Would You Vote Me Off?

This is my sister-in-law's husband, Mike Rowe. The entire Mineer family calls him "Mike Rowe". Just like they call the other brother-in-law "Mike Leet". And even though my husband is Mike Mineer, he's just called "Bub"...that's how they do it in the south...or at least in Kentucky. There's at least one "Bub" in every family. There had to be a "Bub" in this family because, well, every brother or in-law is Mike!

I digress...Where was I? Oh yeah, this is my sister-in-law's husband, Mike Rowe. He's a preacher. He is hysterical. He cracks me up. And he really says very little but when he does, you'll want to tune in. Trust me on this.



Mike Rowe is the youngest of 5 children. There is a huge span of years between him and his closest sibling. He was an accident. What? It's no secret. He brags about it, even. Says it was great because by the time he came around, his mom was exhausted and could care less if he washed behind his ears or ate his vegetables. I'm hopeful that, as an adult, Mike Rowe does wash behind his ears. But I swear to you, he's never put anything green or vegetable-like in his mouth.

One of Mike Rowe's brothers has 4 or 5 children - I lost count. And from what he tells us, this family, much like Mike Rowe's growing up, is a bit out of control. How could it not be with 4+ kids in the house? I mean, there's probably a child temporarily missing at any given time. And god help you if you were late for dinner 'cause the chances are pretty slim there are any leftovers.

Mike Rowe recently shared with me that his nieces and nephews belonging to this particular brother aren't that crazy about one of their siblings. So much so, they've tried to "vote him off" their family island! Poor little fella! Could you imagine being that kid? Ha! He probably doesn't even care! And he'll probably grow up to be someone famous in some strange way - not stalker like- and will turn to each of them and say "suck it"!!

Mike Rowe tells this story far better than I but it's been at the forefront of my thoughts lately.

Wouldn't it be great if your little piece of the world were an island of sorts and as people got on your nerves you'd just vote them off? Ban them? "Alas, be gone. I'm done with you." Oh, where would I START??? I'm so excited at the thought of it, I can't even think of who'd go first! Oh wait...I know! The entire congress! Yep, that's where'd I'd start...WITH MY GOVERNMENT!!

I can find a way to deal with and handle hurt and loss and even disappointment but frustration sends me to the edge. And we Americans are in a pile of it right now. And I don't know what the answer is. But I know working (if you're lucky enough to be employed) your ass off just to be able to BARELY keep your family afloat is not the American dream. And sorry, but I lay full blame on the government for running this country and its people into the ground.

Think of me what you will but this little blog is my forum, my island of sorts.

Ahh, I think I feel a little better now.

"Oh pool boy...there's sand on my towel."

My Shoulder-Of-The-Road Findings

*Advisory: You may not want to read this after just have eaten or preparing to eat.

I am easily entertained. Nope, it doesn't take much to make me giggle or start to wonder why or how. And recently, I have had to find creative ways to focus my attention on something other than the blue-hundred miles I am running at the time.

So, I've turned to observing road-side "treasures". And here are a few of my recent observations:

* A single leg of Barbie's. It was shoeless. And I didn't get a close enough look to see if it were the left or right leg, not that it matters. When you lose a leg, it's a major piece of your anatomy no longer there. Of course I wondered, "where's the rest of the buxom blond? How'd she meet with such an unfortunate accident? Was Ken involved somehow? Was there domestic violence in Barbie's life that the public was kept safe from? Did Mattel step in and make a wheelchair especially built for the starlet? Or, better yet, does she have a prosthetic now?" My prayers are with Barbie and her family.

* A used pregnancy test. Again, I didn't get close enough to see if it were positive or negative but I'm guessing that, whatever the result, given the thermometer-like probe was carelessly discarded on the side of the road, the result was NOT what the woman was hoping for!

* A used condom. I forbid myself to create a story about THAT little treasure. But it was in close proximity to the above-mentioned prego test. So...

* Countless animal carcass-es (car-ki?). This, of course, just made me sad. Although many times I'd run by and think, "Hmm...wonder what THAT was." And that if my whack-nut dog were with me, she'd give it a quick lick then turn those eyes at me as if to say "mmm, tasty". She's special. That's becoming abundantly clear. Pray for us one and all.

I'm still waiting to stumble across a wallet.

Full of money.

With no forms of identification inside.

And you won't hear about my discovery on the 6:00 news, either, because, well, I won't be taking my findings to the nearest police department to perform any sort of good deed. Think of me what you will.

And don't lie. You'd do the same thing.

Yep, I Believe

At the bend on the little country road we live on is a church. Attached to it is a cemetery. A very old cemetery.

Every morning, Bailey and I take our walk and spend a quiet 15 or 20 minutes together. Every morning we at least walk past this final resting place for many. On some mornings, we venture deep into the plot of land dotted with moss-covered headstones and knotted century-old oaks...

We like it here. There are flowers and wreaths for B to sniff and some easy reading for me to do. And mornings like today or this past Saturday are especially chilling because of the fog and drizzle.

I try to envision those buried deep beneath the earth's surface; make a story up about them based on the epitaph engraved on their "pillow". I can get fully engaged in this morbid little game I play and think myself a little strange for making it up but just laugh it off...UNTIL...

That crazy dog stops dead in her tracks and looks at absolutely nothing...standing there paralyzingly still...then whips her head around and looks at me as if to say, "You saw that right?"

Then we both run like hell!

Maybe A Little Premature Since I haven't Even Run It Yet

Outside of work, I spend the majority of my time alone. Which affords me much opportunity to think...a double-edged sword at best! I've been thinking a lot lately of all the people, mostly unknowing, that have had a helpful hand in my marathon training. Just confirmation that it truly does "take a village"...

A quick thank you to the following:

* The folks at Runner's World who developed the online training program.

* Saucony shoes. * The makers of Glide - God Bless You!

* The thoughtful drivers that give me a little extra room along the shoulder of the road.

* My friends, family and co-workers for all the "atta boys", "keep up the good work", "you can do it"...you have no clue what these little words of encouragement mean to me.

* The folks sitting on their front porch or working in their yards that smile and wave.

* The makers of Tylenol. * The YMCA * My Garmin watch * My iPod...oh my iPod!

* The muscians who make the music for my iPod! *My body and my overall health

My point is simply that I'm grateful...for so much. And I just wanted to "say" it out loud.

Thank you world - thank you.

Stuck In The Middle

Yesterday, I bought a pair of boots. "Biker Chick" boots to be exact. They're hot. I kept the receipt. "I'm too old to be young and too young to be old". (What movie is that line from?). That's exactly the thought I had as I was trying on these super-hot boots. I even went so far as to send a photo of me trying on said hot boots to my niece and daughter - I respect their opinions even though I think they're jaded because, well, they love me. But both said, "Go for it! They're hot!" Being 45, middle-aged, is hard. I feel like I don't really belong anywhere. I'm not sure how you're supposed to feel half-way through your life but I don't think I feel any differently - physically anyway - than I did 20 years ago. Actually, truth be told, I'm more fit today than I was 20 years ago. But I shouldn't be shopping in the Juniors section anymore (right) but I CANNOT stand the clothes in the "Women's Department" and please don't ask me to step foot in Coldwater Creek (sorry if I'm offending any of my friends...). I think for now I'll continue to use Vera Wang and The Desperate Housewives as good role models - - fashion role models. And I think I'll hit Old Navy for a new pair of skinny jeans to go with those biker boots.