Family Game Night.
I love Summer! It's 8:15 at night. The four of us are sitting around the kitchen table playing a wicked game of Scrabble the old fashion way.
"You're out of time," says Hubby.
"There's no time limit in Scrabble!" protests Vinny, while looking up words on the Word-O-Mattic (Nintendo DSI XL)."
"Actually I think there is a time limit," I say. "And I'm sure looking up words on the Word-O-Matic is cheating."
Vignette Graduated Tobacco filter (landscape).
Date Night
"I need to drop off a few wetsuits at O'Neill's for repairs, so let's just go see a movie in Santa Cruz," I say.
"No, I don't really want to, it's too far," says Hubby.
"Uh, you just went too Germany, but the movie theater in Santa Cruz, where we're already going to be, is too far?" is all I could think.
But all I said was, "Just drive to Santa Cruz, okay?"
"Alright, " says Hubby.
We dropped off the wetsuits.
"Wait, where are you going?" asks Hubby as I head to the back of the surf shop.
"I'm going to look at surfboards," I say.
Duh. It's sacrilegious to enter a surf shop without paying homage to the surfboards. It's the equivalent of going to church without praying.
I slowly felt up a few curvy outlines of several Channel Islands Surfboards, while Hubby held them side by side for me. They even had one Fred Rubble model, a newly designed board, which has me all hot and bothered.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I like it," I say.
But Fred was not the right size for me, and we got out of there with Hubby's wallet in tact.
"Phew," we both thought.
"What do you want to do now?" I ask.
"Well, I'm not hungry at all," says Hubby.
"I'm starving, let's go eat!" I say.
"Alright," says Hubby, knowing all my questions, tonight, are rhetorical.
After dinner I say, "should we go to the beach or Trader Joes?" I say.
(This was actually a test, which he failed, because he instantly began driving to Trader Joes.)
"So, you'd rather go to the grocery store than the beach?" I ask. "Don't you, at least, have to think about it?"
"I'd rather just go home," says Hubby patiently.
Seriously, this man has extra patience genes. Either that, or I suspect he's been stealing some of mine.....
"Let's turn around and go to the beach," I say.
Hubby flips a You-Ee.
"No, let's go to Trader Joes, we really need butter," I say, in full scatter brain mode.
This argument is typical of the neurotic "flee from responsibility, be responsible" battle that rages through my brain incessantly. Fortunately, the beach won tonight, because Hubby wouldn't turn around, again. Thank Goddess.
Look Internet, I'm not trying to drive him crazy. I come by this talent naturally. I barely even try.
We walked down the new staircase at The Hook, at the end of 41st Avenue in Capitola.
"Wow, they finally finished the staircase!" I say. "These are some fancy stairs,"
"I wonder how long they'll last?" ponders Hubby.
Then we walked all the way up to Sewer Peak just past Pleasure Point. The Point had the best waves. Though the tide was too high, it didn't stop us from mind-surfing a few fun ones.
There were a wide array of creatures on the coastal trail on East Cliff Drive.
"Is that a dog?!" asks Hubby. "It looks like a horse."
"I think it's a really tall person walking on all fours," I say.
"Oh my gosh, there's a rabbit!" says Hubby.
"Yeah, I think he's at that house party," I say. "They were talking about him behind his back."
We also saw pedestrians, bicyclists and runners. Whether cloaked in fur or clothes everyone, was, in their own way, enjoying the divinity of nature, and of course, sporting their bright yellow auras.
"That was really fun, thanks!" I say to Hubby.
Hubby is the perfect date, even if sometimes, I have to drag him along.
I realize this play room may not be as cool or organized as some, but for us this is perfection. And by perfection, I mean there's no longer a narrow, over grown trail, with tripping hazards leading into the room.
We only bought the gynormous cubby organizer at Ikea a year ago, and we are just now putting it to efficient use. That didn't take long at all.
The main purpose of the shelving is to give a home to the boys', all three of them, thousands of legos. The stackable bins, which we already had, worked out a lot better, than the baskets we purchased from Ikea. But this is a work in progress, and since we know nothing about organizing, we're bound to make a few costly mistakes.
I'm excited that the two work tables, can also double as desks for completing homework when school starts. (note to the roommates: horizontal surfaces are not for storage)
I feel so good about this space now!!!!!! And I didn't even drink a pot of coffee to accomplish this feat of amazingness. Though I did take several power naps. Turns out, I accomplish much more when I'm well rested, as opposed to caffeineating my way through exhausting menial tasks.
My Mom has had a few episodes like this, two I believe, not counting yesterday. I went with her to see her cardiologist about a month ago. Dr. Heart diagnosed her as having an electrical, or rhythmic problem with her heart, as opposed to what he calls a plumbing issue, typically known as blockages.
Basically, there's an electrical circuit in my Mom's heart that goes haywire. Instead of going in a straight line, the circuit goes around and around in a circle causing the heart to beat rapidly. The symptoms she's been experiencing include shortness of breath, strong pressure on the throat, headaches, and chest pressure.
"Of course, there's a chance I'm wrong," admits Dr. Heart.
Yeah, we get it. There are no guarantees in life, Doc.
Dr. Heart prescribed the smallest dosage of a medicine to keep her heart from beating out of control. When I say beating out of control, I mean beating over 160 beats per minute. The normal heart rate is between 60-80 beats per minute, at rest. Dr. Heart also warned her to avoid caffeine because it can trigger these types of episodes.
"What about dehydration?" I ask Dr Heart. "She doesn't drink enough water."
"Yes, dehydration can exacerbate electrical matters of the heart," answers Dr. Heart.
In light of that doctor visit a month ago, when I got the call from my Mom yesterday, I wasn't sure what to think.
And on and on she went, while the Universe and Dr. ER along with the nurses chuckled. Because when the Universe says, "STOP!" you have no choice but to listen.
As opposed to when the Universe says, "SLOW DOWN," or "Heed my warnings or else," or flashes you a yellow light. One can still move about, albeit with varying degrees of pain and discomfort.
(Side note: Though I missed the "breathing thing, basically Dr. ER instructed my mom to take a deep breath in, hold it and then bare down, like you're trying to poop. But don't." Dr. Heart later explained to us the Breathing Faux-Pooping Technique stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system inducing the relaxation response, which slows down the heart and respiratory rates.)
I will generally watch any movie with a Y!M user rating of B- or higher. Truth be told, I rarely find movies in the A range.
On to the movie. I hope you have your bucket of lightly salted popcorn.
I personally give, Charlie St Cloud," (CSC) an A+! Not just because Zac Efron is hot. Or because his co-star Amanda Crew is sexy. Or because they have a sizzling on screen romance making Brangelina look like Ma and Pa Kettle.
Their chemistry is so fiery, their cemetary sex scene was borderline erotica. They lit up the burial grounds. Literally. That's not easy to do. Graveyards are full of creeps. But I guess they don't mind being watched.
Now that's what I call a romantic drama.
CSC fluctuated between dream like scenes with a backdrop of the majestic Canadian coast. Then it would venture over to darker scenes filled with varying shades of grey.
The story is supernatural in the spirit of, "The Sixth Sense," or the more recent. "Hereafter," where live folks talk to dead people. I LOVE this.
But if you're dead, it doesn't mean I want to talk to you, especially when I'm sleeping. Honestly, I hate when ghosts wake me up in the middle of the night. It's rude for one, and scary, for two!
Oh yeah I'm crazy like Charlie St Cloud.
The film is based on the best-selling novel by Ben Sherwood titled, "The Death and Life of Charlie St Cloud." Hmm, sounds like a good read.
Viewers be warned CSC is a tender hearted movie, so have some tissue handy or your partner's shirt.
The film deals with heavy duty themes such as life after death, grief, letting go, and finally healing and rebirth. The movie brought tears to my eyes on several on occassions, but left me feeling inspired.
Olive Penderghast: Whatever happened to chivalry? Does it only exist in 80's movies? I want John Cusack holding a boombox outside my window. I wanna ride off on a lawnmower with Patrick Dempsey. I want Jake from Sixteen Candles waiting outside the church for me. I want Judd Nelson thrusting his fist into the air because he knows he got me. Just once I want my life to be like an 80's movie, preferably one with a really awesome musical number for no apparent reason. But no, no, John Hughes did not direct my life.
It doesn't take much effort on the Mew Kittens part to get the dog out of her cozy cushion. All they do is walk up to her bed, sit down and stare at her. It takes less than one minute for the dog to skidattle, and the kittens to perform their premeditated bed abduction.
It's typical sibling nature to want what the other has. But even the boys don't steal each other's beds.
Though I'm sure it's only because Musical Mattresses has been banned in our house since the LICE Head Invasion.
It will be two weeks tomorrow since I hit my hand on the bottom of the deep blue sea. Unfortunately, I am still having headaches. But they are not constant. They're on and off, on and off, reminding me of a bad relationship.
They are not so terrible. I haven't had to swallow ANY pain medication the past few days, which on some level, is disappointing. Read, I miss the drugs. Sigh.
I'm still sleeping on cold packs, cause otherwise the pressure from laying on my head hurts. Ice is my friend, though I have other friends I enjoy much more. Such as Vye K. Den.
I feel best doing nothing. But I have been doing a few things a day, with naps in between.
By things, I mean catching up on movies, going for short, slow walks, watching movies, doing some menial chores, and finally watching movies. Not necesarily in that order, or all in the same day.
I'm getting stuff done! Slowly. Breathe.
I thought I was doing pretty well today, until I left the house for a walk at the beach, with my BFF. Eight minutes into my drive to the sandy shore I realize, "Holy canoli! I am not wearing my seat belt!"
I always wear my seat belt. Though I guess I can't say that anymore.
I had to talk myself through the stages of buckling up, all while remembering to breathe and drive at the same time. It was pretty stressful, since I was going really fast. Like sixty-five.
"Which is the speed limit on the highway, Officer. And that's where I was driving, Ma'am."
But really I am feeling better.
Honest.
Why don't you believe me?
Tonight after my nap, I'm going to watch "Country Strong," " shhhh don't tell me what happens. " And "Easy A," if I can last that long.
Watching movies is hard work, Internet. Almost as hard as getting better.
Kitteh Laundress finds doing laundry even more exhausting than I do. I didn't know that was possible!
My Frisbee Golf Posse
"Is it okay to call it Frisbee Gol???? " I try to ask Hubby.
But before I can finish my question he interupts me with, "NO. It's Disc Golf."
"But what about?" I begin to ask.
He interrupts me again with, "Frisbee refers to recreation. Disc Golf is an actual sport."
Well alrighty then.
Actually Internet, I think they have to call it Disc Golf because "Frisbee," is a registered trademark, hence making it illegal to use "Frisbee."
So, they went with disc. Disc is shorter than "Flying Saucer. " And disc is more appropriate than U.F.O., since we all know we're playing with an identified object, commonly known as a Frisbe..... I mean disc.
I didn't play "Disc Golf," today. I went along for the walk, since I am not able to surf. I need some exercise.
"Just make sure you don't get hit in the head," warns my BFF.
Maybe next time I will wear a helmet to the Disc Golf Course? Yes, a helmet with a built in ice pack. Unfortunately, the headache was back today.
I'm hoping the headache is related to the bruised muscles attached to my head, rather than a bruised brain.
But it is hard to tell. Is there a way to tell a difference? In the meantime, I'll be the one sleeping on the ice pack, and taking a half of Vicodin, left over from the Appendicitis/Abscess Trauma Vortex, before bed.
I can hear the Internet voices now, "Vicodin is addicting!" Yeah, and so is everything else on the planet. But I need some relief. Tylenol and Alleve aren't touching it.
If there's one thing I learned from my recent hospital field trips, there's nothing wrong with medicating acute pain. At least, that's what the half of Vicodin keeps whispering in my ear. And Goddess knows, right now, I could use a little sweet talk.
The view from my bed. I need a ceiling mural.
Well, it's been a week since I crashed and burned surfing at Carmel Beach last Thursday night. But it feels like forever.
I am feeling better. I still feel headachey. I'm light and sound sensitive. And the worst part, for Hubby anyways, I'm a Crankasaurus.
"You're breathing too loud," I say. "It's hurting my head."
The last time I had a concussion was about 25 years ago. I was skateboarding the Prunetucky drainage ditch, without a helmet.
"Okay, I'm just going to take one more run," I say.
And by "one more run" I mean I'm going to fall and hit my head, hard.
"We told you it was time to go," say my Friends. "Look at what you've done to yourself."
I had to listen to that for an entire week, till my next ailment kicked in, which I apparently didn't bring on myself.
The concussion gave me a week's worth of headaches. A week later, I woke up with red itchy spots on my chest, headache still lingering on n on n on on n on, the bang didn't stop at the break of dawn.
Immediately, I phone my doctor describing my symptoms.
"You, my dear, have chicken pox," says Doc, giggling.
Not funny.
I had a relatively free blemish free teenhood, but the Bawk Bawk Pox left me scarred for life.
I remember being really sick with the Cluck Cluck Pox. I attributed the lingering headache to my red dotted friends, who had set up camp, all over my pristine skin.
Now, however, I'm not so sure. Maybe the headache from the head trauma lasted weeks, and head nothing to do with the Pox?
I'm left wondering how long this round of brain aches will last. I'm not even sure if it's my brain that hurts. I did land on my entire backside, so the pain could be coming from bruised and strained muscles.
I've been getting some massage, otherwise, my therapy is manic. I'm currently alternating hot and ice cold freezer packs on the front of my neck and chest, to the back of my head, neck and back.
The ice contricts the blood vessels. The heat expands the blood vessels. Alternating between hot and cold, basically increases circulation, pumping out the bad stuff, while bringing in nutrients so my tissues can heal.
It's helping, but not fast enough.
When will I surf again? Will I have to wait forever? Will I have to suffer? And cry the whole night through. Is this my beginning or is this the end? When will I surf again? Hoo-oo- a hoo-oo precious moments.
"I should have gotten two bedrails," says Hubby. "One isn't long enough."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," I say. "Especially since Gio works on his gymnastics routine while he sleeps."
5 Minutes Later.
"I came up with a solution!" says Hubby proudly. "I found these boards in the toy room. Do you think he'll be okay."
"I'm pretty sure he's not going anywhere," I say.
