." Then he paused and said, "No, we wouldn't have even thought of going anywhere without you, Jean." <3 Rover Health Note: She now has pancreatitis, kidney disease, her thyroid has worsened, her phosphorus is high, and she might have hypertension. I will keep her comfortable. Thanks, Tommie and Suzebabe.
As you all know, Bill dislikes cats because they are sneaky, don't come when you call them, and look at you funny when you undress! When Bill and I rode along today, I told him that I needed to get back by 2pm to take Rover, my 20-year-old cat, to the vet. The last few days, she's not been eating and has lost a significant amount of weight.
I called the vet's office this morning, and they fit her in at 2:50pm. Rover is diabetic; I even gave her shots for a period of time until they came out with diabetic cat food. Then she developed a thyroid problem, so she is also on thyroid medication twice a day now. And, she's always been a temperamental about sharing a litter box; she has been known to pee on the basement floor to show her disgust at sharing a litter box with the two guys, Thunderbolt and Liam. I guess they always left the seat up or something like that!
To try and curb the temperamental peeing problem, I began to put her into Monty's old puppy crate at night two years ago. It is equipped with a litter box, food and water, a comfy blanket, 24/7 access to all the Lawrence Welk shows, and a mini shuffleboard court. I call it her condo in Boca Raton!
After a few weeks of being in the crate, she'd come in from outside, trot down to the basement, go inside it, and sit there and wait for me to tuck her in. I think Rover was always meant to be an only cat, and I ruined it by inviting every stray to come stay with us and adopting from foreign cat shelters!
Rover was born in Connecticut in March of 1989. My sister found a stray in her apartment complex; she took the stray in and named her "Scruffy." Scruffy was pregnant, and even though the apartment complex did not allow pets, she and her husband kept Scruffy warm and safe and saw her through her pregnancy. Several kittens were born, and they, like Scruffy, were all polydactyls.
(Remember: I try not only be humorous but educational, too!)
At the time, I already had two cats, and I remember my sister telling me about Scruffy. After the kittens were born, I remember her calling me and saying, "Jean, I have a really cute male here with double paws! I think he's going to be really big!" I had made the mistake of confessing to her at one point that my feline-owning life would not be complete if I didn't own a big double-pawed male cat at some point. So, I caved to my sister's kitten pitch.
When Nathan's Dad and I were looking for houses, we'd do a drive by of any home we were interested in and he would say, "No, that's not a cat neighborhood or good a Rover." As I remember, Rover was his term for dog. I said, "When we get our next cat, we should call it Rover!"
And, it was so written that I would drive to Connecticut, fetch this kitten, and he would be a mammoth feline with HUGE feet called Rover. After returning with my kitten, my friend, Melissa, a veterinarian, came by to check on her. I remember Melissa picking up Rover, flipping up her tail, and saying to me, "Jean, this isn't a little boy; it's a little girl!" Yeah, my sister was good at many things, but she wasn't good at feline sex identification!
(The ironic thing was that my sister kept a kitten, which she correctly identified as male, and named it Jasper. Jasper turned out to be a HUGE male with HUGE paws! We always laughed about this later.)
As Rover grew, well, it was apparent that the "little" in Melissa's "little girl" description was valid. Rover was a petite but always round feline with these HUGE paws. She was built like a little tank. And, boy, was she tough, which helped her immensely, because she used up a few of her nine lives along the way.
She got hit by a car one night, and we had to keep her in a crate for a few months while she healed; our vet wasn't optimistic, but Rover made a miraculous recovery. A few years later, I couldn't find her one night. I called and called. I was never one to leave my cats out at night. I always had them in before the sun went down. But, she never came home. I put up signs, but there was no sign of Rover for a week, then another, and then finally, I gave up, thinking something horrible had happened to her. I took Nathan to the cat shelter, and we got a new kitty to replace her; this was Thunderbolt.
About 5 weeks after she disappeared, my boyfriend and I were standing in the living room of my house; he had just arrived home from a business trip. There was a slider to a porch by my kitchen table. He glanced toward the slider door and asked me, "Who's that?" I took one look, saw a little furry tiger face in the window, and I said, "OMG! That's Rover!" Then I stammered, "But, Rover, that can't be you, because we've already replaced you!" I opened the door and in walked Rover, though she was a few pounds lighter. I surmised that she must have gotten locked in someone's shed or basement; God only knows how she survived. But, there she was!
I fed her, but having not eaten in so long, she immediately had digestive issues, so I took her to my vet the next day. I was trying to tell the vet Rover's story when the vet asked me, "Well, are you sure this is Rover?" which I found to be an odd question. I said, "Well, this cat came to my door wearing Rover's collar, so are you trying to suggest that Rover may have been mugged for her collar or had her identity stolen by this cat?" Needless to say, I never went to that vet again.
When I was in the later stages of my pregnancy with Isabelle, I'd go to bed, and that's when Isabelle became restless, sloshing around inside me. (God, I loved that part of pregnancy the best -- when you lie there on your back, and it looks like your stomach should have a starring role in the movie "Alien!")
Before Rover's Boca Raton condo days, she'd jump up on the bed, come to the top of the covers, and then ask to come under the covers and sleep next to me. On those nights that Isabelle was most active, Rover would come under and then nestle down next to me with her back against my tummy. (Rover has the loudest purr, which the vet and vet tech remarked on today as they always do.) Rover would start to purr, and within minutes, Isabelle would stop moving around wildly inside me and go to sleep. It was as if Rover tucked in Isabelle on those nights with a purring lullaby.
Anyway, once they had Rover in the exam room today, they checked her out from purring head to HUGE polydactyl toes. Her heart was beating fast, she was dehydrated, and she was down to 4.2 pounds. The vet asked if I wanted to run blood tests to check her thyroid; I said I would. They also wanted to give her fluids. The vet, who's not my favorite at the practice, only because she wants you to do everything to save your animal without really considering all the circumstances, asked if I'd be willing to do some kind of heart scan for $350. (I remember working with an engineer at HP who had a $200 limit on all animal expenses. I know he didn't really mean it, but he was fond of saying, "Hey, if it's over $200, forget it!) I told her that I would not do the heart scan. I said, "I have two other cats, a dog, and I'm unemployed. And, she's 20 years old!"
Today, I found myself in a difficult spot. I wanted to get her hydrated and see what was going on; however, at the same time, she IS 20 years old. (Rover is my longest loving relationship and probably always will be at this rate.) I told her that I would like to do the blood tests and hydrate her; however, if the tests revealed that her thyroid condition had worsened or she now had a heart condition, that I couldn't really justify spending hundreds of dollars to address the issues. I was practically crying when I said this, and I had thought about it all day; it's really hard to know when to let go, and it's even harder to feel "okay" about it.
Bill had told me that he had two dogs. And when I asked if he still had pets, he told me that when he lost his dogs it was so horrible that he decided that it was easier not to have pets than to ever have to go through that loss again. I wouldn't agree,, because I think it is better to love and lose over and over than to ever be without a furry creature sitting in your lap or barking when you come home at night. Okay, maybe not the barking, but I do like the wagging tail and the "I'm so happy to see you" look.
I know that many people go to great lengths to keep their ailing pets alive, but I figure that Rover has lived 20 good years, well, except for getting hit by the car and being locked away somewhere for 5 weeks. After telling the vet how I felt, and I felt horrible. I needed someone to say, "It's okay to let go," if you feel that is what you need to do. And, I cried the whole way home in the car, because I couldn't tell myself it was okay to let go.
I had to euthanize my beloved cat, Caesar, a few years ago. He was a feral in my neighborhood. I trapped him on my porch in a havaheart with sardines for bait. He was such a wonderful cat, and I knew he had a heart issue from the get go. One day, he had a stroke and became paralyzed. My vet said it was unlikely he would ever recover, so I put him to sleep.
Somehow with Rover, it seems different, because all her parts work but just not that well anymore; she has been with me through thick and thin for 20 years. I remember when I first got divorced, she'd climb up on my chest, fall asleep there, and purr loudly, her lullaby for me then. Whatever happens, it's not going to be easy. I do hope that when I get there, I can let go knowing that I did everything I could for her. <3
Jean Childhood Tangent Note: When I was little, I used to sing into the garden hose in the backyard. My Mom said I was always singing this song. Whoa, whoa, whoa-whoa, whoa-whoa, whoa-whoa-whoa! I love that part, can you tell?!
Today, I introduced my neighbor, John, to the Fabulous and Fifty-Plus Cycling Dudes, Ltd. I hope he forgives me eventually! We met Bill on the rail trail at 10am, cycled off down the trail, and then eventually found Jim along the way.
We stopped for a small chit-chat, and then out of nowhere, Bill said that I could never be a cat, because my bike was too noisy; therefore, I was not "sneaky," which is one of his most hated cat traits! I protested, "But, I just had my bike tuned up!" Bill told me that the guy I took it to was okay for kids' bikes, but he didn't think he was the right person for "good" bikes. I had to agree, because I even noticed that when I switched gears things rattled and hummed.
Bill examined my chain when we were standing there, and he said that I could use some grease. Okay, I was not a good bike maintenance person; well, I wasn't a bike maintenance person at all. Jim said that if we were to make our way back to the parking lot, he had some grease. And, so we left the rail trail and biked on. John seemed to fit right in as far as the pace went, and he definitely fit in as far as personalities went and even professions. John is a plumber, and Jim is a retired plumber and worked for the Boston Globe for 25 years.
Once we arrived at the parking lot, Jim took my bike, dripped some grease over the chain, and then told me to test drive it. I rode around, and when I shifted, I didn't hear a thing. BUT now that my gears didn't rattle and hum, I had another problem. My shoes squeaked. BUT, I was now closer to being a "sneaky" cat than I ever was! I rode by Bill and said, "Hey, you don't hear me, do you?!?!?!" Bill laughed. The squeaky gears get the grease; and it's amazing what happens when they do.
We rode off to cycle the back roads of Hollis, and I had a request to stop at the vintage variety store in West Groton for lunch. Bill said that we'd go here, there, and here again, and we'd finally make our way to West Groton.
I had been biking with the Fabulous and Fifty-Plus Cycling Dudes, Ltd. now for two weeks now or had it been two months? However long it was, it seemed like they were part of my DNA strand now. No matter how depressing the last six months had been without a job, the short time spent with them had wiped that all out. And, if I were to die next year, I'd say that this has been the best six months of my life. Being with my kids, having lunch with my friends, going out sailing, writing my heart out every day, and biking with the Dudes -- this is living life LARGE.
Bill led the ride, but today, unlike other days, he kept testing me at each intersection. "Jean, do you know where you are? What do we do here?" I'd answer, "Pepperell! Go left then right, and watch for traffic!" He'd say, "Good!"
Then at another intersection he'd ask me, "Jean, what do we do here?" I'd answer, "Go left and watch for gravel." He'd say, "Yes, that's right. Now I don't have to worry about you!"
At yet another intersection, he asked me where we were going. I said, "We take a left and watch for traffic." He replied, "No. We go straight. You'd only take a left if you wanted to try and find those guys with the attitude that you caught up with last week!"
I laughed, and after we crossed the road, Bill said, "Do you know why I like you, Jean?" I said, "No" a bit surprised that Bill was even telling me why he liked me. (But, I have since realized that really good men tell you why they like you; and, I have to get used to this concept!) He said, "Because you're tough, and you're not afraid of a little competition, Jean." My heart swelled. It was all I could do to not get off my bike, hug Bill, and cry. Instead, I said, "Thank you very much, Bill," even thought I still wanted to get off of my bike, hug him, and cry. :-)
We rode on through Hollis, and at one point, I heard a crash. John hit Jim's rear wheel and he took a spill. His leg was bleeding, and it looked like he landed on his arm. But, he got up, shook it off, and continued to ride with us. And as Bill says, "Pain is temporary; pride is forever!" I gave John a lot of credit, because it was only his second time out biking this year. Last year, he had been all over the rail trail like an "animal" AND walked six miles every day.
At one point, Bill said he wasn't sure of how to navigate back to West Groton. So, we followed him, never doubting him, until we rode down one long road (TOTALLY downhill) which ended in a dead end dirt road; yes, we had to bike all the way up the hill we just flew down. I had mumbled "Mutiny!" under my breath, but I so wanted to give Bill a navigational chance, even though we had just biked up and down every freakining hill in Pepperell and Dunstable before this point!
Thus, we went right when we should have gone left, and we were finally on the path to West Groton. As we passed through West Groton, a firemen's muster was going on. We were all starving at that point. Bill mentioned stopping for lobster, but it looked too crowded. I still had my heart set on the little store in West Groton. When we finally passed it, I saw the "Closed" sign and shrieked in horror, "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
We all stopped in the little park across the street from the store, and I said, "Well, there's always Tiny's." Jim mentioned that he was hungry, but he didn't want to devour his Swiss cheese sandwich with the Grey Poupon mustard in front of us. Bill said, "Let's bike home, but we have to bike up another hill." I groaned. I was ready to call for the sag wagon at that point!
As we biked by Tiny's, I shouted out to Bill, "Nooooooooooooooooooo!" It was closed, too. Bill laughed, and we cycled to the parking lot; Jim met us there a few minutes later. We waited for John, and Bill said, "We kicked the snot out of him; I hope he comes back." That was THE hardest ride I ever did with those guys, so I felt badly that that was John's first with us. And considering John hadn't biked in ages, he did really well. John showed up a few minutes later, and he shook hands with Bill and Jim.
John and I said good-bye and rode home. I told John that that was one of the hardest rides I'd ever been on, so I hoped he didn't think it was like that every day. I also told him that these rides had been a godsend for me. That is, getting out of the house at 9:30 every morning and biking my ass off made me a lot less depressed than I had been previously.
Though, by now, it was more than that for me; I just loved these guys - Bill, Jim, Bob, and Jeff. I didn't say this to John, but Bill had said it moments before John arrived in parking lot when he was feeling badly about the brutal ride's effect on John; Bill said, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?" In the beginning, these rides killed me, but as of late, I realized that they had made me stronger on all levels. So, I said, "Yes, Bill. I wholeheartedly agree." <3
I am a devoted mother of two wonderful children, a writer (technical by day and creative by night), an avid baker and crock pot goddess (♥ Sucra), a runner and a cyclist, a rescuer of pets, a vintage fashionista, and a dispenser of social glue.
