I get kind of antsy when my friend Shannon doesn't update her blog for a couple of days, and that got me thinking about this thing. And I *still* didn't write. Sometimes there is nothing to say, and other times there is just too much.
Here's what's goin on:
I'm still riding, only a couple times a week, though, as my work schedule has gone back to being completely erratic and stoopid and Phoenix is starting to go back to being completely unlivable and oven-like. Right now I have a mysteriously flat tire--I rode about 7.5 miles last week with no problems at all, and a day or two later I came home to find that my front tire was completely wasted. I haven't investigated, but I probably caught a thorn or something. I've got gel tubes though, so it's gotta be a fairly good sized hole. And I don't have any spares. Alas...time to go shopping at the bike shop!
I took the dogs in last week for their yearly shots and whatnot, and got the doc's opinion on Delilah's lame back leg. "You're not going to like what I have to say about her leg," the doc said. "Do you have pet insurance?" Eep. Apparently our little devildog has a torn CCL, which is the doggy equivalent of an ACL. Surgery! Whee! So of course we panicked and started looking into insurance--nearly every policy of which states that you cannot be treated for a CCL injury less than 12 months after opening a policy.
So we also did a lot of reading on the injury and the surgery themselves, and found out that dogs that *have* the surgery almost always end up with at least some arthritis in the joint, and will be somewhat lame on the leg. The surgery is very invasive and requires an extremely rigorous recovery period. Dogs that don't have the surgery, but are limited to less strenuous activity over several months, develop scar tissue around the injury that will stabilise it anyway. They will be slightly more prone to arthritis, but still completely able to get around.
Delilah is now taking lil baby aspirins on days when her leg seems to bother her, and she and I are sharing a brand new bottle of Glucosamine/Chondroitin (both suggestions of the vet). She's taking little 10-15 minute walks with me and *not* roughhousing with Bucket like she used to.
In other news, it rained for an ENTIRE DAY a few days ago. I was so happy. And then my allergies brought out the big stick of pain and itchy and beat me about the face with it. I was not feeling groovy. The cool thing is, it's going to be even worse in a couple of weeks when everything that got a good drink starts to bloom! A friend of mine at work suggested Bee Pollen, so I'm going to give that a try.
I'll...uh....keep you posted....
Monday, March 26, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Confessions of a Hater
I hate peas. The little green monstrosities have haunted my entire career as a food-eating human. From the time I was a child and would eat peas by the spoonful only because I could swallow them whole with a mouthful of milk (Oh! The horror of actually biting into and "popping" a pea!), to recent years when I would go to great lengths to pick peas out of soups, salads, fried rice or any other pea-riddled abomination, peas have been my food nemesis.
But then. One day. . . Last Sunday, to be exact. . . I dragged R out to a new place called Sweet Tomatoes. They have a mile long salad bar with every imaginable salad related food (including my new favourite...Warm Bacon Salad Dressing--it's LIQUID BACON! What could be better? Seriously.) . . . even peas.
Knowing my sheer abhorrence for them, and always looking to get a rise out of me, R hastily spooned A LOT of peas onto his salad. Peas were rolling down the side of the spinach mountain, and threatened to fall onto my plate. I accommodated him by shrieking in (not mock) horror, and we moved on to the soups and breads and suitably yummy distractions. I forgot all about the peas.
And then, in the midst of eating, R attempted to sneak peas onto my salad. There were only a few of them--3 or 4 at most--but my reaction was swift and exclamatory; I attempted to throw them back at him. He's quick though, and knows me well enough to have expected such a reaction, and my throw was blocked, sending all the peas but one back onto my salad. The one pea? Landed in my drink.
One lonely pea, covered in a protective layer of ranch dressing, bobbing around in my Dr. Pepper. I fished it out and then, for some reason--perhaps it was an act of defiance of some sort, cos I'm all about the defiant acts--I ate it. I didn't try to swallow it either. I bit into it. And it wasn't nasty and mushy and gross at all. It was kind of snappy and green tasting, and...kind of good. I was shocked and excited all at once. Sure, my taste buds had betrayed a long standing and well defined intolerance of mine, but now. . .NOW. . .peas! It's a whole new world!
But then. One day. . . Last Sunday, to be exact. . . I dragged R out to a new place called Sweet Tomatoes. They have a mile long salad bar with every imaginable salad related food (including my new favourite...Warm Bacon Salad Dressing--it's LIQUID BACON! What could be better? Seriously.) . . . even peas.
Knowing my sheer abhorrence for them, and always looking to get a rise out of me, R hastily spooned A LOT of peas onto his salad. Peas were rolling down the side of the spinach mountain, and threatened to fall onto my plate. I accommodated him by shrieking in (not mock) horror, and we moved on to the soups and breads and suitably yummy distractions. I forgot all about the peas.
And then, in the midst of eating, R attempted to sneak peas onto my salad. There were only a few of them--3 or 4 at most--but my reaction was swift and exclamatory; I attempted to throw them back at him. He's quick though, and knows me well enough to have expected such a reaction, and my throw was blocked, sending all the peas but one back onto my salad. The one pea? Landed in my drink.
One lonely pea, covered in a protective layer of ranch dressing, bobbing around in my Dr. Pepper. I fished it out and then, for some reason--perhaps it was an act of defiance of some sort, cos I'm all about the defiant acts--I ate it. I didn't try to swallow it either. I bit into it. And it wasn't nasty and mushy and gross at all. It was kind of snappy and green tasting, and...kind of good. I was shocked and excited all at once. Sure, my taste buds had betrayed a long standing and well defined intolerance of mine, but now. . .NOW. . .peas! It's a whole new world!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
old new addictions
There is a recreation area called Reach 11 here in Phoenix. Recently, they completed a sports complex very close to our house that includes access to about 18 miles of trails. What they lack in personality they make up for in proximity and ease of use.
Even after going through my four months of physical therapy last summer, I still have fairly constant back pain, and my knees still make a gawdawful cruchy racket every time I go up or down the stairs, so I have been reluctant to get back out on a bona-fide mountain bike trail. It just causes too much stress and strain. However, these Reach 11 trails are moderate to say the least. Straight, flat, not terribly bumpy. . . Benign. A few years ago I might have dismissed them as beyond boring, but now they are reminding me of my love of speed and the wind in my face.
I went out for the first time this past Sunday and road a little over 7 miles. The trails run adjacent, under, parallel, and perpendicular to a couple of major interstates, so the sounds of traffic were an ever-present buzz in my ear, but after a while I could tune it out and just enjoy the spinning of the cogs and the crunching of the dirt beneath my tires. I saw other riders, a few runners, and a rabbit. And I completely left behind everything else in the world.
I took a day off on Monday, mainly to give my butt a rest (of all things, riding will most make your butt sore if you're not used to it), and partially to keep myself from overdoing it, as I am wont to do. But I couldn't wait to ride again. There was this longing to be out in the fresh air and away from...just about everything. The solitude of riding is a great thing, especially when I have to deal with people all day long. I used to ride every day after work...2-3 hours at a time, depending on how long the light lasted. It became such a part of my routine that I didn't feel quite right when I didn't get a chance to ride. I craved it. It was probably my first real addiction, besides music and chocolate.
When I ride I think about a million things, but nothing really bogs me down. I can kind of zone out and let thoughts and ideas just sort of float around effortlessly. It's a bit like dreaming, I think. Daydreaming, perhaps. I just peddle and peddle and peddle and love the burning in my legs and the wind in my ears.
When I'm done I am completely exhausted, but it's exhaustion laced with this weird euphoria, because riding just makes me feel *that* good. I can't really say why, I just really enjoy it. I rode again on Tuesday--another 7.5 miles or so. I skipped the last two days for various reasons (it's cold! and I worked late today to be specific), so I'm hoping for a beautiful sunny day on my day off tomorrow so I can take an extended jaunt into the desert. I'll let you know how it goes.
Even after going through my four months of physical therapy last summer, I still have fairly constant back pain, and my knees still make a gawdawful cruchy racket every time I go up or down the stairs, so I have been reluctant to get back out on a bona-fide mountain bike trail. It just causes too much stress and strain. However, these Reach 11 trails are moderate to say the least. Straight, flat, not terribly bumpy. . . Benign. A few years ago I might have dismissed them as beyond boring, but now they are reminding me of my love of speed and the wind in my face.
I went out for the first time this past Sunday and road a little over 7 miles. The trails run adjacent, under, parallel, and perpendicular to a couple of major interstates, so the sounds of traffic were an ever-present buzz in my ear, but after a while I could tune it out and just enjoy the spinning of the cogs and the crunching of the dirt beneath my tires. I saw other riders, a few runners, and a rabbit. And I completely left behind everything else in the world.
I took a day off on Monday, mainly to give my butt a rest (of all things, riding will most make your butt sore if you're not used to it), and partially to keep myself from overdoing it, as I am wont to do. But I couldn't wait to ride again. There was this longing to be out in the fresh air and away from...just about everything. The solitude of riding is a great thing, especially when I have to deal with people all day long. I used to ride every day after work...2-3 hours at a time, depending on how long the light lasted. It became such a part of my routine that I didn't feel quite right when I didn't get a chance to ride. I craved it. It was probably my first real addiction, besides music and chocolate.
When I ride I think about a million things, but nothing really bogs me down. I can kind of zone out and let thoughts and ideas just sort of float around effortlessly. It's a bit like dreaming, I think. Daydreaming, perhaps. I just peddle and peddle and peddle and love the burning in my legs and the wind in my ears.
When I'm done I am completely exhausted, but it's exhaustion laced with this weird euphoria, because riding just makes me feel *that* good. I can't really say why, I just really enjoy it. I rode again on Tuesday--another 7.5 miles or so. I skipped the last two days for various reasons (it's cold! and I worked late today to be specific), so I'm hoping for a beautiful sunny day on my day off tomorrow so I can take an extended jaunt into the desert. I'll let you know how it goes.
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