Recently, I was quite amazed/amused to hear about the Canadian election, which is coming up on Oct. 14.
Do you know when they called the election? It was on Sept. 7. So the length of the campaign will be 37 days. Thirty-seven days. Yes, I know there was speculation for a long time that an election would be called this year, but the wheels were only set in motion on Sept. 7. Thirty-seven days.
By contrast, the current U.S. presidential election unofficially started the day after the 2004 election and actively after the 2006 election. I'm sure most of you are getting quite tired of it.
I have been doing my best to keep my opinions to myself, but I made an exception back on Jan. 4, when Vox's question of the day was "What is your reaction to the Iowa caucus?", which had just been held. [URL="http://drdog.vox.com/library/post/qotd-iowa.html#comments"]I commented here.[/URL] I think Efx2 was taking one of its periodic vacations at the time.
I know many people are still undecided, and many are just plain turned off my the entire drawn-out process. Myself included. But I found an article this week that hit home. It was an open to letter to people who haven't yet decided whom to vote for, whatever the reason, whether they follow politics closely or whether they stay far away from it. You're a diverse group. To quote from the introduction:
[QUOTE]But there are a few qualities that many of you share. You are fed up with the choices offered you and sick of partisan rancor. You are disillusioned both with the Bush administration and the Democratic-controlled Congress. Many of you are conservative on fiscal policy and liberal on social issues, which is a big reason neither party exactly fits you. Mainly, you want someone who will actually deliver -- on the economy, on foreign policy, on domestic programs. And you don't care what his or her political label is
Because you hold the key to the election, both John McCain and Barack Obama have been assiduously courting you. But you're not sold on either candidate. You like the fact that McCain has a reputation as a maverick and an independent thinker, but you're not sure if he doesn't just represent more of the Washington status quo. As for Obama, you don't know much about him and all the mania about him only makes you suspicious.
As the endless campaign moves into the home stretch, the noise from both sides and their supporters grows deafening. You're sick of the hyperbolic, us-against-them commentary that dominates our political discourse. What follows is a list of the main issues facing the country, and an attempt to compare, in as neutral a way as possible, how the two candidates stack up on those issues.[/QUOTE]
It was an interesting read, and I thought maybe you would like to see it, too. If you want to read it for yourself, [URL="http://www.salon.com/opinion/kamiya/2008/09/23/letter_to_independents/print.html"]here is the link[/URL]. The election is less than six weeks away. The first debate is Friday night.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The mystery of the missing notebook
OK, I'm back after a very busy weekend, one filled with frustration and drama and fear. Yes, fear. Sorta.
It all started at the football game last Friday night. An ordinary game, and not a very exciting one, either. Our team had a 14-0 lead within two minutes of the kickoff, a 28-0 lead one play into the second quarter and was ahead 42-7 at halftime. Final score: 49-14. No, not so thrilling.
After the game, I got a picture of the team in its post-game huddle, then got a picture of a volunteer coach on the team, for a feature I'm planning. I was hurrying around after the final gun to grab my camera bag and stuff, and I know I dropped my reporter's notebook and program once or twice. Usually I stick them in the camera bag, but I was wrapped up in talking to people. That's the way it is after a game.
I went home, watched TV for a while, helped my wife to bed, caught up with the news online and then hit the hay myself. Saturday morning, I had to be at the office early to talk to the coach (who likes to get interviews out of the way before 9 a.m.--he gets up early).
I get to the office, open the camera bag and reach for my little yellow notebook. It's not there. The program is there, my photo notebook is there, and the camera is there. The narrow yellow notebook isn't. Not there. I go out and look in my car. No dice. Inside the house, where I put the bag overnight. Ix-nay.
This notebook is where I write play-by-play notes of the game. Who did what and when and to whom. I stand on the sidelines during a game, scribbling notes between plays. When it's time for another play, I stick the notebook under my arm and put the pen in my mouth so both my hands are free to operate the camera. After the play, I put the camera down and start writing. That's how I do it.
And even though it was a lopsided, not-that-interesting game, they were still my notes on what happened, from which I compose my story. Without it ... I didn't want to think about it. So I got in my car and drove to the football field. Walked down the hill to the field and looked around. Not there. I climbed the hill again, got back in the car and drove to the parking lot at the school. Nothing to see.
Crap! All I was thinking was that I'd have to base the story on the bare-bones account in the local daily paper and the coach's faulty memory. So I was depressed about that. I covered a volleyball match that afternoon, and all I could think about was that missing football notebook. Crap! I was glum that night.
But my wife said that someone had called, asking if I was missing a notebook. It was one of the school personnel; a retired teacher and husband to the tennis coach. She said he would put it in the office mailbox.
It wasn't there in the morning, when I got there, but it was at mid-morning. I didn't quite kiss it, but maybe I should have. Anyway, now I could write my uninteresting story about an uninteresting game, with all the necessary uninteresting details intact.
It got me to thinking. I don't take a lot of things too seriously, myself especially, but I do take my work damn seriously. I care very much about writing it right and getting facts straight, knowing what to say and how to say it. I don't like mistakes, my own especially. I like to give the facts, and let the reader make up their own mind.
I covered a volleyball match last night. Then, when I got home, my wife and I sat together and watched the original "Hellboy" movie. That was a lot of fun; we both enjoyed it. I know that the second Hellboy movie came out last summer, and I really wanted to see it, but it just didn't work out, and the film slipped out of town before I knew it. Heard a lot of good things about it, though, so I'm waiting for the DVD to come out. Not yet.
****
Ankle update: It is almost back to normal. Late last week, I started wearing athletic shoes again, and that worked OK. I wore them at the game last Friday and climbed up and down the hill OK. Including Saturday's unexpected visit.
Monday, I tried my normal work shoes, but they were still digging in a little too much where the ankle is tender, so back to the athletic shoes. I had to run a few errands this noon, and as I was walking from the car to the drug store to city hall, I noticed that I was walking at my normal brisk pace.
****
It's a beautiful day here today. Sunny, and the temperature is in the mid 70s. The annual color change has started, but it's moving very slowly. Partly, that is because we haven't had a really hard frost yet.
The office golf fanatics are away today, getting in a final round, so there's just me and another woman in the office. Very quiet day. A good day for writing.
It all started at the football game last Friday night. An ordinary game, and not a very exciting one, either. Our team had a 14-0 lead within two minutes of the kickoff, a 28-0 lead one play into the second quarter and was ahead 42-7 at halftime. Final score: 49-14. No, not so thrilling.
After the game, I got a picture of the team in its post-game huddle, then got a picture of a volunteer coach on the team, for a feature I'm planning. I was hurrying around after the final gun to grab my camera bag and stuff, and I know I dropped my reporter's notebook and program once or twice. Usually I stick them in the camera bag, but I was wrapped up in talking to people. That's the way it is after a game.
I went home, watched TV for a while, helped my wife to bed, caught up with the news online and then hit the hay myself. Saturday morning, I had to be at the office early to talk to the coach (who likes to get interviews out of the way before 9 a.m.--he gets up early).
I get to the office, open the camera bag and reach for my little yellow notebook. It's not there. The program is there, my photo notebook is there, and the camera is there. The narrow yellow notebook isn't. Not there. I go out and look in my car. No dice. Inside the house, where I put the bag overnight. Ix-nay.
This notebook is where I write play-by-play notes of the game. Who did what and when and to whom. I stand on the sidelines during a game, scribbling notes between plays. When it's time for another play, I stick the notebook under my arm and put the pen in my mouth so both my hands are free to operate the camera. After the play, I put the camera down and start writing. That's how I do it.
And even though it was a lopsided, not-that-interesting game, they were still my notes on what happened, from which I compose my story. Without it ... I didn't want to think about it. So I got in my car and drove to the football field. Walked down the hill to the field and looked around. Not there. I climbed the hill again, got back in the car and drove to the parking lot at the school. Nothing to see.
Crap! All I was thinking was that I'd have to base the story on the bare-bones account in the local daily paper and the coach's faulty memory. So I was depressed about that. I covered a volleyball match that afternoon, and all I could think about was that missing football notebook. Crap! I was glum that night.
But my wife said that someone had called, asking if I was missing a notebook. It was one of the school personnel; a retired teacher and husband to the tennis coach. She said he would put it in the office mailbox.
It wasn't there in the morning, when I got there, but it was at mid-morning. I didn't quite kiss it, but maybe I should have. Anyway, now I could write my uninteresting story about an uninteresting game, with all the necessary uninteresting details intact.
It got me to thinking. I don't take a lot of things too seriously, myself especially, but I do take my work damn seriously. I care very much about writing it right and getting facts straight, knowing what to say and how to say it. I don't like mistakes, my own especially. I like to give the facts, and let the reader make up their own mind.
I covered a volleyball match last night. Then, when I got home, my wife and I sat together and watched the original "Hellboy" movie. That was a lot of fun; we both enjoyed it. I know that the second Hellboy movie came out last summer, and I really wanted to see it, but it just didn't work out, and the film slipped out of town before I knew it. Heard a lot of good things about it, though, so I'm waiting for the DVD to come out. Not yet.
****
Ankle update: It is almost back to normal. Late last week, I started wearing athletic shoes again, and that worked OK. I wore them at the game last Friday and climbed up and down the hill OK. Including Saturday's unexpected visit.
Monday, I tried my normal work shoes, but they were still digging in a little too much where the ankle is tender, so back to the athletic shoes. I had to run a few errands this noon, and as I was walking from the car to the drug store to city hall, I noticed that I was walking at my normal brisk pace.
****
It's a beautiful day here today. Sunny, and the temperature is in the mid 70s. The annual color change has started, but it's moving very slowly. Partly, that is because we haven't had a really hard frost yet.
The office golf fanatics are away today, getting in a final round, so there's just me and another woman in the office. Very quiet day. A good day for writing.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
A weekend with Starlius
]I haven't written an update for a while. There are reasons.
First, the big news is that my foot and ankle are still attached to my body. Yes, it is still hurting, though not as much. No, I haven't been putting ice on it. I know I should, but I've been a bit of a baby about that. We have one of those cold wraps in the fridge, and I've used it a few times on the ankle and the top of the foot. The thing of it is--it's cold! Really! So I can stand it for a while, and then I put it away.
Rest? Ha! My ankle gets rest when I can rest. And I can't rest. Not ever. Well, I did for a while on Saturday. I never visited my mom on Saturday--that's one thing I'm doing today. So on Saturday, I just sat around home most of the day. On Sunday, more of the same. I had to run around and do some errands, but most of the time I was off my feet. I even took a nap Saturday afternoon!
[B]I have started wearing[/B] a sandal on that (left) foot. I can get the foot in a shoe, but the side of the shoe rubs too much on the bruised part of my ankle and foot, so I finally got the bright idea of wearing a sandal on that foot. It's working for now. I covered the football game last Friday--another 2+ hours on my feet, walking up and down the sidelines--and it survived pretty well.
The inflammation and bruising is still there, at my ankle and the top of my foot, and I should have used that cold wrap last night. But I didn't. And I also haven't been taking Tylenols as often as maybe I should. I've just been taking them when it's really bothering me. A macho thing, you know.
After visiting my mom today, I have to cover a volleyball match. When I get back, I'll put the cold wrap on it again for a while. I promise.
[B]The distractions came[/B] in a box from Amazon that arrived on Friday. It included a couple books on open relationships, a book about the 1908 major league baseball season (one of the closest ever) and -- ta-daah! -- Spore. Yes, I "invested" in the new "god game" Spore, so after my game Friday night and on and off over the weekend I worked on a purple and green quadruped that has gone through some evolutions as I make my way through the game. I am in the "creature" phase now. Maybe about 2/3rds of the way through that. But there are other phases to come.
He's cute ... in an ugly sort of a way. I named him "Starlius." You can see him at spore.com by doing a [URL="http://www.spore.com/sporepedia#qry=srch-Starlius"]search on Starliu[/URL]s. He's among nearly 20 million critters created in the week or so since the game came out. I described him as "a weird-looking blue thing," and that is still accurate. But he's cute ... if your idea of cute includes a narwhal-like horn, a gator-like snout, eyestalks and odd colors. They have a thing where you can take a picture of him. Maybe Starlius can be my new avatar!
I can blame Starlius for distracting me from the books that I really wanted to study. In fact, I have been reading one, but late at night, just before bed, as my brain is shutting down. Then my wife puts her book away and Charlie hops up and wants to start chasing toes. My toes. Time to turn off the light.
[B]The other thing[/B] that happened over the weekend is that we had a rainstorm move through Saturday evening. Not from the remnants of Hurricane Ike that passed through other parts of the Midwest with vat quantities of rain, but it was raining hard for a while. Anyway, I was upstairs, busy with Starlius, when I heard some dripping. Yep. The spare bedroom.
We had our roof replaced about 10 years ago, but there seems to be a bad shingle there, and it drips into the attic and from there into the spare bedroom when it's raining heavily. Bad foot/ankle and all, I (and my wife) climbed upstairs to set out buckets to manage things for the time being.
Just too much excitement and exertion for my ankle, which was aching afterwards. Get out the cold wrap.
[B]The highlight of today's[/B] visit to my mom is getting her rings, which she wanted resized. Her fingers are so thin now that the rings can just slip right off, so I took them to ajeweler to make them smaller. My wife said the jeweler called Monday--they're ready. I also have to stop at the store to get some cat food (for the cats), some Tums (for her) and some Vitamin B and D (also for her).
I'm also going to look for a blouse I saw at the store last week. It's a dark, long-sleeved blouse with sort of semi-transparent stripes on it. For my wife. As a gift. Maybe she'll wear it for me. Maybe not. I'll try. Can't blame a guy for trying.
From there, off to a volleyball match at North Dickinson and then home. My wife is with the quilters today; we won't be able to eat together, but I should be home the rest of the week, and the football game on Friday is right here in town.
First, the big news is that my foot and ankle are still attached to my body. Yes, it is still hurting, though not as much. No, I haven't been putting ice on it. I know I should, but I've been a bit of a baby about that. We have one of those cold wraps in the fridge, and I've used it a few times on the ankle and the top of the foot. The thing of it is--it's cold! Really! So I can stand it for a while, and then I put it away.
Rest? Ha! My ankle gets rest when I can rest. And I can't rest. Not ever. Well, I did for a while on Saturday. I never visited my mom on Saturday--that's one thing I'm doing today. So on Saturday, I just sat around home most of the day. On Sunday, more of the same. I had to run around and do some errands, but most of the time I was off my feet. I even took a nap Saturday afternoon!
[B]I have started wearing[/B] a sandal on that (left) foot. I can get the foot in a shoe, but the side of the shoe rubs too much on the bruised part of my ankle and foot, so I finally got the bright idea of wearing a sandal on that foot. It's working for now. I covered the football game last Friday--another 2+ hours on my feet, walking up and down the sidelines--and it survived pretty well.
The inflammation and bruising is still there, at my ankle and the top of my foot, and I should have used that cold wrap last night. But I didn't. And I also haven't been taking Tylenols as often as maybe I should. I've just been taking them when it's really bothering me. A macho thing, you know.
After visiting my mom today, I have to cover a volleyball match. When I get back, I'll put the cold wrap on it again for a while. I promise.
[B]The distractions came[/B] in a box from Amazon that arrived on Friday. It included a couple books on open relationships, a book about the 1908 major league baseball season (one of the closest ever) and -- ta-daah! -- Spore. Yes, I "invested" in the new "god game" Spore, so after my game Friday night and on and off over the weekend I worked on a purple and green quadruped that has gone through some evolutions as I make my way through the game. I am in the "creature" phase now. Maybe about 2/3rds of the way through that. But there are other phases to come.
He's cute ... in an ugly sort of a way. I named him "Starlius." You can see him at spore.com by doing a [URL="http://www.spore.com/sporepedia#qry=srch-Starlius"]search on Starliu[/URL]s. He's among nearly 20 million critters created in the week or so since the game came out. I described him as "a weird-looking blue thing," and that is still accurate. But he's cute ... if your idea of cute includes a narwhal-like horn, a gator-like snout, eyestalks and odd colors. They have a thing where you can take a picture of him. Maybe Starlius can be my new avatar!
I can blame Starlius for distracting me from the books that I really wanted to study. In fact, I have been reading one, but late at night, just before bed, as my brain is shutting down. Then my wife puts her book away and Charlie hops up and wants to start chasing toes. My toes. Time to turn off the light.
[B]The other thing[/B] that happened over the weekend is that we had a rainstorm move through Saturday evening. Not from the remnants of Hurricane Ike that passed through other parts of the Midwest with vat quantities of rain, but it was raining hard for a while. Anyway, I was upstairs, busy with Starlius, when I heard some dripping. Yep. The spare bedroom.
We had our roof replaced about 10 years ago, but there seems to be a bad shingle there, and it drips into the attic and from there into the spare bedroom when it's raining heavily. Bad foot/ankle and all, I (and my wife) climbed upstairs to set out buckets to manage things for the time being.
Just too much excitement and exertion for my ankle, which was aching afterwards. Get out the cold wrap.
[B]The highlight of today's[/B] visit to my mom is getting her rings, which she wanted resized. Her fingers are so thin now that the rings can just slip right off, so I took them to ajeweler to make them smaller. My wife said the jeweler called Monday--they're ready. I also have to stop at the store to get some cat food (for the cats), some Tums (for her) and some Vitamin B and D (also for her).
I'm also going to look for a blouse I saw at the store last week. It's a dark, long-sleeved blouse with sort of semi-transparent stripes on it. For my wife. As a gift. Maybe she'll wear it for me. Maybe not. I'll try. Can't blame a guy for trying.
From there, off to a volleyball match at North Dickinson and then home. My wife is with the quilters today; we won't be able to eat together, but I should be home the rest of the week, and the football game on Friday is right here in town.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
In another land
This is a sexy story. If you don't like sex, read no further.
This has not happened to me in many years. But last night was different.
The details are fuzzy. I remember I was walking around in a large building. I had the impression it was the neighboring high school, but the building was much larger than I remembered. An extra floor, for one thing, and a large darker hallway area. Also, there were mostly adults there, not high schoolers.
We all seemed to be there to register for something. I remember waiting to talk to people seated at desks in the hallway. And I knew some of the people there. I remember one of the women there, a vague acquaintance. We seemed happy to see each other, and we hugged each other. We talked to each other, and I had my hands on her hips as I faced her. I had thought she was wearing regular jeans--but under my hands, I felt soft lace instead. I moved her hands down a little, to her butt, and the lace felt really soft and warm and wonderful.
Later, I walked upstairs and looked out a door. It seemed to be late morning, and the snow was melting and dripping off the building, like on a spring morning with the sun out. I remember seeing a couple of older dogs, lying about. Did I see a cat?
Then I was in the hallway again, at one of those registration desks. I was second or third in line, with maybe two or three people behind me. And as I waited, I felt some light pressure on the front of my pants. It was like the back of a hand, brushing up against the underside of my bulge. I looked around to see who. I saw a woman nearby. She had short, straight, whitish-grayish hair and no glasses.
We went off to another area and another desk. Again, I was second or third in line. And as I stood there, I felt it again. Soft pressure from a hand--the back the hand, maybe--gently caressing the front of my pants. Only now, my penis was bigger than before. This kind of thing never happens to me. Never. Not even in my dreams.
I turned and saw the same woman, closer. She is an older woman, about my age. I wanted to hold her close. I wanted to go off somewhere dark where we could caress and hold each other. And if she wants my cock ... I damn sure wasn't going to say no. I looked at her and said ...
"Urrrrow??"
I had felt the pressure at the foot of the bed moments earlier, the footsteps across my legs and then the pressure moving up the side of the mattress by my side. I opened an eye. It was still very dark, but I could see an inquisitive kitty face inches away.
"Hi, Charlie," I mumbled at her and threw an arm out at my side. She settled down between my chest and arm, with her paws on my upper arm, and started kneading and purring.
Lying between two sleepy females, one human, one feline, I soon drifted back to sleep, wondering what my dream means.
This has not happened to me in many years. But last night was different.
The details are fuzzy. I remember I was walking around in a large building. I had the impression it was the neighboring high school, but the building was much larger than I remembered. An extra floor, for one thing, and a large darker hallway area. Also, there were mostly adults there, not high schoolers.
We all seemed to be there to register for something. I remember waiting to talk to people seated at desks in the hallway. And I knew some of the people there. I remember one of the women there, a vague acquaintance. We seemed happy to see each other, and we hugged each other. We talked to each other, and I had my hands on her hips as I faced her. I had thought she was wearing regular jeans--but under my hands, I felt soft lace instead. I moved her hands down a little, to her butt, and the lace felt really soft and warm and wonderful.
Later, I walked upstairs and looked out a door. It seemed to be late morning, and the snow was melting and dripping off the building, like on a spring morning with the sun out. I remember seeing a couple of older dogs, lying about. Did I see a cat?
Then I was in the hallway again, at one of those registration desks. I was second or third in line, with maybe two or three people behind me. And as I waited, I felt some light pressure on the front of my pants. It was like the back of a hand, brushing up against the underside of my bulge. I looked around to see who. I saw a woman nearby. She had short, straight, whitish-grayish hair and no glasses.
We went off to another area and another desk. Again, I was second or third in line. And as I stood there, I felt it again. Soft pressure from a hand--the back the hand, maybe--gently caressing the front of my pants. Only now, my penis was bigger than before. This kind of thing never happens to me. Never. Not even in my dreams.
I turned and saw the same woman, closer. She is an older woman, about my age. I wanted to hold her close. I wanted to go off somewhere dark where we could caress and hold each other. And if she wants my cock ... I damn sure wasn't going to say no. I looked at her and said ...
"Urrrrow??"
I had felt the pressure at the foot of the bed moments earlier, the footsteps across my legs and then the pressure moving up the side of the mattress by my side. I opened an eye. It was still very dark, but I could see an inquisitive kitty face inches away.
"Hi, Charlie," I mumbled at her and threw an arm out at my side. She settled down between my chest and arm, with her paws on my upper arm, and started kneading and purring.
Lying between two sleepy females, one human, one feline, I soon drifted back to sleep, wondering what my dream means.
Monday, September 8, 2008
A half-fast solution
Gee, what a surprise: Efx2blogs is down again.
Join the club. Guess who else went down over the weekend.
No, I don't mean Tom Brady or anyone else in the NFL, quarterback or non-quarterback, "skilled" position or unskilled. Or any major league baseball pitcher--a number of them have arm injuries now.
Whom do I mean?
I mean me.
It happened on Friday night, while I was covering a high school football game. We're in the second quarter, our team is leading 14-0, and they had just recovered a fumble by the other team at their own 20. I went to the team's bench, to ask the players along the sidelines who made the recovery.
It's now 3rd and 10, and the quarterback goes back to pass. I get a great picture of his offensive line protecting him as he wings the ball far downfield ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/PassplayA-9-08.jpg[/IMG]
The ball comes down to the pass receiver, who catches it in full flight, past a diving defender ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/PassplayB-8-09.jpg[/IMG]
Hey!!! Get the hell out of my way!!! You wrecked what could have been a great picture!!!
The reaction on the bench told me he is now running downfield, trying to dodge defenders. In a gap between the players standing along the sidelines I catch a glimpse of him cutting back, away from his pursuers. I fired ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/PassplayC-9-08.jpg[/IMG]
Damn! A helmet in the way! I tried to push forward past all the obstacles along the sidelines ... and felt my foot catch on something. It must have been the plastic container used by the water boys when they carry water bottles onto the field during time-outs. Anyway, I was off-balance. I felt my ankle give way. I was falling.
Falling ...
A thousand thoughts raced through my cranium in the next fraction of a second. Most of them had to do with people I know who have fallen and broken stuff. My friend, S, wrecked her knee when she was doing some hot-dog skiing as a kid--she has zippers on two sides of that knee today. Last year, she broke a leg when her dog unexpectedly pulled her off her front porch. The woman at the next desk here in the office broke her leg last year. A dog was involved in that saga, too.
My life passed in front of my eyes, so to speak. Then I was seated on the ground, watching as the pass receiver completed an 80-yard touchdown. The knot of players followed the play, but I stayed on the ground, and my left ankle was hurting. I wanted to stay seated for a while until I could assess one question: How bad is this? OK, I didn't hear a pop. My ankle was hurting, but it wasn't real bad. My leg seemed intact.
After about 30 seconds (as they were running the conversion) I tried getting up. The ankle hurt more when I put weight on it ... but I could put weight on it. I was limping heavily as I started moving around. But we were only three minutes into the second quarter. I still had a lot of game ahead of me, not to mention the postgame walk back to the car and then an hour-long drive home.
I limped around for the rest of the game. During halftime I sat on the bench and called my wife to tell her what happened. It's not that bad, I told her. After the game ended, I walked back to the car for the trip home. An hour later, after keeping it fairly motionless during the trip home, I pulled into my parking spot and started getting out of the car. I could, but that ankle was very stiff now. I ambled along like Frankenstein to the porch, up a few steps and then inside. By the way, the bedroom and computer room here are both on the second floor, up 16 steps.
It hurt just about as much Saturday, but I had to go to the office to write for a while and then left for an all-day volleyball tournament. That involved not only a long walk to the school but also walking back and forth between three different courts where the games were being played. That was most of my Saturday. I got to stay home Saturday night.
Sunday, I had to write in the office in the morning, then went home, then took my wife grocery shopping, then back home. 16 steps upstairs. 16 steps downstairs. Slowly. Slowly. Today, it was back to work and walking around there.
No cast. No crutch. It's not that bad. I'm taking Tylenols to deal with the pain when it gets too rough. For a while Saturday morning, I was worried about a broken bone in my foot--I've been down that road before, about 15 years ago. But no. It feels slightly better than it did Sunday. My foot is swollen, and my left calf is stiff. There are bruises on my ankle. Looks real pretty.
I am walking, but at only about half my normal speed. I usually walk fast. Now I'm just ... I guess I'm just half-fast.
****
Sunday, I got to watch the start of the new NFL season. That's very good news. Know why? It means the start of the new NHL season is just a month away.
This evening, the Green Bay Packers start their new season with a game against the Minnesota Vikings, who are supposed to win their division title this year. I imagine DeeJay is at the game--she usually makes the trip to Green Bay when her Vikings play there. Has a great time with the tailgate parties, etc.
Just for DeeJay, here is a joke I heard a few weeks ago:
Why are the Minnesota Vikings like an Indian car?
Think about it.
Why are the Minnesota Vikings like an Indian car?
Give up?
Q: Why are the Minnesota Vikings like an Indian car?
A: Because neither of them has a title!
(Now, in case you think this is a little bit racially insensitive, let me inform you where I first heard thisjoke: It came from the P.A. announcer during that Indian powwow we attended in early August.)
Join the club. Guess who else went down over the weekend.
No, I don't mean Tom Brady or anyone else in the NFL, quarterback or non-quarterback, "skilled" position or unskilled. Or any major league baseball pitcher--a number of them have arm injuries now.
Whom do I mean?
I mean me.
It happened on Friday night, while I was covering a high school football game. We're in the second quarter, our team is leading 14-0, and they had just recovered a fumble by the other team at their own 20. I went to the team's bench, to ask the players along the sidelines who made the recovery.
It's now 3rd and 10, and the quarterback goes back to pass. I get a great picture of his offensive line protecting him as he wings the ball far downfield ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/PassplayA-9-08.jpg[/IMG]
The ball comes down to the pass receiver, who catches it in full flight, past a diving defender ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/PassplayB-8-09.jpg[/IMG]
Hey!!! Get the hell out of my way!!! You wrecked what could have been a great picture!!!
The reaction on the bench told me he is now running downfield, trying to dodge defenders. In a gap between the players standing along the sidelines I catch a glimpse of him cutting back, away from his pursuers. I fired ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/PassplayC-9-08.jpg[/IMG]
Damn! A helmet in the way! I tried to push forward past all the obstacles along the sidelines ... and felt my foot catch on something. It must have been the plastic container used by the water boys when they carry water bottles onto the field during time-outs. Anyway, I was off-balance. I felt my ankle give way. I was falling.
Falling ...
A thousand thoughts raced through my cranium in the next fraction of a second. Most of them had to do with people I know who have fallen and broken stuff. My friend, S, wrecked her knee when she was doing some hot-dog skiing as a kid--she has zippers on two sides of that knee today. Last year, she broke a leg when her dog unexpectedly pulled her off her front porch. The woman at the next desk here in the office broke her leg last year. A dog was involved in that saga, too.
My life passed in front of my eyes, so to speak. Then I was seated on the ground, watching as the pass receiver completed an 80-yard touchdown. The knot of players followed the play, but I stayed on the ground, and my left ankle was hurting. I wanted to stay seated for a while until I could assess one question: How bad is this? OK, I didn't hear a pop. My ankle was hurting, but it wasn't real bad. My leg seemed intact.
After about 30 seconds (as they were running the conversion) I tried getting up. The ankle hurt more when I put weight on it ... but I could put weight on it. I was limping heavily as I started moving around. But we were only three minutes into the second quarter. I still had a lot of game ahead of me, not to mention the postgame walk back to the car and then an hour-long drive home.
I limped around for the rest of the game. During halftime I sat on the bench and called my wife to tell her what happened. It's not that bad, I told her. After the game ended, I walked back to the car for the trip home. An hour later, after keeping it fairly motionless during the trip home, I pulled into my parking spot and started getting out of the car. I could, but that ankle was very stiff now. I ambled along like Frankenstein to the porch, up a few steps and then inside. By the way, the bedroom and computer room here are both on the second floor, up 16 steps.
It hurt just about as much Saturday, but I had to go to the office to write for a while and then left for an all-day volleyball tournament. That involved not only a long walk to the school but also walking back and forth between three different courts where the games were being played. That was most of my Saturday. I got to stay home Saturday night.
Sunday, I had to write in the office in the morning, then went home, then took my wife grocery shopping, then back home. 16 steps upstairs. 16 steps downstairs. Slowly. Slowly. Today, it was back to work and walking around there.
No cast. No crutch. It's not that bad. I'm taking Tylenols to deal with the pain when it gets too rough. For a while Saturday morning, I was worried about a broken bone in my foot--I've been down that road before, about 15 years ago. But no. It feels slightly better than it did Sunday. My foot is swollen, and my left calf is stiff. There are bruises on my ankle. Looks real pretty.
I am walking, but at only about half my normal speed. I usually walk fast. Now I'm just ... I guess I'm just half-fast.
****
Sunday, I got to watch the start of the new NFL season. That's very good news. Know why? It means the start of the new NHL season is just a month away.
This evening, the Green Bay Packers start their new season with a game against the Minnesota Vikings, who are supposed to win their division title this year. I imagine DeeJay is at the game--she usually makes the trip to Green Bay when her Vikings play there. Has a great time with the tailgate parties, etc.
Just for DeeJay, here is a joke I heard a few weeks ago:
Why are the Minnesota Vikings like an Indian car?
Think about it.
Why are the Minnesota Vikings like an Indian car?
Give up?
Q: Why are the Minnesota Vikings like an Indian car?
A: Because neither of them has a title!
(Now, in case you think this is a little bit racially insensitive, let me inform you where I first heard thisjoke: It came from the P.A. announcer during that Indian powwow we attended in early August.)
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Summer's final act
I think we can declare summer unofficially over. Labor Day has come and gone, and we are back from a three-day trip to visit my wife's sisters/brothers. On the day before we left for home, temperatures were in the upper 80s with high humidity. Two hours after we got home, a cold front blew through. (It was following us!) Today, it just reached the mid 60s.
The last time I wrote, I was tired from a day of sitting around at my late father-in-law's house, watching seven (of eight) brothers and sisters trying to divide up some of the items there. It got a lot better after that.
Monday morning, we were invited to go blueberry-picking by one of my wife's sisters. In all, five of us went: us, two sisters and one great-niece--granddaughter of one of the SILs. We headed west about 20 miles or so, in western Rusk County, Wisconsin. The little place was way out in farm country, but the directions led us right to it.
My first self-appointed task, of course, was to get some pictures of the blueberry bushes. The plants I found close by had both blue and pink/purple berries. So, in addition to the blueberries, here's what pinkberries and purpleberries look like ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Blueb-Pinkies-9-08.jpg[/IMG]
Then I put the camera away and started picking. The rows I worked had been picked over, but the berries are growing quickly now, and it wasn't hard to find nice, dark blue blueberries. Some were high--too high for the women to get at easily--and others were down low, a foot or so above the ground. Others were well inside the bushes. I took my time and picked away. Of course, I also had to do some quality control work: sample the occasional berry to make sure they were worth picking. My verdict: They were. Of course, I double-checked every so often. Just to make sure.
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Blueb-Trueblue-9-08.jpg[/IMG]
It was partly cloudy as we started (about 10 a.m.) but as the morning went on, the clouds started breaking up and the sun started beating down. We went till about 12:30 p.m., by which time I was getting kind of hot--I later discovered my neck got a little sunburned. Surprised?
But it was worth it. And here is the reason why ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Blueb-Berrybucket-9-08.jpg[/IMG]
That's about four pounds of blueberries, and my wife picked another four. We paid the woman for the berries (at $2.50/pound). For a while, I couldn't find my wife--the bushes were tall and the rows were narrow. I was hot, but I wanted to see where she was. So I started going up and down the rows--including some rows that we didn't pick in.
Oh, I wish I had taken the camera along, because it was like a jungle back there. Very narrow spaces between the rows of plants. And near the ends of the rows ... it was just incredible how many big berries there were. All dark blue. All large. All more than ready for picking--no pinkies here. I had already picked enough berries, so I had left my bucket by my camera bag. But I would have picked many more berries a lot faster if I had found that area earlier. As it was, though, I was getting hot and still hadn't found my wife, so I continued looking.
As it turned out, she had gone to the car: She decided she had enough berries, too.
We were all pretty hot and tired and hungry by then. So we went back to town, got lunch, stopped briefly at the house to change clothes, whereI dropped off the camera. Then we went to a park in town--the SIL with the granddaughter wanted to take her in her kayak. The SIL likes to kayak and has even kayaked in the icy waters of Lake Superior, near Duluth (in quiet bays, I should add).
"Would you like to ride in the kayak?" She asked my wife, and she agreed to give it a try. She climbed in, and the SIL pulled her along with a nylon rope. Then she asked me. I said Why not? I climbed in--carefully; she said that is the tricky part--and then graspedthe paddle.
I know how kayakers move around in the water--I don't watch the Olympics for nothing!--and started getting the hang of paddling quickly. I learned how to turn and how to get from here to there on the river. I took a short run to a boat landing and back. About 15 minutes, I tried it again.
This time I went the other way--past the beach and up the river (along the shore) maybe a quarter mile or so before turning around (that again was the tricky part) and paddling back. The river is about 200 yards wide at that point, and I got maybe 50 yards from shore at times.
My shoulders were getting a little tired by the time I finally got back to where I started, but I made it all by myself. The kayak wasn't anywhere near as tippy as I feared it might be. Again, climbing in and getting out wasn't so easy, but I stayed mostly dry.
So where are the visual aids? Well, it's like this: While in the water, I thought about my camera ... safely back at the house. My SIL took several pictures of me paddling around in the water. But she uses a film camera, so it may be some time before I get to see what I looked like. (FYI, I was wearing a brimmed hat, a light blue T-shirt and tan shorts (which you couldn't have seen, anyway.)
Our next stop was to be supper, at a pizzeria on the outskirts of town, with the SIL we were staying with and her BF. (The other SIL took her granddaughter home.) We drove there--and discovered that the pizzeria was taking Labor Day off. Closed! Grrrr! So we went to a Country Kitchen instead.
After that, the other SIL (and her BF) joined us for a movie: "Mamma Mia" was playing in town, in the city's big, old theater. A nice place to see a movie, and that's what the six of us did. One of my wife's sisters had invited another SIL to join us, but she decided not to, luckily. She is very conservative, and "Mamma Mia" doesn't reach out to that demographic.
The next morning was Tuesday: Our day to drive home. We talked with the SIL for a while, then said good-bye and hit the road about 11 a.m., for the four-or-so-hour trip home.
We had a long-delayed, very serious talk during the drive, but I'll save that part for another time. It went well. As did the trip.
Today ... back to work.
The last time I wrote, I was tired from a day of sitting around at my late father-in-law's house, watching seven (of eight) brothers and sisters trying to divide up some of the items there. It got a lot better after that.
Monday morning, we were invited to go blueberry-picking by one of my wife's sisters. In all, five of us went: us, two sisters and one great-niece--granddaughter of one of the SILs. We headed west about 20 miles or so, in western Rusk County, Wisconsin. The little place was way out in farm country, but the directions led us right to it.
My first self-appointed task, of course, was to get some pictures of the blueberry bushes. The plants I found close by had both blue and pink/purple berries. So, in addition to the blueberries, here's what pinkberries and purpleberries look like ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Blueb-Pinkies-9-08.jpg[/IMG]
Then I put the camera away and started picking. The rows I worked had been picked over, but the berries are growing quickly now, and it wasn't hard to find nice, dark blue blueberries. Some were high--too high for the women to get at easily--and others were down low, a foot or so above the ground. Others were well inside the bushes. I took my time and picked away. Of course, I also had to do some quality control work: sample the occasional berry to make sure they were worth picking. My verdict: They were. Of course, I double-checked every so often. Just to make sure.
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Blueb-Trueblue-9-08.jpg[/IMG]
It was partly cloudy as we started (about 10 a.m.) but as the morning went on, the clouds started breaking up and the sun started beating down. We went till about 12:30 p.m., by which time I was getting kind of hot--I later discovered my neck got a little sunburned. Surprised?
But it was worth it. And here is the reason why ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Blueb-Berrybucket-9-08.jpg[/IMG]
That's about four pounds of blueberries, and my wife picked another four. We paid the woman for the berries (at $2.50/pound). For a while, I couldn't find my wife--the bushes were tall and the rows were narrow. I was hot, but I wanted to see where she was. So I started going up and down the rows--including some rows that we didn't pick in.
Oh, I wish I had taken the camera along, because it was like a jungle back there. Very narrow spaces between the rows of plants. And near the ends of the rows ... it was just incredible how many big berries there were. All dark blue. All large. All more than ready for picking--no pinkies here. I had already picked enough berries, so I had left my bucket by my camera bag. But I would have picked many more berries a lot faster if I had found that area earlier. As it was, though, I was getting hot and still hadn't found my wife, so I continued looking.
As it turned out, she had gone to the car: She decided she had enough berries, too.
We were all pretty hot and tired and hungry by then. So we went back to town, got lunch, stopped briefly at the house to change clothes, whereI dropped off the camera. Then we went to a park in town--the SIL with the granddaughter wanted to take her in her kayak. The SIL likes to kayak and has even kayaked in the icy waters of Lake Superior, near Duluth (in quiet bays, I should add).
"Would you like to ride in the kayak?" She asked my wife, and she agreed to give it a try. She climbed in, and the SIL pulled her along with a nylon rope. Then she asked me. I said Why not? I climbed in--carefully; she said that is the tricky part--and then graspedthe paddle.
I know how kayakers move around in the water--I don't watch the Olympics for nothing!--and started getting the hang of paddling quickly. I learned how to turn and how to get from here to there on the river. I took a short run to a boat landing and back. About 15 minutes, I tried it again.
This time I went the other way--past the beach and up the river (along the shore) maybe a quarter mile or so before turning around (that again was the tricky part) and paddling back. The river is about 200 yards wide at that point, and I got maybe 50 yards from shore at times.
My shoulders were getting a little tired by the time I finally got back to where I started, but I made it all by myself. The kayak wasn't anywhere near as tippy as I feared it might be. Again, climbing in and getting out wasn't so easy, but I stayed mostly dry.
So where are the visual aids? Well, it's like this: While in the water, I thought about my camera ... safely back at the house. My SIL took several pictures of me paddling around in the water. But she uses a film camera, so it may be some time before I get to see what I looked like. (FYI, I was wearing a brimmed hat, a light blue T-shirt and tan shorts (which you couldn't have seen, anyway.)
Our next stop was to be supper, at a pizzeria on the outskirts of town, with the SIL we were staying with and her BF. (The other SIL took her granddaughter home.) We drove there--and discovered that the pizzeria was taking Labor Day off. Closed! Grrrr! So we went to a Country Kitchen instead.
After that, the other SIL (and her BF) joined us for a movie: "Mamma Mia" was playing in town, in the city's big, old theater. A nice place to see a movie, and that's what the six of us did. One of my wife's sisters had invited another SIL to join us, but she decided not to, luckily. She is very conservative, and "Mamma Mia" doesn't reach out to that demographic.
The next morning was Tuesday: Our day to drive home. We talked with the SIL for a while, then said good-bye and hit the road about 11 a.m., for the four-or-so-hour trip home.
We had a long-delayed, very serious talk during the drive, but I'll save that part for another time. It went well. As did the trip.
Today ... back to work.
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