Coco the Death Cat Takes Advantage

You know that nursing home cat who would sleep on the beds of the next-to-die? I have been under the weather since Saturday morning with a particularly nasty nausea-and-body-aches brand of bug, and Coco, who is not known to be particularly cuddly, has been on my lap pretty much 24-7. It's making me a little nervous.

Of course, it could be the fact that I have been stationary, under a comfy blanky, not a thing I'm used to doing on a summer weekend. But still. Does she know something?

Note This on your Calendars

By proclamation of me, tomorrow is National Nobody Needs Me to Do Anything For Them Day. 

I plan on spending it flouncing about, consuming internet entertainment, and eating sweet things. I may be dressed as a 17th century poet. Or a 300-pound disability defrauder. That part is still up in the air. 

Everyone is welcome to join the festivities, as long as I don't have to assist in any way.

I plan on making it an annual holiday, held on the third Wednesday in June. Years from now, you will be asking yourselves, what did you do on the first NNNMTDAFT Day? You may want to plan your day accordingly.

Explanation Would Ruin the Magic

Flight of the Conchords, Hard and Phirm, and Todd Barry from the Future. Just Believe.

"Man Cold" from Man Stroke Woman

Found this series on Netflix so I went to You Tube to see if it would be worth it to watch the whole season. Netflix that, baby!

Whose Son Is This? And How Is His Driving Record?

Dean's in town. It's a great way to clear the fridge and pantry of leftovers. It's usually also a great way to make Drew fume over missing and misplaced parts and tools in the garage. Bike maintenance takes a lot of tools and parts, and two bike maintainers using the same space with different concepts of orderliness means that high jinks shall surely ensue.

But so far, at least in the house, he has shown us a new, you know, responsible form of Dean. He cleans up after himself in the kitchen, the bathroom is clean, and I can see most of the spare room floor. 

And he seems to be taking his training more seriously too. When I have called him in Colorado Springs lately, he talks of going to "work," both when he has to work at the bike shop AND when he has a training session. AND he has put beer drinking on hold. THAT's when you know he's serious.

And he looks like an oak tree with two trunks. 

I'm writing all this because he borrowed my car tonight and I'm hoping all this responsibility has made its way down to his accelerator foot.

Update:  car's back in the garage in one piece.

Being Awesome: I Can Do That.

So there we were sitting in the audience waiting for Tom Robbins to come out and entertain us and complaining about being in our 40s and putting on weight for no good reason. We hadn't changed our behaviors. We hadn't begun to enjoy nightly milkshakes before bed. We hadn't developed cravings for fried cheese appetizers.

I was telling Drew how I had tried my usual cutting-down here-and-there behaviors, and had actually gained weight, and how we had gone on a particularly active vacation - hiking, walking, sightseeing so much our feet were aching at the end of each day - and had still gained weight.

Drew, being the kind of guy (meaning like most guys), who when he hears of a problem, feels compelled to solve it (instead of the kind - like most women - who merely commiserate and share your whine), ventured a plan. Why don't I try one of Dean's coach's regimens for bumping up one's metabolism: doing 20 minutes of highly aerobic activity first thing in the morning, before you go about your day. Don't count it as your workout. Just add it as your 20-minute furnace boost.

I hadn't been running on a regular basis for maybe two years, choosing instead to follow Scotty's lead, who prefers a fast walking pace, so he doesn't miss any good sniffs, and so he doesn't overheat with his ridiculous collie coat on. Although we do an hour to an hour-and-a-half of this fast walking at least four times a week (with half-hours on the other three days), I had pretty much given up on my running career.  After all, running with a dog is complicated, and leaving the house in my running gear without the dog is heart rending.

Uh-oh, Coco the Basement Cat has decided to help me type. This may slow things down.

Drew said, no, do not feel sorry for the dogs. This is about you. Get on the treadmill and go for 20 minutes. Nobody gets hurt. Nobody feels left out. And if they do, the hell with them.

So I did. In practice, they end up as 30-minutes sessions: a quick five-minute warm up and a five-minute cool down sandwiches the 20 minutes of running. It was hard at first. The minutes ticked by so slow I doubted my grasp of the concept of time. But the 20-minute mark would always show up eventually. It has been a month now, and I have kept it up long enough now that it (almost) feels like a habit.  I call my sessions "being awesome." That also helps me to keep it up. I don't want to not be awesome. And it has not precluded me from taking the dogs out for their walks after breakfast. 

And the weather has been so nice lately that I have been able to get outside and see something beside the sun room walls.  Luckily there are few other runners at the park when I go, because sometimes it seems like I am going so slowly that I must be on a hidden treadmill, but no matter. I'm not out there to impress anyone (which should be obvious from my outfit, which usually fails to match three different shades of blue, some black, some occasional hot pink or purple, all topped off with a red baseball cap).

It's easy to do anything for 20 minutes. It's easier to do something first thing in the morning before the excuse lobe in your brain kicks into gear.  And 20 minutes is not nothing - a concept which is difficult to grasp after so many years of living amongst those for whom three-hour workouts are commonplace. It makes a difference. The pounds may not be melting away, but I can notice small changes. And that gives me hope. Hope that it's not all down hill from here. Hope that the next birthday doesn't mean more ballooning gut and arm flab. I may have lost a little of whatever it is inside our cells that make us firm and fresh, and may have more of the stuff that allows "ripe" to turn into "soft and squishy," but if 20 minutes a day can help slow that change, then I'm willing to run.

Air! Just What I Ordered!

Hey, we got a shipment of air today at work.

Office Depot has really stepped up their air delivery.  To be fair, this box wasn't completely filled with air. It also held six binders and some binder tabs, which took up less than a quarter of the space in the box. They shipped a separate box, about the same size, with two ten-roll packs of toilet paper. 

Efficiency at its peak, ladies and gentlemen.

The Kind of Courage That I Deal In

I have had some painter's block these last few weeks due to the fact that I left the painting-in-progress at an awkward moment. You know, the underpainting is done, the next layer is half done, and the product, if I stopped now, would either be bad art or good velvet art.

Unfortunately, since it's difficult to transport the paint from canvas onto velvet at this point, I have no choice now but to use the next layer of paint to turn bad art into art. Can I do it?

If not, it must mean that I'm a bad artist. So to approach the painting today took some piglet style courage.

I approached it. I applied paint to it. Is it better? I never know until the next day. There's still another, crucial layer to be applied. Stay tuned.

Weather note: thunder storm after a week of unseasonably hot weather. Aaahhh.