Joshua Tree

Today Sara and I went to Joshua Tree National Park to do some hiking.  We invited Bill, but he was busy.  We were disappointed because we were hoping he'd use his Until the End of Time National Park Pass to get us in.  Since we didn't have him, we bought our own annual pass and now we can go back whenever we want.   Chaddie had let me borrow a book about hiking in the deserts of California and we had planned out several short and designated easy trails to do, but I misunderstood where we were entering the park and we ended up doing a hike called Lost Horse Mine recommended by the lady at the Visitor's Center.  The lady must have thought we looked like a couple of pretty sporty ladies because the trail was not easy.  Chaddie's book rated it as moderately strenuous.  In fact I was glad Sara had brought her hiking pole along.  I haven't bought my hiking poles yet because I didn't think I was anywhere near ready to be doing anything that would require hiking poles.  This trail proved otherwise.    I started walking up a hill and I didn't stop for two hours.  I surprised myself.  I don't want to sound like I am tooting my own horn, but I would just like to shout a huge "YEA ME!" because this trail was difficult.  It was two miles up and two miles back and difficult and I did it.  The trailhead said this hike would take 2-3 hours and Sara and I completed it in two and we stopped to take pictures.  It's because we're awesome.  I'm tired right now, but not in pain.  This was a very big step forward in my recovery.  After we came home and Jessica had dinner waiting for us.  Pretty awesome day indeedy.

See off to the right?  That's the trail and I went up it.

Yep, I walked from the BOTTOM of the picture and then some.

Burned tree

Not sure, but I liked it.

See where you can't even see the trail anymore?  Yep, I walked up that too.

The mine at the top.  I did not go to the very top to look down.  I had to draw the line somewhere.

Another tree.

Sara spotted this bird.  I know the picture's blurry, but it shows his bright color well.  

Skull rock.

Oasis.  .5 mile extra walk we did because that's how we roll.

Some kind of bird with a mohawk.

Close Calls

The old printer and new printer box just attacked and nearly killed Earl.  Only his lighting quick reflexes kept him from becoming garden fertilizer.  I'm assuming this means that he will be even more reluctant to come in here.

CSI: Bell Mountain

Today Sara and I went on a walk.  This is what we found:

Well, actually Sara saw it first.  We used our superior deduction skills and thorough knowledge of bones based on information gleaned from Bones, CSI and other like shows to decide that it wasn't human because it wasn't long enough and that it wasn't a child's because it was too fat.  It clearly was some kind of animal.  Then we used our superior thinking skills to devise a plan to go home, shower, put on our cutest workout clothes, the appropriate amount of workout make up, do our hair and then go back out and call the sheriffs out to investigate in the hopes that they would be hot available men.

The bones could have been Randi's because after dinner last night, Sara and Jessica saw her on the dining room table.  Voici our conversation:

Sara:  Oh my God Randi is on the table.
Me:  Uh?
Jessica:  Yes, she is on the table.
Me:  Two feet?
Them:  No all four feet.  All four.  Four feet on the table.

If I had seen her she surely would have been left in the desert.  I looked for paw prints on the table, but I didn't see any.  I don't really think Sara and Jessica were making it up, but they are the only witnesses who use words.

Swollen

I had to leave work today at lunch due to an over abundance of moistures that would not stop exiting my nose and eyes no matter how many comforting words Gretchen said to me.  This was related to the over abundance of snot that ended up in my hair last night.  I used my time curled up on the couch with Clark licking my face for comfort to catch up on the new season of the Real Housewives of Orange County.  

Life Lessons from the Real Housewives of Orange County:

• A bracelet with a key will fix a relationship.  (Note to self:  purchase a bracelet with key.)
• I clearly don't have enough plastic surgery to make it on the show.
• Nor do I have enough hair.
• Wine solves problems.
• At the risk of sounding conceited and elitist, I think I'm much too smart to be on the Real Housewives of Orange County.  I mean, I do know my home phone number.

I am very concerned that I am going to settle on being a Real Housewife of Atlanta; which comes with its own concerns.   On the plus side, I'm pretty sure I have my gay friend already lined up.

Speaking of which, my snot filled afternoon on the couch led me to what could be my new favorite TV show: RuPaul's Drag Race.  I only watched snippets, but it was fierce.

In other random news:

My new replacement laptop arrived today.  I was too concerned with snot to even bring it home and see what Lion OS has to offer me.

Before the snot cameth forth, I led fourth period all the way to other side of campus to the computer lab.  When we left my room I said, "Nobody should get there after me because I am slow."  And the final results of the fourth period race to the computer lab were:  I kicked pretty much everyone's ass including three kids on the track team.  I was so fast some kids accused me of getting a ride.  I said, "You guys are escargots on crutches and let an invalid beat you.  You are losers."  Yep, I did.  I told the kids they were losers.  Because I kicked their butts.  Really.  Who walks slower than someone recovering from back surgery?  High school students.  Unless they're going towards free food.  I probably wouldn't have beat them then.  I did tell them that I was going to log it in my miles, but I forgot to turn on the gps tracker.  Due to my incredible win, I have made it a multiple choice test question on the interro demain:  Qui est la plus rapide dans la classe de Français?:  1.  Mlle Thompson 2.  Mlle Thompson 3.  Mlle Thompson.  And since we're doing it in Google Docs-- it's a required field.

The Washing Machine

I did some laundry this morning and when I opened up the door, the clothes were still in a puddle of water.  I was some concerned, but not a lot concerned.  I just turned the washer on the drain/spin cycle to try to get the water out.  Once that was done I opened the door and out of my front loading washer a river of water spewed forth.  It was like in the movies, except there weren't any suds.  I quickly closed the door and set about cleaning up gallons of water off of the floor.  I didn't know what to do since there was still a lot of water in the washer.  Normally, I'd call the Big Guy and see what kind of sage advice he might have and hope he might say, "Ok, I'll be right over," but since he's in Quartsite, AZ I didn't even think I should bother him with a problem he couldn't solve.  So I did the next best thing and called Bill, who said what he typically says, "Why don't you try the handymen?"  I cancelled my walk, left a message for the handymen and tried various methods of cleaning up the mess and trying to get the water out of the washer without more water flooding the floor.  None of my methods could be described as successful, as evidenced by the swollen floor boards.

The handymen came over and, of course, the water drained right out.  And when we ran first cycle it drained just fine.  They are nice guys and the swollen floor boards were proof that I was not making shit up and they did some research on the Internet and next thing I knew they had the front off the washing machine and a part disassembled and said, "You gotta come see this."  I was afraid it was going to be a dead mouse.  It wasn't.  There were at least 20 bobby pins stuck in this thing that has something to do with blah blah blah and somehow also has to do with the water draining properly.  I cleaned out all of the foul smelling junk and then they put the washer back together and now my washing machine is working like new.  I'm going to run out of laundry soap doing so much laundry today.

What a day though; this machine caused me to miss my walk and going to the movies with Sara and Jessica and made my back hurt from trying to clean stuff up.  I'm going to take a 1/2 a pain pill and spend the rest of the afternoon on the couch reading or watching dumb television.

I feel like this past week has been one calamity after another.  There's only one thing that's going to make me feel better: brilliant violence à la Jack Reacher.

Baby's First Book Club!

Max had his very first book club meeting Friday.  He was allowed to attend even though he hadn't finished reading the book.  I was hosting book club and pretty certain I had not one of the mom skills required to be able to finish getting ready for a dinner party for eight, and manage Max, I had to call in some help and my friend Shannon came over early and helped me figure out what the fuck I was doing.  Preparations included putting the baby in the kitchen and having him help me pull out wine glasses and then involved two amateur moves on the changing table (washing machine.)  First, I put the poopy diaper within the reach of the baby and when I grabbed that out of his hand, he picked up the mallet that was laying on the other side.  I'm not done watching all the Youtube videos about babies, but I'm pretty sure having a mallet on the changing table (washing machine) is generally discouraged.  

Toys- check.  Bowl- check.

Enjoying lively book discussion.

Max was very good and won the hearts of all the ladies in book club.  And the ladies in book club had much sympathy for my impromptu single mom status and did many of the dishes and moved the pac n' play in my room so Max and I could enjoy our first sleepover.  Max, stimulated by conversation and being the Bright Center of the Universe was not so interested in sleep after his evening power nap and we were up for a while.  First, we watched youtube videos about sterilizing bottles and took some pictures of ourselves.  Then we sterilized bottles.  Or I sterilized bottles and he scooted around on the floor in the kitchen and did not lick the floor at any time. 

Eventually Mr. Sandman came and I put Max in the pac 'n play and then Mr. Sandman socked Max on the head and he woke up and decided he still didn't want to have anything to do with the pac n' play and so because he is not mine and because he certainly wasn't pushing anyone out of my bed, the dogs having been banishèd to the backyard, I put Max in the bed with me, where he promptly went to sleep and I promptly went through all of the ways he would die in my bed:  suffocate in the covers, I roll over on him, Randi breaks open the window and jumps on top of him, the fan comes unhinged and falls on top of us.  I didn't sleep so great because I was sure something was going to happen.  We were warm and toasty because that guy is a mini-heater.  When we woke up at 7:30am, this guy immediately began inspecting the quilts on my bed.  I believe he was about to say, "Yes, excuse me, I do not believe that I am authorized to sleep under this quilt as it was not made for me with love by my grandma."  Lucky for me, I had a quilt my mom had made for me on the bed as well, so I just pulled it up and, mollified by quilting he recognized, he stopped acting like he was too good for my bed.

Little Boy in my bed.

The morning was taken up with mundane baby activities:  sanitizing more bottles, boiling water, breakfast of sweet potatoes, face planting into the floor, bottles, face planting into the orange bowl in the previous photo and an insane tantrum when I tried to take a shower.  Then we had to go to my mom's house for clothes, more food and to load up all of his accoutrements to go to Quartsite, AZ via Agua Caliente Casino Resort.  Again, lucky for me the guy slept the entire way to Agua Caliente Casino and woke up smiles and happy boy when he saw his grandma and grandpa.  

Then I came home and took a half a pain pill and drank a bottle of wine.

FAIL

Migration

Subtitled: The God Damned Duck

I got to sleep in this morning.  I thought my day was going to be pretty good.  I got up at 5:30am, took a shower, cleaned up, prepared the living room for book club tomorrow and I was warming up the car to leave for my meeting when I went outside to feed the duck.  When I shut the door, I witnessed, with my own two eyes, the damn duck take god damned fucking flight at least five feet off of the ground all the way over the fence to keep her out of the garden and to the fence that separates her from being duck confit pour les chiens.  I'm talking about fucking migrating duck flight pattern; not a little hop.  I screamed.  And by screamed, I mean I screeched at the top of my lungs the whole time she was in the air, scared to death that she was going to fly into the other yard; scared to death that she was flying so high and wondering how the fuck I was going to catch the duck.  Then, I did the only thing I could, trembling with fear and adrenaline:  I shut off the truck, grabbed the scissors and went out to catch my duck for a double wing clip.

Even not recovering from surgery, catching a duck is tough business because they are wily and generally unwilling to be caught and I was also fearful that she would fly into the Big Backyard, or heaven forbid the neighbor's yard and I would have to walk over and say to the neighbors at 7:00am, "Excuse me can I please get in your yard to try to catch my duck?"  I quickly formulated a plan in which I would use the purple stripped beach towel in a matador like fashion to corral her in a corner where she would be unable to run or fly away.  She quickly formulated a plan to evade my purple stripped beach towel.  We tangled and did ring around the rosey by the tree and her duck house, but I was damn determined to catch her so that she would not kill herself by flying into the Big Backyard.  And finally I prevailed and snatched her up on the patio and cut both her wings.  It was difficult because I was shaking so badly from fright.  I clipped both her wings and she tried to wiggle away.  Then I put her down, but thought that I hadn't cut them enough, so I snatched her back up before her pea sized brain knew what was happening and clipped them some more.  When I put her back down again, I realized that I probably could have clipped closer, so I tried to catch her a third time, but it wasn't successful.

Because of the unexpected wing cut, I had to hurry to leave so as not to be late for my meeting, and I quickly directed the dogs not to eat the duck and then I did what I always do in these situations: I called the Big Guy and said, "Dad the god damned duck..." and he did what he always does which is not really listen to me.  He did say maybe she was trying to fly south for the winter, but that's just dumb because south of the Little Backyard is the Big Backyard and I told him as much and I also told him that I might not go over there because if I got home and the duck was dead I was going to be pretty upset.  He said, "Ok, well, we'll be here."  Clearly, our definitions of emergency and panic differ greatly.

The result of all this activity?  One duck that is still alive and me stuck on the couch in a drug induced semi-stupor.

God damned duck.

Approximate trajectory of the duck's flight.

The god damned duck with a new wing clip

Sometimes the light bothers him while he sleeps.