Half Full and Half Empty: A Morning Dialogue

Dear Diary,
I've been waking up early lately.  Someone tell my brain it is summer, and I don't need to
wakey wakey at 5:30 a.m.  The problem is not necessarily the waking, it is the tossing and turning afterward, the refusal to relax, turn over, and go back to sleep.

Here is how a dialogue starts in my brain at 5:30 a.m.  Since a dialogue requires more than one person, I have provided names for better comprehension: Half Full and Half Empty.

____________________________________

 

Half Empty: What time is it?

Half Full: Don't peek. I don't want to know; it doesn't matter. Just turn over and go back to sleep.

Half Empty: I'm a little cold.

Half Full: Pull up the covers.

Half Empty: But then I have to move.

Half Full: But you'll be warmer.

Half Empty: Maybe I should use the bathroom.

Half Full: Naw, you'll be fine for another hour or so. Besides, that will really wake you up.

Half Empty: But I will lie here thinking about trying not going to the bathroom when I really do.

Half Full: Fine, go. Then you can relax.

[moments later]

Half Full: All better?  Pull up those covers and relax. We've still got time for another dream!

Half Empty: Okay. [pause]    You know that church outreach program in December? I need to find a children's coordinator for that.

Half Full: Fine. Let's think through that when we are awake.

Half Empty: But I've got to figure out who to recruit. I mean, should I ask someone personally or put an ad in the bulletin?  No one ever responds to those ads, but I should try-- that is, if I can't think of someone to ask personally.

Half Full: Fine, yes. We'll talk about this later.

Half Empty: Should I have a theme this year? Would a Western Nativity Festival be a little weird?  Cowboy hats and ropes and horses to go along with the wise men and baby Jesus?

Half Full: Go to sleep.

Half Empty: This position isn't comfortable, maybe I need to inflate my sleep number.

Half Full: Go to sleep!

Half Empty: Is that sunlight coming through the blinds? What time is it, anyway?

Half Full: SLEEP!

Half Empty: Hey this could be a funny blog post.

Half Full: Hilarious. Can it wait until we are up?

Half Empty: It should be a dialogue of what goes through our head when we are tossing and turning in the morning. What shall we call ourselves?

Half Full: Shhhhh!

Half Empty: Yin and Yang? Pessimist and Optimist? Half Full and Half Empty?

Half Full: Fine. Let's get up.

Half Empty: But look at all the time we have to sleep still!

Half Full: Ain't gonna happen. Let's just get up.

Half Empty: Fine!

Half Full: Fine!!

Half Empty: Fine!!!

____________________________________

Have a well-rested, Half Full day!
LJ

When a Phone is Not a Phone

Dear Diary,

Yesterday I had a conversation with someone who was trying to explain where a certain lake was in another state I will be visiting.  As she described the roads and the intersection with the Orange Moose*, she quipped, "You know, just use your phone to look it up."

I kept a straight face, but inside I went, "HA!" like some text bubble above Lucy's head in a Charles Schulz cartoon.

I am a person who counts my blessings. So instead of complaining/admitting that I don't have a fancy smart phone in the palm of my hand, I will brag about what I do have.

In the '90s, my phone would have been Da Bomb!

It makes calls and sends texts. (Though please don't send me a text with an emoticon. It turns the whole message into pretty little squares.)

It tells time.

It has a notepad so I can keep track of all the medications I use and the dates of my kids' last tetanus shot, which I have to write on school forms every year.

It has a stopwatch with the tiniest numbers ever created, making it impossible for me to "go running" without my contacts. ("Go running" is a very, v-e-r-y loose term here.)

It has a rarely used calculator.

It has a QWERTY keyboard, thank goodness!  Imagine typing those long medication names using only keypad numbers.

      6-6-6..O 

      6..M  

      3-3..E 

      5-5-5..L  Oops! Where is the backspace??

It also has a...wait for it.................. camera!
Sure it can only hold about 12 pictures. But it comes in handy when I encounter a five-foot stuffed Olaf displayed in the infant/toddlers dept. at Sears-- which I need to haul off its three-foot pedestal in order to capture its larger than life adorable-ness with my daughter.

#meltyourheart  
#heavierthanitlooks   
#cansomeonehelpmeputthisback

 

It also has a nice WARNING message to tell me my memory is FULL and I CAN'T take a picture of my kid's first moment wearing braces next to the ortho waiting room whiteboard announcing

 

Congratulations, SARAH, your braces are ON!

 

--unless I erase Olaf or some other much-needed picture.

Sorry, Sarah.



I do have a pocket camera purchased just for this reason, but did you know that sand and telephoto lenses don't get along?
That's a story for another day.

So, yes, my humble, not-so-Smart phone is a little black box of awesomeness.

Besides, if I had Smart phone GPS capability, I may never even notice the Orange Moose on my way to who-knows-where.  What's the fun in that?

Happy Summer!!!

LJ
*Anyone want to guess where the Orange Moose is?

What's in a Name?

Dear Diary,

This is not a big deal.  But then I guess most of my posts aren't a big deal. 

I consider myself the female blogging counterpart to Jerry Seinfeld's "TV show about nothing." 
I do like to find the lesson or humor in otherwise ordinary things. (Though I think Jerry's focus was only on the humor.)

In the past year I have come across two names that have never left me.  My impression was not necessarily for the person behind the name (because I don't know them), but for the name itself.  I just thought they were the coolest names ever.

First, the girl's name:

Tessa

 

How does this seem both old fashioned and so modern at the same time?  I came across it while reading a post she wrote as a guest on a blog I read often. In commenting on her post, I had to throw in my admiration for it.  Had I come across this name several years ago, I could be mothering a child of the same alias.

 

OK, now the boy's name.  It is what I believe to be the ultimate in masculinity.  Maybe it's because it takes an already macho name like "Dave" and couches it inside testosterone-filled prefixes and suffixes. 

 

Jadeveon

[Juh-DAY-vee-un]

 

I had heard this name on the radio, in reference to an up-and-coming football player at USC.  When I heard this name I was struck by two things.  The creative first name, and the way it acts as an antidote for this guy's really, uh, joke-of-a-last name. 

 

Because the name Jadeveon Clowney is an oxymoron, agreed?

 

Of course most of us have stories of why we are named the way we are.  Mine came about because my dad was a teacher and he wanted a name that didn't remind him of any of his students. 
I know, so nostalgic, right?

 

Sometimes I get fancy with my name and spell it out, rather than using just two initials.

 

That said, I remain always,

El Jay

PS Go ahead and comment on cool names you like!

IMG!

Dear Diary,

I know it's been awhile since I've written, but that "IMG" is not a typo. 

Sure, we are all familiar with the texting shortcut OMG, which I only use as a form of "OMGosh" due to its breaking the third commandment, and by the time I write that all out it's really not making anything short for me anyway.... 

OK, back to topic:
IMG is my new slang acronym meaning Inward Mental Groan.

IMG describes those times you internally exclaim your displeasure at a situation without letting anyone around you in on your secret.  Perhaps you even have a smile on your face during an IMG (otherwise known as IMGWS - inward mental groan with a smile).  Here are some examples of times an IMG may pop up.

• Driving my car in slow traffic-- lets say, approaching a stoplight during rush hour.  Then ending up stopped in the path of an exit, perhaps a gas station, with three cars waiting to get out into the lane I am occupying.  IMG!  (Well, if it's me you are trying to get in front of, people, maybe I'll smilingly let one car out! IMGWS!)
• Discovering I am missing an ingredient in a recipe after I started making it.  IMG! No, wait, I actually whine and complain noisily on that one!
• Watching a friend's toddler walk through (literally) my screen door that was just re-screened....not that that really happened. At least not recently.  IMGWS!
• Waiting until payday to buy those cute shoes only to find out they are now at regular price and no longer at last week's bargain price. (Or leaving all my shopping coupons at home on the counter.) IMG!
• Reading a great book only to find a cliffhanger at the end. IMG!  And then having to go on a waiting list to get the next in the series.  Double IMG!
• Repeating a song ending fourteen times during church.  IMGWS!  (For the record, that would never happen at my church!)
• Suck ups.  IMG!

I think that conveys the idea.  I know there are more.  Anyone want to share their IMG moments?

Happy to be writing again!
LJ

The Thing's the Thing

Dear Diary,
I am wondering what is happening to the brain cells of my family members.  Are they vanishing because we are nearing the end of the school year, the finish line looming before us, waiting to be crossed at break-neck speed -- except we checked our brains out at the last mile marker?

For example, I recently overheard a statement from daughter #2 the other day that went something like this:  "You need to get the thingy-thing and put it over there on the thing."  (To which daughter #3 would say, "I know, right?")

OK, that's cute the first time.
But saying "the thingy" or "the thingy-thing" is becoming the thing in her normal conversation.

A couple of asides:
1.  I actually understand what she means most of the time, and
2.  Hearing it several times a week has inspired me to change my "What?" to "Whaty-what?"  At least that's what the voice in my head wants to say.

I will use the phrase "totes adorbs" just to give my girls a reason to roll their eyes at me, but otherwise I try to use my middle-age brain cells to form a cohesive sentence most of the time.

However, some of the phonetic faux pas stories I have told my daughters over the years are coming back to bite me.  Recently, when sitting down to dinner, daughter #1 reminded me of one such story from when I was her age.  Her three-word statement was a dig at my story of mistaking the word ravishing for ravenous, which, at the time, made for quite the brouhaha when I announced exuberantly to the family at the dinner table, "I'm sooo ravishing!"

These are the things our families don't let us live down.  Even, apparently, after you have started your own.

OK, so I've migrated a little off topic, but just know that as the days get warmer and the count to the final day of school gets smaller, the brain cells in our household become neglected, which, I guess, is our way of preparing our minds and bodies for the lazy days of summer.

When all nouns get replaced by a creative form of the word "thing."

Linguistically yours,
LJ

Missing the Prize

Dear Diary,

Flashback to childhood in the '70s, where joys came from simple and next-to-free activities:

Coloring books
and
roller skates
and
macrame belts
and
listening to grooved, black, vinyl discs on a turntable while studying the album cover and reading every word on the jacket.

And ranking near the absolute joy of
                                Saturday morning cartoons
                                                     came

the prize in the cereal box. 

I was suddenly reminded of these trinkets this morning while eating my cereal.  The box I used had a picture of those rubber wrist bracelets -- the kind Armstrong made popular.  Except these said BREAKFAST ROCKS or something.

I thought, wow, it's been a long time since I've had to dig for a prize out of a cereal box.  On closer inspection I discovered these bracelets weren't in the box, they were a mail-in promotion:  collect a couple of labels with codes, go to the website and register, and then you are eligible to receive this latex-free bangle (probably after you send in your $4.99 for shipping and handling).

When did cereal prize retrieval get so complicated?
Why did it get so complicated?

I had only one sibling, and yet I gained some valuable life skills negotiating or sneaking my way to that one prize in the box!  And there was no post office nor allowance money involved.

The same goes for Cracker Jacks.  At least it still has a prize, even if it is just a joke about a banana or an elephant.  Or my favorite: a tattoo of a flower or some random object.

So, just as I mourn my kids' lack of Saturday morning Warner Bros. knowledge (and Schoolhouse Rock Jingles), I also silently bereave their lack of useless prizes from a box of Sugar Pops.

Perhaps I shouldn't get so upset. 
They are bagel eaters anyway.

Nostalgically yours,
LJ

Excuse Me, Do I Know You...?

Dear Diary,

It can be disappointing to have such a common face.

In the grocery checkout line I hear, "Excuse me, but you look familiar to me. Is your name Angel?"

or at the library, "Do I know you from somewhere?"

or even at church, "Hey, how is the realty business these days?" 
("Uh, nope. That's not me, that's so-and-so.")

I feel like I get this more than the average person.  I look like this person's sister or a PTL member from some other kid's grade school.  I even had a look-alike back in college.  And though I would never have thought I could be confused with someone named Angel, it's cool that someone else actually did!

At least the strangers who approach with the "haven't we met before?" query are mostly women, much to my husband's relief.

At this stage of life, I am fine with my face.  (In other words, I have finally come to accept it!) And I guess I should take comfort knowing that I'm not alone -- that there are others out there endowed with a similar visage.

So why am I feeling disappointed by the constant countenance confusion?
Perhaps because it creates a mini identity crisis every time it happens.  It gives me the impression that I am not as unique as I was brought up to believe.  I mean, didn't God break the mold after he created me?  That's a rhetorical question.

Or perhaps it's because I never run into anyone from my past who actually is from my past! 

I never run into the "Hey, weren't our girls in ballet class together ten years ago?" person. 
Or the "didn't we live on the same block in grade school?" childhood playmate. 

Oh well.
Contrary to what my older brother has always told me,

I always knew it wasn't easy being me. 

Uniquely yours,
LJ

Fab Finishes

Dear Diary,

I mentioned to my oldest daughter the subject of my Fun Firsts post of yesterday.  Being the sensible one, she asked, "Why are you writing about that?"  I told her that's what I mostly write about:  useless, random stuff.  

She then reminded me of an incident she still remembers. 
"See that pen over there?" She points across the room to her bookcase. 
I didn't really see it (probably because of my hyperopia status; see It's a *Small* Problem), but to amuse her I said "sure."  She said, "That is the first pen I've ever used that has completely run out of ink.  I was saving it but you threw it away.  I had to fish it out of the garbage can!"

Wow.  She got such satisfaction out of finishing the use of that pen.  I knew then that I had to follow up Fun Firsts with this post, Fab Finishes!

So here are some items in which I relish the finish, perhaps because it is such a rare occurrence, or because I can't stand the sight of it any longer and am glad to get rid of it.

The latter thought, for me, is the half-eaten boxes of cereal in the pantry.  They have been sitting around because, well, no one really likes them.  Usually it is a new flavor of an old standby, which everyone has tried but no one cares for. They prefer the original.  (Like a Part IV of any movie series.  Never as good as the first three.)  So, only out of obligation, M-O-M eats those cereals (since I paid good money for it, dag nab it)!  And it is a relief to finally throw away the empty boxes of Honey Kix and Vanilla Cookie Crisp and get back to my Multi-Bran Chex.

Besides pens and stale cereal, what are some other triumphant finishes?

That 10-year-old tub of petroleum jelly.  Come on.  Admit you have one somewhere in your linen closet or medicine cabinet!  Takes a long time for those to go bad.  I don't think I've ever seen the bottom of one of those plastic tubs.

Lip balm.  My daughter claims she can never finish one before she loses it or it gets old and gross.  I, however, don't have that problem.  But it is momentous -- on a small scale -- to finally reach the end of that tube. (And you get the fun first of starting a new one!)

Economy sized mouth wash.  Especially when I don't like the flavor. Well, why do they make it purple if it isn't going to taste like grape soda?

Jigsaw puzzles.  That last piece.  The silent kudos to self when it snaps into place.  Satisfied sigh.

I could start a discussion on those things I dread to finish, like the toilet paper roll ('cuz now I gotta replace it) or the milk ('cuz now I gotta go all the way down to the fridge in the basement to replenish it).  But I'll save that discussion for another time.

What are some more fab finishes?

LJ

Fun Firsts

Dear Diary,

I opened a brand new jar of peanut butter the other day. 
After taking the cardboard seal off the top, there it was: the whoosh of peanutty scented air, and that smooth top layer of brown creaminess -- without the toast crumbs. 
What satisfaction I got out of plunging my knife into it!

It got me thinking about other new things for which I get the most satisfaction out of its first use.

A calendar.  That blank canvas on which to shape and mold the year ahead.  Though, let's face it, the kids' schedules really do most of the shaping and molding.  But still, look at the rows upon rows of blank little squares, just waiting to be filled with multi-colored ink scribbles by me, the Master Destiny Maker.  (Let me at least indulge in that falsehood for a brief moment.)

Stickers.  Collecting stickers was a big thing when I was a kid.  Stores used to carry all shapes and sizes.  But, honestly, it was hard to actually use those.  I had a kind of scrapbook to put them in so that I could look at them -- unused -- and show my friends.  Once I was given a whole roll of personalized silvery stickers with rainbow hearts!  Awesome when you are ten!  I rationed those. I did NOT want to use those up.  They were too precious, too priceless.  Rainbow hearts?
Irreplaceable, really. 
So I didn't. 
And I still have them. 
(I did use a few. If you look closely at my profile picture you'll see one!) At this point I wish I could use them up. But what is a 44-year-old going to do with silvery rainbow-hearted name labels? 
And I don't know any little kids with my name to give them to either, so save the suggestion.

Moving on.

Shampoo.  Because I am a good Girl Scout and always prepared, I will purchase a new bottle of shampoo before I actually run out of the old stuff.  Usually it is a different brand or fragrance.  Whatever grabs me or is cheap.  Once I get it home I can't resist using it --just once-- before I'm finished with the old bottle.  Oooooh!  I feel so underhanded and rebellious when I do that!  Sad what thrills me.

How about books?  A new book that has yet to be dog eared, dropped in the tub, highlighted, or jelly smudged (have I mentioned I read when I eat lunch?) is a treasure to open for the first time.

Here's more off the top of my head:
Can of paint.
Nail polish or lipstick.
Pack of gum.
Bag of potato chips.

What else?

LJ

It's a *Small* Problem

Dear Diary,
I have a problem I must face sooner or later, and really, it is "later" now.

It crept up on me a few years ago, slowly, subtly.

It gave me urges to squint, blink, or force my eyes open as wide as they could go. 
But the problem persisted.

I acquired hyperopia. 
I now belong to a group of people called the middle-aged hyperopes. 
Sounds like great club name for aging rope-jumpers.

No.  It's farsightedness.
What a pain.

Over-the-counter readers have helped for a few years.  But the visual distance at which I have to rely upon them is becoming a greater one.  What was once a use for tired eyes during bedtime reading has now become a necessity for reading price tags, recipes, and menus.  Yes, there is a big difference between a 3 and an 8, both in price and in measurement!

My place on the age-eyesight continuum is now to the point that I can't read the writing on the GPS mounted on the front windshield.  Kind of important when driving in uncharted territory, so to speak.

Perhaps the latest little mishaps seal my bifocal lens fate.  Let me mention two of them.

My body hates the dry air, which is prevalent in winter here in the Midwest.  I use a lot of lotions and potions to counteract the effect dry air has on me.  I have spent many-a-day squirting a store-bought saline solution up my uncomfortably dry nasal passages.  I also use another solution to give relief to my dry eyes, which I use often throughout the day.  I stick them in my purse to use when I'm away from home.  The problem came one day when, sans glasses, I grabbed from my purse the nasal spray, and proceeded to relieve my eyes with it. Yeah.  I can tell you the saline used for the relief of one body part does not transfer to relief in other body parts.  And can be slightly irritating.

Continuing with my lotions and potions theme, on a weekend away from home, I decided to make use of those little bottles of shampoo, conditioner and lotion the hotel so generously provides. After my shower, I needed to squeeze out some lotion for my luxuriously soft supple skin, ahem.  OK, I actually needed it for my wrinkly, crinkly neck. So I dabbed it on, and boy, did it start a subtle stinging sensation. 

My beauty tip for the day:  Conditioner may not be used as a substitute for lotion.  Rinsing with cool water is recommended.

But I do count my blessings.  I was glad I chose not to use the conditioner (i.e.lotion) in the shower earlier. Hey, those bottles are tiny and the letters are even tinier!

So, I shall continue to use my readers, which have become a semi-permanent hair accessory.  Reaching for the top of my head to pull down the glasses nestled there has become second nature to me.  Who needs bifocals, when my readers have a lovely home atop my head? 

One day I will embrace my identity as a MAH (middle-aged hyperope). 

Just not today.

LJ

Audacious for Advice

Dear Diary,

Ever meet an expert or professional of some useful service and want to pick their brain or get free advice?  I do all the time. 

Oh, you are a hairdresser? 
What do you think of my hair? Do you think this cut fits my face?  Should I take out the gray?  How do I hide my cowlicks?  Do you know a good cosmetologist?  I need to learn how to accentuate my eyes. Better yet, do you know a good, but cheap, cosmetic surgeon?

You are a family practice physician? 
Boy, do I get pains in my (fill in the blank).   In fact, right now I am kind of achy in the (fill in the blank).  Is this something I should get checked out, or just take Advil, or what?  And there is this thingy on my foot. Do you think it's serious? Will I need x-rays/surgery/medicine/therapy?

You work for a talent agency?
You know I used to be on the stage. Loved it.  Was told all the time I'm a natural.  Always wanted to do ads and TV and stuff.  Have you seen my kids?  They are pretty photogenic. My oldest did a rad Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz in 6th grade.  Yup, they are pre-tty talented.  And, well, you know where they get it from...

A techno geek?
Wow, you know my computer runs real slow, and sometimes my keyboard won't type the letter 'a'.  Oh, and to properly boot it I have to simultaneously press Shift-F12 while standing on one foot and humming the UW fight song.  Can you check it out for me?

You are a photographer?
Wow, we are looking to get the family portrait done again since the last one we did was before our youngest was born.  Now she's 10.  You think you can pull off the miracle of getting all five of us to simultaneously take a good picture (complete with ten non-blinking eyes)?  Oh, and could you give me some highlights and a chin-tuck while you are at it?

Just to clarify, these are not things I would actually say to a specially trained person outside of their office.  I may think them, but I am otherwise too shy and conscientious to bother them with my little problems.  "Make an appointment," my right-shouldered angel of conscience would say. Audacity is not me.

I am guessing there are some who don't mind answering those questions, even on their day off.  Likewise, I'd guess there are many who grit their teeth in annoyance when they are asked for their professional opinion for the umpteenth time at a dinner party.

Thankfully I don't have a vocation like that so I am not peppered with requests for advice or opinions. 

"Oh, LJ, you are a wife and mother of three girls?  What is the best way to wash a pink, sparkly tutu?" 

Until next time,
LJ

My Xtreme Vacation

Dear Diary,
So, I'm back from Christmas vacation.
This was not just another pack the dog, kids, and husband into the minivan and "off to grandmother's house we go" kind of vacation.

Nope, this excursion was Xtreme at every turn.  Before I go on, I must provide a warning to my more sensitive readers that some descriptions and comparisons may be too graphic for your sensitive natures.  Steel yourselves.  Or look away.

I originally wanted to write about my first surf lesson -- and it will be mentioned. But I realized there were other things worth highlighting as well.  Let me itemize just a few of the Xtreme moments.

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Worshipping the Almighty God on Christmas Eve, who humbled himself to become a helpless, human child, because he loves me so very much.  That is undeniably, Xtremely awesome!

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Finding myself with my finger stuck in the barrel of a Glock.  Surprised?  Yeah, I was too. The circumstance of this event is too Xtreme to even explain here, so maybe it's better left to the imagination.  Assuredly, it was not loaded and I still have all ten fingers.

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Plunging 200 feet on a 90-degree drop aboard SheiKra, the Diving Roller Coaster of Busch Gardens, Tampa Bay. 
Oh. Yeah.
One second, weightless; the next, pulling so-many-G's at 70 mph. 
That is Xtreme, especially at my age.  My 13-year-old daughter was on one side of me.  Another boy about the same age on the other side.   I giddily warned him I would be screaming my head off.  He gave me the "OK, lady" head nod, then proceeded through the whole ride in the Hallelujah hands-to-heaven position.  Showoff.

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Fishing for the big catch 8.5 miles off the coast of Clearwater.  Plenty of fish caught, the biggest by my husband (grouper, 26").  Perhaps the Xtreme moment was throwing a cast-off, 12-inch grouper back into the water and watching a pelican dive for it -- and successfully scooping it into his sack of a beak.  It was like watching him snag a 5 lb. barbell!  How would he swallow that thing?  He flew off a few yards to contemplate this without an audience.  Good moment for the National Geographic Channel I'd say.

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Surfing for the very first time!  For all the times in my life that I've been to the coast, surfing was not something I have tried.  Not until the spontaneous invitation from my cousin hit my eardrums.  Yes, I will try it, but no, I don't have my suit and isn't the water freezing?  Oh, you have a wetsuit I can borrow?  Well then, I have no more excuses!

This was a head to toe wetsuit.  I have never put one on in my life.  Stuffing myself into this thing took all of the concentration and muscle effort I had.  And to boot I was in the bathroom where I couldn't escape the mirror showing me just what I was trying to put into this thing. I panted, pushed, and prodded my flesh into the neoprene tubes.  It was like stuffing Jell-O into a straw.  I think it took me 10 minutes to get it on, and I was weak, so weak, from the effort.  My cousin kindly called through the door, "I'll help you get the zipper up."  Good.  I was too fatigued to do it myself anyway.  I open the door to be told, "Uh, the zipper goes in the back, not the front." 
WHAT????  Now I gotta put this thing on ALL OVER AGAIN, after I first EXTRICATE MYSELF from its rubbery grip???  Close door.  Tug, pull, peel, pant.  Pause.  There it lay.  A rubbery blob of a body suit that WILL NOT get the best of me!  The bathroom walls and mirror were closing in on me.  The fatigue was overwhelming, but, no, I am not a wimp!  I will show it who is boss!  Weakly tug, shakily stuff, and breathlessly prod.  Victory!  Another assist with the zipper and I was off to the beach, weak-kneed and shakey armed.  (Thank you for carrying the board, cuz.)

The rest of the experience I will summarize as a salt water cleansing.  I learned that it is very important -- nay, essential, to stay to the back of the board while surfing.  This lesson was taught over and over again.  The picture here is of a rare moment when I became one with the wave while kneeling.  The rest was pretty much a water boarding experience.

So, my Christmas vacation had its moments of new discoveries and experiences along with the familiar traditions and events.

But there is one thing I have wanted to do for a few years now.
Something so horrifying and outrageous that even my husband tells me, "No way." 
I know people who have tried it that say "never again."
My Xtreme desire?

To have just one meal at the Waffle House.

It's Xtreme, but YOLO!
LJ