Whistlin' in the Graveyard
One evening in the not-too-long-ago past, we were sitting around conversing as families often do, and for some reason we started talking about funerals and songs - or maybe the radio was on and we started talking about songs and funerals - or maybe I just dreamed the whole thing and am still dreaming and all of you and all of this is just a part of my subconscious - anyway, it occurred to me that there was one particular song I would want to have played at my funeral. I'm not sure why this occurred to me, as I'm not generally thinking about things like what song I want to play at my funeral, but it did, so I informed everyone within hearing distance that this was my desire. What is the song, you ask? A haunting ballad, of course, with poignant and heartfelt lyrics that tear through your soul and rip ragged gashes that release all the pain and tears that you (and everyone else) will have bottled up inside. Is it "Hallelujah?" Or perhaps an old standard like "Amazing Grace?" Not exactly. The song that I want to have played at my funeral is that classic tune by Kelly Clarkson - "My Life Would Suck Without You." How about you?
A rose by any other name…
While Carrie and I (and She-she Squeakers Kittyface) were sitting around watching "American Idol" last night, a promo came on for the news and the anchor's name was Lou Raguse, which Carrie said was a really cool name, which led me to teasing her about wanting to marry him so she could be called "Carrie Raguse," which she said wasn't at all what she wanted (not because she didn't want to marry Lou Raguse, but because she didn't think "Carrie Raguse" sounded all that cool). Plus, she informed me that she had recently been advised by her mother that she shouldn't change her name if and when she got married and that her mother regretted having done so when she married me. Well, as you can imagine, you could have knocked me over with a feather at that point, because this was the first I had heard of her dissatisfaction with the name she had adopted as her own lo those many years ago. So I asked Carrie if her mother had explained why she felt so put upon by the name change. Apparently, Katie is really, really tired of having to write all those extra letters every time she writes her name (easy solution - do what I do, which is to make a B, then add a scribble with a couple of loops). She also told Carrie that it's a really big hassle when you get divorced, because you have to change your name on everything - so I guess this means my wife is planning on divorcing me (little did I know) and she's also planning on our daughter being divorced as well sometime in the future (I can just see them now - two bitter divorcees going out to lunch and ripping on their exes together). As you can probably imagine, I was a little bit upset by all this, so I confronted Katie as soon as she came home from her band boosters meeting, but all she did was laugh it off and tell me to shush so she could watch the figure skating on the Olympics. Not exactly the reaction I was looking for.
Navigating the "Old Pueblo"
As mentioned previously, Carrie is now a licensed and insured driver (speaking of insurance, when I opened the envelope and saw what our new premium is with an additional driver, my contact lenses burst into flames and melted onto my corneas, which is, to say the least, quite painful). As a licensed and insured driver, Carrie recently "soloed" for the first time when she drove the truck home from the shop where we were having some work done (is it only me, or does everyone hear, "Mumbo-jumbo transitional gasket leak, gobblety-gook vacuum hose, la-la-la five hundred dollars," whenever they take a vehicle into the shop and the person working there explains the problem and what they have to do, and then you nod with a very serious expression on your face and say, "Well, I guess we'd better go ahead and do it," even though you have no idea what you just agreed to and you wonder if this person is going to go home and tell everybody about the nonsense they spewed out today at work?). But to get back to this particular anecdote, Carrie didn't actually solo when she was supposed to, because when she originally went to pick up the pickup, it didn't start, because it had a dead battery, which I suppose is kind of fortuitous, because if your battery is going to die, it might as well do it in the shop where it's convenient to get it replaced. So they replaced the battery and the truck was ready to go, and our brave little trooper slipped behind the wheel. Carrie wasn't actually all that nervous about driving by herself, but she was worried that she'd get lost on the way home - even though the shop is only 1-1/2 miles from our house and Katie would be blazing the trail by driving right in front of her. Thankfully, Carrie, and the truck, and Katie all made it home safe and sound. And apparently, the vacuum transitional gasket leak thingy (and the battery) is all fixed up because the truck is once again running fine.
That's all for this entry, so until next time may your batteries remain fully charged, may your relationships remain relatable, and may your dreams remain blissful and uncomplicated.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Rain, Pain, and Automobiles
Running in the Rain
Thanks to El Niño, we've been getting quite a bit of rain over the past month or so. Which is a good thing, because things are seriously dry around these parts (even for a desert) - plus it's kind of a nice change of pace. So last Sunday, I was planning on going for a run, but when I woke up, I heard the distinct pitter-patter of raindrops pitter-patting on my roof, and when I looked outside, it looked cloudy and gloomy and all-around uninviting. But, because I am a trooper (and somewhat compulsive about sticking to my running schedule) I went ahead and bundled up a bit, then headed out for the river path to put in my miles. At first, it was quite enjoyable. There was a slight drizzle, it was pleasantly cool, the river was flowing (water in the river!) I was splashing through puddles, and I felt good. That lasted through the first 8 miles or so. Then things started to shift. My calf started feeling achy, my hip hurt, the rain started falling faster, the wind kicked up, the temperature dropped a couple of degrees, I was thoroughly soaked through… and I still had five miles to go. I don't often want to wish away the final miles of a run (unless I'm running a marathon) but I was feeling pretty bad and was definitely wishing the last few miles were over during the last few miles. But I soldiered on and made it back to the car without succumbing to hypothermia (although I'm sure my core temperature did drop a couple of degrees). I guess it was one of those, "Too much of a good thing," type of things, if you know what I mean (and even if you don't).
More on Running
A couple of weeks ago, Katie invited me to the inaugural "Griffin Gallop" which was a 5K run/walk that her school (Green Fields) was holding to raise money for their sports program. It sounded like fun, so we both signed up and ran. There weren't a whole lot of people there, so I actually had hopes that I might do fairly well. I wasn't planning on "racing" but I still figured I might have a chance to place in my division. And as I ran the race, I started feeling even more optimistic. I started easy, then sped up a little bit and was soon passing lots of people (especially little kids who had sprinted at the start, which made me feel kind of bad - but not bad enough to not pass them). The course was an out-and-back, so as I approached the halfway point, I could see that there weren't very many people in front of me - maybe about a dozen - but I couldn't really tell how old they might be and who might be in my division. Anyway, I was feeling pretty good, so I picked up a the pace a little bit more and passed a few more people, including one guy with about half a mile to go who was struggling to hold on, while I was feeling stronger than ever (and yes, I was gloating a little bit as I passed). So I finished, and Katie finished soon after me, and we ate some pancakes and waited for them to post the results, and it turned out that I came in 8th overall, which I thought was pretty good, but then when they started handing out medals, I found out that I was only 5th in my division, which isn't very good when you consider that I was 8th overall, and then I realized that I am a very petty person, because as they handed out medals to the people in the age groups below mine (35-39 and 40-44) and announced their times, all I could focus on was the fact that my time was faster than the winners in both of those groups, and what's more, the winner of the 40-44 group was the guy that I had passed in the last half mile. Sure, I knew that this was only for fun and to raise money for a good cause, but I still felt as if I'd somehow been cheated, which reminded me, once again, of how petty I can be.
Rites of Passage
There are certain rites of passage in our society - one of which is when a young person turns sixteen and becomes a licensed driver. Carrie recently achieved that milestone, and is now a licensed and insured driver who is legally allowed to operate a motor vehicle in, around, and outside "The Old Pueblo." Along with this rite, though, another rite travels hand-in-hand, which is for the parents of the young person who has just turned sixteen and become a licensed driver to make amusing statements like, "Watch out/beware/drive at your own risk/etc., because _____ just got their license," as often as possible. I don't know why we feel obliged to say this, but who am I to question society and/or culture, so consider yourself warned.
Thanks to El Niño, we've been getting quite a bit of rain over the past month or so. Which is a good thing, because things are seriously dry around these parts (even for a desert) - plus it's kind of a nice change of pace. So last Sunday, I was planning on going for a run, but when I woke up, I heard the distinct pitter-patter of raindrops pitter-patting on my roof, and when I looked outside, it looked cloudy and gloomy and all-around uninviting. But, because I am a trooper (and somewhat compulsive about sticking to my running schedule) I went ahead and bundled up a bit, then headed out for the river path to put in my miles. At first, it was quite enjoyable. There was a slight drizzle, it was pleasantly cool, the river was flowing (water in the river!) I was splashing through puddles, and I felt good. That lasted through the first 8 miles or so. Then things started to shift. My calf started feeling achy, my hip hurt, the rain started falling faster, the wind kicked up, the temperature dropped a couple of degrees, I was thoroughly soaked through… and I still had five miles to go. I don't often want to wish away the final miles of a run (unless I'm running a marathon) but I was feeling pretty bad and was definitely wishing the last few miles were over during the last few miles. But I soldiered on and made it back to the car without succumbing to hypothermia (although I'm sure my core temperature did drop a couple of degrees). I guess it was one of those, "Too much of a good thing," type of things, if you know what I mean (and even if you don't).
More on Running
A couple of weeks ago, Katie invited me to the inaugural "Griffin Gallop" which was a 5K run/walk that her school (Green Fields) was holding to raise money for their sports program. It sounded like fun, so we both signed up and ran. There weren't a whole lot of people there, so I actually had hopes that I might do fairly well. I wasn't planning on "racing" but I still figured I might have a chance to place in my division. And as I ran the race, I started feeling even more optimistic. I started easy, then sped up a little bit and was soon passing lots of people (especially little kids who had sprinted at the start, which made me feel kind of bad - but not bad enough to not pass them). The course was an out-and-back, so as I approached the halfway point, I could see that there weren't very many people in front of me - maybe about a dozen - but I couldn't really tell how old they might be and who might be in my division. Anyway, I was feeling pretty good, so I picked up a the pace a little bit more and passed a few more people, including one guy with about half a mile to go who was struggling to hold on, while I was feeling stronger than ever (and yes, I was gloating a little bit as I passed). So I finished, and Katie finished soon after me, and we ate some pancakes and waited for them to post the results, and it turned out that I came in 8th overall, which I thought was pretty good, but then when they started handing out medals, I found out that I was only 5th in my division, which isn't very good when you consider that I was 8th overall, and then I realized that I am a very petty person, because as they handed out medals to the people in the age groups below mine (35-39 and 40-44) and announced their times, all I could focus on was the fact that my time was faster than the winners in both of those groups, and what's more, the winner of the 40-44 group was the guy that I had passed in the last half mile. Sure, I knew that this was only for fun and to raise money for a good cause, but I still felt as if I'd somehow been cheated, which reminded me, once again, of how petty I can be.
Rites of Passage
There are certain rites of passage in our society - one of which is when a young person turns sixteen and becomes a licensed driver. Carrie recently achieved that milestone, and is now a licensed and insured driver who is legally allowed to operate a motor vehicle in, around, and outside "The Old Pueblo." Along with this rite, though, another rite travels hand-in-hand, which is for the parents of the young person who has just turned sixteen and become a licensed driver to make amusing statements like, "Watch out/beware/drive at your own risk/etc., because _____ just got their license," as often as possible. I don't know why we feel obliged to say this, but who am I to question society and/or culture, so consider yourself warned.
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