The people you meet

Sweet Daughter asked me to chaperone her 3^rd grade field trip to a state park today. I was fortunate that in my group of 4 kids, the “special needs” had his own family member show up to keep an eye on him. This person had never chaperoned a field trip before and ended up sitting next to me on the school bus. Turned out to be a former army MP. We started comparing our EDC knives and flashlights. Talked about our carry guns and how nice it was to find somebody else who thought a knife was as necessary as underwear.

She was awesome. She even brought beef jerky.

I had this dream ...

I was riding shotgun with Murphy’s Law who had picked me up at the airport -- somewhere in the southwest, judging by the landscape and climate. Murphy and Belle were in the back seat, hanging on for dear life with resigned looks on their faces that read “Don’t worry … you get used to it.” (You see, I’d been told in real life by somebody who has ridden with him that Murphy is, um, a bit of an impatient driver …)

 

Anyhow, I was hanging on to the Jesus handle with both hands as Murphy proceeded to dart around and through inconvenient traffic at a rather productive rate of speed until he dropped me off in front of a shopping mall. MSgt B was waiting at the door to intercept me, and we took off through the mall at a power walk. I was dressed in my office clothes consisting of a skirt and heels, and he was in well-used coveralls and boots, and I was simply trying to keep up.

 

Nothing was said, but MSgt B stopped at every little kiosk and demo in the mall to fill up with complimentary coffee from dozens of little Keurig machines. We circled through the mall until we got back to the door where I entered. MSgt B was fairly vibrating with caffeine at this point. I asked him what was up with all the walking and the coffee. He nodded towards the parking lot and said “To deal with that. Get ready – we’re heading to the truck.”

 

As we stepped through the doors, I could see a dozen or so guys heading towards us, all with switchblades. I muttered “I got your six” while I readied my purse to use as a melee weapon. At this point I noticed the attackers were all wearing blue or red satin baseball jackets as they sped towards us, running with unusual grace while executing grand jetés every few steps, still waving their blades. I asked “Why the h@!! didn’t Murphy just drop my off at your d@#% truck in the first place?”

 

At which point my brain couldn’t suspend disbelief any longer and woke me up.

 

 

Do It Yourself …

I was diagnosed with spinal stenosis some time ago. My doctor thought it might be bilateral sciatica, but no. It’s just my spine squeezing and causing some numbness in the feet, and other “discomfort” in my back, butt and legs. Stretching helped but, but it was an every day thing, with some days better or worse than others.

Fast forward to last February. I was carrying a load of laundry down the stairs and when I was two stairs from the bottom I, for lack of a better description, fell off the stairs. I don’t know if I tripped, or caught my foot, or just put a foot down wrong, but I landed in a heap with a twisted ankle at the bottom of the stairs. This was one of those where your brain says “GET UP NOW” while the adrenaline was flowing, so I got up. The ankle hurt, and was sore, but I could walk on it. Nothing crunched, or felt like I was getting stabbed, or collapsed. As a matter of fact, the more I walked on it, the better if felt. Ibuprophen, elevation, and a beer also helped.

The next day I wrapped it and spent the day at a gun show. Other than swelling, and a little bruising, it was just sore, and each day it was measurably better.

Why do I bring this up? Ever since falling off the stairs, my back has been pretty much fine. Still a little stiffness at the base of my spine, and I still have some numbness in my feet, but this is the best my back has felt since I started paying attention to it. I don’t sit with one foot tucked under my butt anymore and long car trips don’t make my butt go numb.

I certainly don’t advocate DIY chiropractic, and I realize how very lucky I was, but I’d go through that to fix my back again in a heartbeat.

The song remains the same

A year ago today, I was asking my houseguests to please pee in the bushes and wash up with the hose because I had water pouring out of my A/C air handler and I didn’t know where it was coming from. It’s odd what sticks in one’s memory. It’s also a testament of my friends that they didn’t even blink and got with the program until I could get a plumber that didn’t want a minimum of $700 to snake my cleanout.

This week, however, found me running out to get gas for the mower, so I could come home and mow. Which I tried to do -- I backed the riding mower out of the shed and it quit so I finished mowing with the push mower. The next day, I was at the hardware store, and went to pay only to find … no bank card. I searched my wallet. Checked my bank account for fraudulent activity. Cleaned out my purse and my car. Nothing. Thinking I might have stuffed it in my pocket when I went to get gas, I checked my pants. Nada. I scoured the lawn, thinking it might have fallen out of said pocket while I finished mowing. I went to the gas station to see if someone had found it and turned it in. Lather, rinse, repeat.

On my third trip through the yard I saw a small piece of something white. Closer examination found some more pieces.

No shredder? No problem!

 Yes, it fell out of my pocket and the riding mower ate it before giving up the ghost. The woman at the credit union said she’d never seen anything like it. At least I had proof that the card was still in my possession and hadn’t been stolen. Now I just have to wait for the replacement card.

Maybe I should stop at 50

I am pretty much a thrifty (okay, “cheap”) person in that I shop for deals, eat what’s on sale at the grocery store on any given week, make, mend or fix whatever is possible for me to make, mend or fix -- except in a few areas. One is pants. If I can find pants that fit, what I consider a “reasonable” price point suddenly increases. Considering I’ve never found pants that actually fit, I have no idea what that price point is.

Another area is quality polarized sunglasses. This might have something to do with the fact that I walked around during 5^th and 6^th grade looking perpetually stoned because my mother signed me up for some experimental treatment that consisted of me dilating my eyes every single night before bed. This was supposed to prevent astigmatism (or at least slow it down, or something), but needless to say, I did not wear sunglasses when I went outside and I have no idea what, if any, damage was done by walking around with my eyes dilated for a couple of years.

Anyhow, I decided to splurge and buy myself some new sunglasses for my birthday. My current pair is five years old, and the reflective coating has cracked on them. I shopped around, found the best deal, waited a week for them to get here, and then found then sent the non-polarized version.

This seems to continue a theme this week. Anonymous very generously sent me some awesome Zombie Stomper platform shoes with a 5” heel to keep my Werewolf shoes company. This is what showed up.

 Maybe this is a hint that I should stop having birthdays and just quit at 50.

 

Back in the saddle

So in the interest of finding something to blog about, push my comfort level, and just generally get some exercise - even if it’s in futility, I’ve managed to get myself talked into participating in a Firelock Match as sponsored by one of my Rev War groups at the end of June.

I signed up for muskets at 25, 35 and 50 yards.  They claim it’s not a competitive event, but simply for the enjoyment of live fire. HOWEVER they will be keeping score for those who wish to “compete”. Right. No competition. I don’t believe that for a second.

Tonight I took inventory of my supplies, and decided it was time to get my ducks in a row. Better late than never, I guess. This weekend, I’ll be filing sprues off my musket balls. I sure wish Hornandy made them in Brown Bess size.

Help a brother out ...

My buddy MSgt B needs assistance with helping his best friend find out who murdered said best friend's son, Kyle.  Details here.

I don't usually link this kind of thing, but MSgt B is a stand-up guy, and if he says this is a worthy cause, I believe him. Also, when he worked just over the river from my office, we met for lunch a couple of times. Just his gaze rendered me unable to park my car for some reason. If his steely gaze could cause me to forget how to successfully pull into a parking place after doing so for almost 35 years,  I know if I were a bad guy, I'd want the local constabulary to find me before MSgt B.