A Mortal Girl On a Chilly Day

I am pretty much over my appendectomy. I still have to take it easy for another week or so but I’m getting near 100%. I'd estimate that I'm at 80% or so. I probably should have gone to work today but I just was not quite in the mood. Tomorrow for sure.

Today I drove over to Coldspring Park; about a five minute drive from my apartment. I could have walked to the park but I’m just not quite up to it yet. I bundled up with the intent of doing a little hiking around. I took my binoculars in hopes of seeing some birds, maybe even an early spring arrival.

There aren't many people enjoying the outdoors on a cold weekday afternoon. The park was very quiet. Actually, it seemed kind of a lonely place. As I was walking along, I got to thinking about what one of the doctors said when I was in recovery from my appendectomy an hour or so after my surgery. He said that if I had waited a few more hours to come into the hospital, I could have been in big trouble. I think “big trouble” really meant “dead”. That triggered other thoughts, thoughts I've occasionally had before. As I meandered along, I got to thinking about how it has been over ten years since high school. I can vividly remember conversations I had with my friends while in high school. I can recall facial expressions during the conversations and everything. It is as if that silly yakking took place yesterday. The fact that it took place ten years ago is just a little bit scary. Such thoughts make me aware of my own mortality; that I have only so much time on planet Earth.

I have heard said that a person should consider his or her future, but always appreciate the day because tomorrow is promised to no one. It’s when I start having somewhat morose, almost creepy thoughts that I realize such philosophies have merit. Paradoxically, if I think about my own mortality too much, it hurts my appreciation of the day. 

I spotted either a Cooper’s hawk or a sharp-shinned hawk, I’m not sure which. They look a lot alike from a distance. It was good seeing him, whatever he was.        

It Had To Be Something

I've been having too much good luck lately. I said exactly that in this silly blog. Last Monday morning I had a mild abdominal cramp and so I decided to stay home from work and watch the Olympics on TV. Later, if I felt better, I was planning to go shopping, or visit some park and experience a chilly day outdoors marching through the snow. I think it was about noon when I began having a more stabbing pain and it was in my lower right abdominal area. For a while I dismissed the whole thing as too much popcorn ingested the night before without sufficient chewing. But over the next hour or so the pain just got worse. It went through some mild burning stage and into more of a throbbing pain. By about 4 in the afternoon I knew something was going on, something not good.

For just a few minutes I thought about driving myself to the emergency room. Then I decided that was not such a good idea so I decided to call Marty and have him take me. I was directed to voice mail, which is a bit annoying normally, highly annoying when in pain.

I called my parents and my mother answered. I told her I was having severe abdominal pain. She asked me if it was more in the right side. I told her it was and in a moderately frantic voice, she informed me that I likely had appendicitis. Actually, I had sort of guessed as much.

About ten minutes later my father arrived. I was ready and before he could climb out of his car, I was walking out gingerly, a bit sweaty, and bent over in pain. My mother did not come because she is a little too wired. My father, on the other hand, is just about the opposite. He jokingly told me that the pain better not be just gas because he had gone home for his lunch hour and was watching something on TV, and had just poured a beer.

When I arrived at the emergency room they did not mess around. I was quickly evaluated, fixed with an I.V., and within about ten minutes I was being wheeled down a corridor. Apparently appendicitis can become an ugly situation if there is too much delay. Just about the next thing I remember is waking up in a groggy state in a bed with blue curtains drawn around me and a machine keeping track of my pulse.

The surgery went routinely. The next day, which was Tuesday, I pretty much laid in a hospital bed, getting up for restroom trips and mandated, painful strolls down the hallway. Wednesday morning there was no fever or any other negative signs so I was given my release. Marty drove me home. Apparently the thinking was that I was to lie on the sofa and not exert myself. At least that was Marty’s take on the situation. But I had this yearning for some split pea soup, and though Marty could have handled the task, I wanted to do it. While the soup was simmering, I decided to run the vacuum. Meanwhile, Marty sat back and watched some Olympics on TV, raising his feet just enough to allow me to vacuum the floor below them. At least one of us was getting some rest.

I still do not feel 100%, but in about a half hour we are going out for pizza. I definitely feel good enough to do that. Tomorrow I think I’ll visit the fitness center and do some gentle work on a treadmill or elliptical. I will not push myself but I feel like I have to do something. Sometime next week I might think about looking in at work and see how they’re doing without me. I have this feeling that they are probably surviving just fine.              

A Romantic Dinner and a Visit From Teddy

Well, the Valentine Day ordeal is now over. On Thursday I asked my guy, Marty, what he wanted for dinner. It was to be my Valentine's gift to him. Though I am a microwaver, I was prepared to try my hand at any dish he came up with. Fortunately he requested lasagna; something I have made a few times before. I did try a few experimental touches such as including pepperoni bits, and dash of refried beans. For dessert I made heart-shaped cupcakes with pink icing. I bought a decent red wine for the occasion. There were red, heart-adorned napkins, and red candles in silver, heart-shaped holders provided the romantic lighting.

After dinner Marty presented his Valentine's gift to me. It was in a small box with shiny, foil paper adorned with red hearts and wrapped in a pink ribbon. Just looking at the box, I had this odd feeling I knew what it was. It turned out I was right.

When I opened the box I could not help but grin and shake my head. I removed the tiny garment from the box and held it up in front of my eyes, I know that my grin widened and my head continued to shake as I stared at it. Marty could barely hold in a chuckle. It was a sheer purple teddy with white lace. It was very pretty but there was so little to it, light could pass through it. It was not designed for warmth. Marty said that he decided to swallow his dignity and go into a store and look at the merchandise. When he was shown this particular teddy, he knew it was the one he wanted.

He asked me if I would model it for him later and I told him I would. Despite it being almost a non-existent article of clothing, it was not all that easy to slip into and adjust into its proper location. Taking it off proved to be easier. Marty did most of the work. He went at it very slowly and methodically, which proved to be very stimulating for both of us. Heck, maybe this teddy was design for warmth after all.          

Parental Instruction Continues

Yesterday evening I was over at my parents’ house watching the Olympics with my mom and dad. I’m not much of an Olympic fan but yesterday evening I got kind of caught-up in the women’s skiing. There was one woman fairly early in the final runs who had put in a strong effort and had taken the lead. Her name was Dominique Gisin and she is from Sweden. According to the TV commentators, she has won no World Championships and zero Olympic medals. What’s more, over the course of her skiing career she has had nine knee operations... nine.

Anyway, she was the early leader and as long as her time was the best, she would sit in front of the cameras at the bottom of the hill and wait while the other competitors came down the hill on their runs.

One by one the other skiers flew down the course, and each time their times were slower than Dominique Gisin’s time. Finally the last skier took her position on the top of the hill, preparing to make her final run. Her name was Tina Maze. In her home country of Slovenia she is like a rock star. She is a fashion model and has sung on a top-selling recording. Not only is she beautiful, but she has already won two Olympic medals. NBC did about a five minute piece highlighting her beauty and her many accomplishments both on and off the slopes.

When the piece had concluded and the cameras focused on her at the starting line, almost without thinking I uttered, “Well, it’s hard not to root for someone like her.”

Very casually my father mumbled something like, “Personally, I think I’m pulling for the girl who has gone through nine knee operations and has no Olympic medals. She has come this far, I’d just as soon see her win, given the choice.”

In the approximately 90 seconds it took Tina to arrive at the bottom of the hill, I had had enough time to ponder my father’s sentiments, and I too was pulling for Dominique Gisin. 

Sometimes I think I get swept up in glitter and temporarily misplace my sympathetic side. Fortunately I have a dad who is free of such lapses.         

Too Much Good Luck?

It's not 6:15 in the morning and I'm getting ready to go to work, but before I leave, something has been on my mind and I might as well write about it. Call it a "concern" if you like. 

I have had a couple of months of relatively clear sailing. Not one bad thing has come to pass. I wanted to go on a getaway trip and I thought I might have to quit my job to do it. Well, it turned out that I was given the time off with minimal complaint. What’s more; everything on the trip went well. No luggage was lost by the airline and the flights were on time.

I did not get a flu shot this year, nevertheless I have not been afflicted by so much as a sniffle all winter. I haven’t fallen down on ice or given myself a serious poke in the eye with a misguided hairbrush stroke. I have not misplaced the TV remote or my purse even for a moment. It has been a while since I have accidentally left a stovetop burner on and filled my apartment with smoke, setting off screeching alarms.

So yes, things have really gone well and that’s got me worried. If there is anything to the laws of probability, something bad is going to happen to me sometime soon. I doubt it will be anything as horrible as a lightning striking my head or a meteor crashing into my apartment. It’s more likely that it will be a minor traffic accident. I’ll probably slide my car into an icy intersection and bump someone’s fender, costing me a couple of hundred dollars beyond what the insurance will pay. Or it could be something weird, like I become a victim of identity theft.

Maybe the bad luck will be split into two relatively mild, unrelated incidents. That might be acceptable to me. How about one morning I step out to go to work and find myself staring at a flat tire, then a day or so later I wake up with a mild sore throat? I would be all caught-up as far as my good luck/bad luck ratio. I guess I’ll have to wait and see. The suspense is killing me… well, it’s not really killing me. That would be going way too far.       

Guys and Their Better Fantasies

Marty disclosed something to me yesterday that was very touching. We were drinking wine and watching the Winter Olympics opening ceremony on TV when Marty said that there was a time before we really got to know each other that he would daydream of playing the violin for me. I found this revelation interesting so I hit the MUTE button on the remote so he could continue without distraction.

Marty stated that he feels he is very ordinary and to become something a bit special, at least special in his imagination, he would daydream of inviting me to meet him someplace. In his daydream I would not know much about him and so I would see him as this slightly overweight, bald guy, in other words; completely uninteresting. And consequently I would be reluctant to meet him.

But eventually he would politely wear me down and I would succumb to a meeting. At this meeting place, some quiet, public place, he would calmly say something like, “I just wanted to do this for you.” He would then put a violin under his chin and play some mesmerizing music so beautiful that I would be totally disarmed. At the end of the piece Marty would lower his violin and say, “I know that you see me as an ordinary guy, but I thought if I could play for you I would not be quite so ordinary anymore.”

I was really kind of taken by this daydream of his, and also the fact that he disclosed it to me. Marty told me that some guys daydream of rescuing the lady from villains or some other peril, other guys will daydream of winning the girl with some athletic feat, but for him, he would daydream of playing a beautiful violin piece.

I have since wondered if he is right; do a lot of guys have these kinds of daydreams? I know that some guys have these types of fantasies, but is the number really all that high?

What's Under That Hat?

I am about to leave work. I have got on my workout clothes and I am heading straight for the fitness center. I'm going to get the torture out of the way early today. But as I was dressing, I was thinking about the fitness center and some of its clientele, and some strange thoughts came through my head so I figured I might as well throw them in my goofball blog now instead of later.

There is a guy at my fitness center who wears a hat all the time. When it is really cold out, the hat is one of those beanie types. When it is a little warmer, the hat is baseball-style worn backwards. The other day I was on an elliptical when I saw him take off his jacket and remove a sweatshirt over his head, never for a second discarding the knit beanie on his head. He is about 30 years old and not a bad-looking guy, but I’d bet my painfully modest bank account that he is bald despite the fact that there is a little bit of hair rolling out from under these various hats.

Assuming he is bald, what good does it do to hide it? Let’s say that he meets an attractive girl there at the fitness center. He makes an impression and she becomes tentatively interested, in a romantic sense. When does he take off the hat to display his hairless head? How does he go about it? Does he warn her verbally first or does he just pull off the hat and unveil the baldness, like ripping a bandage off the skin?

What makes it a bit more puzzling is that a lot of women do not mind baldness on their guys. I know I don’t. I don’t like seeing dirty, greasy hair. A lopsided haircut is a little bit of a downer. But baldness really is okay. In fact, ironically, the need to continually wear a hat is itself kind of a turn-off. There is the obvious notion that the hat is hiding some secret, but there is also this vague sense that the guy does not have a lot of confidence in himself as a person. Otherwise he would display his head, be it bald or otherwise.

I have one other observation and that is; what goes through a girl’s head can get pretty weird, especially when she is looking around at fellow fitness center members as she is toiling away on an elliptical.