Role Reversal

I support and welcome change. Whether it's forced upon me or I seek it out myself, I try to look at it with a positive attitude.

Because of the increased gas prices (that's the forced part of this recent change), I'm finding it hard to justify traveling to Carrboro just to attend a yoga class one or two days per week - - at an average cost of $10 per class (that, and my car has over 300,000 miles on it so I really only ask it to get me back and forth to work anymore! This is the voluntary change part).

I figured I'd give this place a chance. It's MUCH closer to the house.

I've only taken two classes there so far (one at $14, the other at $15). Given the price hike compared to MYCYCO, I'm not sure I'm coming out ahead, aside from the wear and tear on my old car... and I'm not sure I'm getting the most out of the "workouts" or that I'm overly enamored with the teachers.

But none of this has anything to do with this post. It's really just filler to share what I'm really writing about.

What I love about this facility is the room. The expanse of it. The warmth of it. And the bank/wall of windows on the back side. The front wall is all glass and the door is there where we enter and exit. And there's a hallway out there that really only gets the studio traffic. This past Saturday, the instructor had the students facing the glass wall.

He came bounding down the hall. He was jovial. He was smiling. He was super hairy. He was HUGE. He was very well disciplined. And he belonged to the woman who was joining our class - almost ten minutes late. She came in, her wolf of a dog waited outside...he laid there, watching our every move. It was as if I/we were the animals on display at the zoo and he was the spectator, enthralled at the tricks we were doing. I couldn't take my eyes off him. And I couldn't have been more impressed that he just...waited.

Forget the yin/yen balance of THAT class. I was no more interested in alternate nostril breathing than who's going to replace Charlie Sheen on Two and a Half Men.

I wish I got the number for that tiger-like canine. I'd be sure to bring my whack-nut, head-like-a-brick, "I'll swoon you with my big brown eyes" dog for private lessons on good behavior.

How Does Your Garden Grow

When you're driving half-way across the country you'd be surprised at some of the conversations you can have.

As we drove through Knoxville, TN en route to OK, we passed the signs for and outskirts of The University of Tennessee. I mentioned to my husband how beautiful the structures and grounds were and asked if Knoxville was known for anything else important.

In my left ear I heard, "Yeah. They plant dead people there, water and fertilize the earth and come back a few years later to see what they've produced. Better known as The Body Farm."

Huh.

UT Knoxville - Forensic Anthropology

So for the next hour or so we discussed the pros and cons of turning ones body over for the purpose of medical science.

We decided we wouldn't make good subjects. The students would only learn that I am indecisive, have a warped sense of humor and color the gray in my hair desperately and regularly.

And my husband...he said they'd have to shut the place down because they would've found perfection in him and there would be no reason for any further research.

Then we pulled to the shoulder of the road so I could vomit...(perfection? really? wretch, wretch...)

"What...WHAT?"

Earlier this week I received a text from my husband. The conversation went something like this:

Hubs: (Text #1)..."Day's been productive. Cut grass, redid flower bed by road and ran to the grocery."

Me: (Text #1)..."Sounds like a good day."

Hubs: (Text #2)..."Afraid one of the cats caught a Cardinal. Left it on the porch at the front door. Found it when I got home. Wonder which one is killing the birds?!"

Me: (Text #2)..."Well, based on his history, the results of his last trial and unquestionable evidence used against him...I say it's Ralphie May"

Guilty

A Blank Space

I need to stay out of the cemetery.

My dog, who I am convinced sees dead people, and I took our daily evening stroll tonight and, like on many of our outings, we ended up in the memorial gardens.

On this trip, I noticed the larger tombstones, the "double bed" version if you will. These are the gravesites built for two, where you can lie eternally next to your spouse (or special someone). On a number of these, I noticed that only one of the two loved ones had died. The other was alive and kicking and their concrete pillow was just waiting for an expiration date to be inscribed.

I spent way too much time thinking about this and ultimately freaked myself out. I mean, it's a proactive action on the part of those left behind. But, friends, loved-ones... don't do me this favor.

I know me and I'd be periodically visiting my pending eternal bedroom just to check and see if I had been date-stamped expired yet.

RIP

Old News Now

For no other reason other than life issues has it taken me two weeks to post about an event that was supposed to be one of the most memorable to me and my husband. Unfortunately, our first marathon WAS a most memorable one but, for me anyway, for so many other reasons than the obvious.

We left NC on schedule after a quick, early morning good bye to my folks who had arrived the night before to hold down our fort. That was a Thursday morning. As we drove west, the weather improved and we settled into our seats for the long drive. Our first stop for the night was Memphis where Michael had lovingly made reservations for us for dinner at BB King's and wanted to stroll the famous Beale Street. And this is where it all began...

I'm gonna give the short version and then simply share the pictures below.

I had a headache. Not just a "wow, my head hurts" headache. A pain in my head I can't begin to explain. I didn't tell my husband. I try to enjoy the evening - I wasn't successful. Friday we drive some more and make it to Oklahoma. I've popped pain relievers the entire way every 4 hours. He notices and asks me what's up? I simply say I have a headache. I go through the motions all afternoon/evening Friday and dress for dinner at Toby Keith's where my husband has made reservations. I am in excruciating pain. I don't tell my husband. We hit the first of many stops my husband has on his list of places to see. I am literally falling asleep at the table because my head has simply worn me out. We cancel a show my husband has purchased tickets for earlier so that I can go to the hotel and lay down. I am now popping sudafed and zyrtec - maybe it's allergies/sinuses? Saturday comes and we have an exciting day planned. Expect I wake up to my husband telling me my grandmother (in Maryland) has had a major stroke that morning. Do I get on a plane and head home? Do I stay? After a heart wrenching conversation with my mom, we all agree that I stay and see my trip and adventure through. I try with all I have to get through the day but by 4:00 I simply can't go on...I ask him to take me to an emergency room. I can no longer stand the pain. I was given fluids and Toradol for the pain and the cat scan showed nothing concerning. Maybe stress and worry for the upcoming race? Don't know, don't care, just don't happen again!

We wake up Sunday, race day, to pouring rain, thunder, lightening, wind gusts and my head eased but not feeling well at all! A dull pain still pounding. I run. I am miserable. I am sad. I am worrying about my grandmother. I am guilt-ridden thinking I should've gotten on a plane home. My head is killing me. I am cold. I am soaked to the bone. And then I get the shakes. By mile 20 or 22, can't remember, the shakes are uncontrollable. I slow to a shuffle and finally a complete walk. What a complete disappointment my body has become to me at this point. A big fat let down...I was ready for this. I was prepared. And now I can't run any further. I walk across the finish line completely humiliated and heart broken. It was not the event I had envisioned in my head. Oh, I was glad I finished! I was proud of that I suppose. But I had other plans...my husband, on the other hand, did a beautiful job and I am so proud of him!

Oddly enough, by the end of the day Sunday, my head is feeling much better. But then this funny feeling starts in my gut. Oh joy. Don't pay much attention to it....until...

We make it home Tuesday evening uneventfully and thankfully. I go back to work that Wednesday and my belly is "not right". Friday morning at 4:30 I wake up with a fever of 101. What the hell??? The pain in my gut is unrelentless. Not a belly-ache, not even a feeling like labor pains. More like a knife - stick, stick, stick...oh my lord make it stop. Things moved/happened Sunday morning about 6:30 and by noon that day I was feeling much better.

Monday at work, I shared my experience with the doc I work for. He told me it makes no sense at all but what I described was exactly what a diverticulitis attack sounds like! I don't fit the bill - too young, too good of a diet, too healthy...BUT, it happens!! Too late now, but if it happens again, I'll have a CAT Scan done of my abdomen to see what's going on in there. Really body? Really?? I've taken such good care of you!! And you turn on me!! Ugh!!

I'm feeling much better now and I think I'm back on track. Oklahoma will forever be an experience I won't forget but I've convinced my husband to run another marathon in hopes that one will be the event I still have pictured in my mind!

And the main reason we selected the Run to Remember...see below.

Love him! Club on Beale St. in Memphis



Mural in the gift shop at BB King's Restaurant




Some of the night life

We made it!!



The OK City skyline as we are driving in.




My first time ever being in this line...I was pretty proud.

Toby Keith's Restaurant in OK City. Awesome. Great food!

The OK City National Museum. We toured it Monday morning before leaving.


In case you'd forgotten. The Murah building post bombing.

The wall of victims...notice the box of tissues...Mike and I both needed several...

A cabinet with caps representing all of the rescue teams that came to help.

A photo of one of the search and rescue dogs. Notice his protective booties.

Eventually, the reality of it all does set in.

I sobbed in front of this photo. This officer is overwhelmed, overcome...and he could've been my husband...

I have only vague memories of this horrific event in our history. Unfortunately, I remember more about the trials and conviction than the event. Touring this tastefully mastered museum brought it all to the forefront of my mind and memory. More than anything, the facility focused on how the people of Oklahoma came together during a time of need. Really, how people around the country came together during a time of need. But that's what we do best, right? We rally. We rise to the occasion when we have to.

Because, after all, when it comes right down to it, we really have only each other...

The survivors' tree.

Michael and me.

The field of chairs. One for each victim. The smaller ones are for the children who were murdered. 19 of them. 19.

One end of the reflecting pool. Note the time on the wall - 9:01. It was still quiet then. At the other end of the pool is the same wall, only 9:03 is etched on it. The time the bomb exploded and life as we all knew it changed.

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.