The Flowers - they talk to me...

Howdy!  Mah name's Coral.  Coral Nasturtium.  Ahs a been growin and growin, fit to bustin out all over.
Ahs a bin soakin up that there rain and suckin it right up mah stem, ah have.  Gits so a girl caint suck up no more rain without showin' off her pistils n stamens n such.  Never thought ah'd see the day when ah would open up mah petals just as easy as yuh please, n let all n sundry see mah insides n such.  Ah feels kinda funny bout that. Still, it seems all the uther gals 'round here are doin' it.  Guess ah'm no better nor worse than the rest of'm....

What's that yer sayin? Yuh wants ta friend me on Facebook?  What the hell's Facebook? That one o them naughty sites where gals lift their petals and wave their dad gum pollen around?  No sirree, ah aint a goin' ta expose mahself ta that there cow poop.  ah jest aint that kind a flower.

Mumble, mumble mumble.... 

Now take mah cousin Arleen.  Arleen Fuschia.  Now SHE would do anythin ta git herself some more attention.  Flippin back her petals and stickin her parts way out.  Shameless she is! Shameless!

Go on, ask HER ta go on that there Facebook naughty cow poop site.  Oh Arleeeeeeen.....

What? Whaddya want Coral?  Quit yellin at me - ah'm tryin ta get me a suntan.  Jezebel? Who'r you callin a jezebel?  Why you little nasturtium.....ah hope a little ol slug climbs all over you, ah surely do.

Sheepdip. 

A trade-off

I need to exercise.

I am a bit overweight, and there are a few nasty diseases that run in my family.  This year I turn 50, and the biggest gift I can give to myself is to improve my health.  I have already started to eat better, and am making good, 'tho not perfect, progress on that front.
I know all the great reasons to exercise (here's a partial list), and I know that it IS possible to find an extra 1/2 to 1 hour a day if I really try.  Right now I spend too much time on the computer, and too much time watching TV.  WAY too much.  I love my TV shows, and I love my e-mail friends, and I love the blog world.  BUT, those things are sedentary.
So here's the trade-off: It's time to spend less time on my butt, and more time on my feet!

Are any of you on this same path?  Are you further ahead?  Would you like to join in?  Have you tried and failed/tried and succeeded? Do you find it ironic that I'm blogging about this (as opposed to just doing it?)

I'm not about to turn this into a fitness blog.  It's just a reflection of where I am on my journey...and I'm interested to know where you are on your journey!

Incidentally, if any of you have a story to share, involving slightly chubby, sedentary, 50-year-old women who have managed to get fit, I would really like to hear it.
Come to think of it, any motivational story will do.
Really, anything.
Help!
 

On the Phone at the Bike Shop

Dave: Hello

Customer: wah wah wah?

Dave: For which bike?

Customer: wah wah

Dave: What year?

Customer: wah.

Dave: I don't have any of those.

Customer wah wah wah?

Dave: How much would it be if I had it?  I don't know, I don't have it.

Customer: wah wah wah!

Dave: OK, you want to know how much I'd charge for a part I don't have?

Customer: wah !

Dave: OK.....a MILLION dollars!

Customer: wah wah wah?

Dave: Yep, a million bucks. Canadian.

Customer: wah wah wah?

Dave: That's just under a million bucks American.

Customer: wah wah wah...wah wah

Dave: Because, if I don't have it, it must be really rare.  For something that rare, I want a million bucks!

Customer: wah wah wah WAH wah!

Dave: Yes, you probably CAN get it cheaper on EBAY.  Why don't you try that?  Bye!

Click.

Me: Did you enjoy that?

Dave: Yup.

~~~~~

Another stimulating customer encounter...at the Bike Shop.

Conversation at the bike shop

Him: Jeez, I've got a headache.  Fixing that bike gave me a headache!

Me: Were you exposed to any bad fumes?

Him. No, but I set a rag on fire right in front of my face.....

Me: Would that be a highly flammable, chemical-soaked rag?

Him: Maybe.

Me: Ah.
~~~
The End. Another deep conversation at the bike shop.

Where have I been?

One of my scarce-as-hens'-teeth loyal readers, Jo, mentioned that I haven't posted much lately.
Without going into agonising detail (like I usually do), I'll just say that it's our busy season as work, and I've been a little preoccupied with some "stuff" happening at home, and I have lost all my marbles.

I do have another blog post in the chamber, ready to fire out when I get a moment or two.
It concerns motorcycle parts, scantily-clad women, the US postal service (and I use the term service, loosely), humiliation, and a guy named Steve, in Germany.

Stay tuned...
...and thanks for your loyalty, all three of you!
Kathryn : )

The plot thickens...and then it curdles.

I'm re-using a title I used already.  I was updating a group of friends on some events in my life, and that expression seemed to fit the situation. 
Now I'm going to talk about a different situation, so same title, different story.  OK?  OK !
~~~~
Remember my last post, about me finding a strange pair of boots in my front hallway, and jumping to conclusions? (I nearly said jumping to conTUsions, lol - that's what the men in my life do).

Anyhow, my dear husband has told me more than once that I need to "not always think the worst".

Believe me, I try.  

But, what would you think if the following happened to you?
...................
I was getting into my car to go to work one morning.  It is MY car, but other people drive it occasionally.  I LOVE my car - fun to drive, good on gas, and the rear seats fold forward to create a totally flat, large cargo area in the back.  Perfect for lugging around motorcycle parts and other weird things.  Large enough to sleep on!
As I climbed into the front seat on that particular day, I glanced in the back.  Amongst the usual collection of cloth grocery bags I saw....

...a pair of underwear.
Men's underwear.

Not the type my husband wears, but the kind my son wears.  Cotton plaid boxers.  Except I don't recognize them as being HIS in particular; just youthful plaid cotton boxers.

Now, what would  pair of men's underwear be doing in the back of my car?  Try as I might, all sorts of weird images come to mind.  Some of them I will not share. (brokeback mountain).  Oops.

Has someone been sleeping in my car?  There is a homeless shelter a few blocks away, and I have heard of homeless people sleeping in people's cars.  Would a homeless person leave their underwear behind?  Why did they take it off in the first place?  Has their naked body touched the inside of my car?  Did they get dressed in the dark in a hurry and forget to put on the underwear?
Also, one of our son's friends has recently left home and sometimes needs a place to stay.  Is it his?  Is my dear son letting his friend sleep in my car?  How do I feel about this?  Bamboozled, as usual!

I can't stand the thought of driving this pair of underwear to work with me (what if I were to get pulled over for speeding?), so I pick it up in such a way as to hold the fewest threads possible at the very end of my fingertips, and transfer it to a garbage can sitting in the driveway.

The garbage can has some rainwater in it ; I see the underwear sink in and I realize I have made strange underwear soup.  I wonder if I need to do something about this, but I choose to go to work instead.  There, I will find my husband, and I will rant and rave until he phones our son and asks about the underwear.  Not that it's our son's underwear, but it is young man underwear, so he should have to explain it.

I drive to work and in the 20 minutes it takes me I manage to start to think about groceries, the Olympics, hockey, menopause, my parents, supper, cat hair, k d lang, needlework, the fact that the back of my hands look old, etc........and I FORGET about the underwear!

Later that night, the underwear comes to me in a dream.  I am re-immersed in wondering where it came from.  I toss and turn, and decide that my son is letting homeless people sleep in my car and that my husband knows all about it and doesn't care.
I wake up to find my husband already showered and dressed.

"Good morning bunny!", he says cheerfully to me. (Yes, I am his bunny!)

"Someone left their underwear in my car", I croak.  "Who's been sleeping in my car?"

"Oh", he laughs.  "I got those from the rag bag.  I was using them to polish blah blah blah......."



~~~~~~

I guess I need a bit more practice in "not jumping to conclusions". 
But wait, why is my son throwing away perfectly good underwear?

I'm over the shock now. It took a week.

I think I've recovered sufficiently from the Easter weekend to post about what happened here on Easter Sunday morning.
This is how it goes when your children are young adults.

~~~~~~
Very strange here - no Easter treats, no one interested in chocolate (except me, secretly) any more.
Dave and I woke up to find evidence of a 'house guest' in our midst.
Our 19-year-old son went out last night, to a club, and we didn't hear him arrive home.
BUT...
We found a pair of boots in the front hallway this morning, obviously belonging to a female: very tall black leather boots with high spike heels.
Argh.

There is only one bedroom door closed: our son's.  Our 22-year-old daughter doesn't live here any more, and all other spare rooms are unoccupied.
We can only conclude that our dear son has brought home a female from the bar last night.
We also conclude that this must be someone we do not know; he was seeing a vegetarian girl (who wore running shoes all the time), but is no longer.
This does NOT sit well with me. NOT AT ALL.
I want to burst into our son's bedroom and wake them up and tell him to take his floozy "new friend" home.
Dave wants to wait until they wake up, and then talk to our son more discreetly.

I rant and rave at Dave and the cats: This is totally inappropriate, this is MY home, this is WRONG, this is EASTER SUNDAY for cripe's sake (the irony of me being even more upset on a religious holiday when I'm not even religious is not lost on me). When are they going to wake up?  The grandparents are coming over!

Dave is more sanguine: maybe there is a reasonable explanation.
Like what? I say.  He's got a transvestite in there?
Argh.

I am mad that Dave is not more disturbed by the situation.
Is he secretly proud of his son, the stud?

Suddenly, our son's bedroom door opens and he zips into the bathroom.
Dave and I exchange glances; "Go and see who's in that room", I hiss.
Dave refuses: Just go and ask him whose boots those are, he says.

I waylay my boy on the way out of the bathroom, yelling, "T_______ (his name), Whose boots are those?".
My tone is nasty. I am ready for confrontation. I am near tears. 
~~~~

Ahem.
Turns out they are our daughter's boots. She too was out last night, and ended up closer to our home than her home.
Since she's coming here for Easter dinner tonight, she thought she might as well sleep here. (this is so logical and practical that my head explodes!)
I follow T____(son) back to his room and find T____ (daughter) sleeping in his bed, and that he had been sleeping on a pad on the floor!
He climbs back under the small throw he's been using as a blanket and says he's cold.
Why didn't you put T_____(daughter) in the guest room, I say?
We didn't want to make noise (opening up the hide-a-bed), he explains.

Not only has my son NOT brought a strange girl home from the bar, he has been a gentleman and given his bed to his sister (this same sister who would never in a milion years have even set foot in his room when they were growing up, lest she get his cooties on her).

Suddenly I feel warm and fuzzy. (like a unicorn kissing a care-bear under a rainbow with sparkly hearts exploding in the background).

Dave says I have to learn not to let things bother me so much, and not to assume the worst.
I mumble that it's the wrong time of the month, and he says, "That's still happening? I thought it stopped years ago", 
so I say, "I'm still a spring chicken!" and "Let's have another baby!"
to which he says "Are you insane?",
and I say, "I'm kidding, kidding, kidding....(no I'm not insane, are YOU insane to think I meant it?)

Meanwhile Milo (the cat) has gone into T___(son's) bedroom and all three of them have gone back to sleep. 
Happy Easter,


Kathryn : O