Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Two Scoops. And A Little Blackberry Pie?

Today I was thinking about my book group from before parenthood. We read "important" books and sometimes went for months attacking themes such as labor rights, or women-writers-only, or women-writers-who-used-men's-names, or Shakespeare revisited, and on and on ad nauseum.

Then I got thinking about how these days I mostly read newspapers and popular fiction and parenting freak-out (otherwise known as self-help?) books. But my life is a lot, and I mean a lot, better:

That's Madeleine and a whole slew of neighbor farmkids at our community's annual ice cream social fundraiser for our rural fire department. The children (and lots of the men) use real fire hoses to play a sort of water tetherball, and a bucket truck gives rides up past the powerline in order to terrify the mothers, and of course there's copious amounts of homemade pie ala mode for $1.50 a bowl.

The pie was what made me move here. Sometimes I say it was the fact that our house was originally a country church, and sometimes I say it was the fact that the nearest Interstate is 15 miles away, and sometimes I say it was so I can hang my quilts out to dry without any pesky CC&Rs, but it was really the pie. (The same pie that ruined my 5K efforts. This week.)

The Ice Cream Social. Reason #403 not to post my precise whereabouts on the Internet.

At this year's gathering, we were still newbies since it's our third year here. But at least we're newbies who know a few of the old-timers well enough to shoot the bull about, well, Old Jack's bull. Who passed this year. It was a big topic of conversation at table six in the fire hall. He's looking for a good Angus, if you know anyone who's selling. AND we're the newbies who earlier this spring fixed a very important water valve protection box thingy. Well, that contribution was purely from the Eng-Gen-Eer, but I can take credit too. It's in our pre-nups.

You know what else is in our pre-nups? Not mentioning little sidetracked moments like that when one of us (okay, it's only ever me) fails to post an update on the progress of a little thing like a commitment that I (I mean, one of us) made at the inspiration of someone as cool as, say, Mrs. G.

Alright already! I didn't move my rear for squat this week. Ha ha, I didn't do any squats either. I spent quite a bit of time sweating over the huge change that centers on our homeschooling decision, but that kind of sweating doesn't count toward the 5K goal, now does it? And then I blew it completely by running away to the beach for a couple of days:

The side of that thing says "point of view" in raised letters. Ah. Luckily, or unluckily as the case may be, my point of view does not include a reduced rear this week. No matter how many times I twist around really quickly to see. And this is the very reason there will be no picture of said rear this week. Because it and the accompanying chub elsewhere on the body is pretty much exactly where it was a week ago, maybe with some extra company for warmth and companionship. But it all depends on your point of view. (If you are REALLY, REALLY far away from me, you can't tell.)

In fact, also this week I had a little health exam for life insurance. My blood pressure is excellent, I'll have you know. Also, cholesterol, lovely, check. But when it got down (up?) to the weight portion of the event, I found myself needing a paper bag to breathe through. Then I started explaining in a really fast-talking manner that I only just (Seven months ago. Hush.) gave birth to a baby. And then the (kind, sweet, paid-by-the-hour) nurse said I wasn't so far out of the acceptable weight range for my height.

And then she measured my height. Which, friends, is shorter than I reported on the form. Shorter than it says on my driver's license.


I think I need to run back to my favorite place to contemplate this turn of events. If only I could find a sponsor for another getaway to the coast. Possibly the fire department would be interested. I could ride in that open-air truck, and wave, and throw candy, like a 75-mile-long parade, all the way to the Sylvia Beach Hotel. It would be good for publicity, right? Every rural fire department is looking for a parade princess who's in her late 30s and a couple of inches shorter than she remembered.


Misty said...

If you find a sponsor, see if you can umbrella me in. We can justify it under the guise of "research" because I honestly do need to do some. (that displays my brilliance right there, doesn't it? I'm a rock star when it comes to doing things in the right order...)

Your ice cream social sounds delightful home townish though... Lovely!

Becca said...

remember this:

fat is not all bad

Grumpy Momma said...

Found your comment n Mrs. G's blog...isn't she great?

Everybody has a bad week...or in my case several...but this Derf is rooting for ya.I agree that pie is very dangerous...godd luck this coming week.

Barb said...

What are CC & Rs?

I have nothing like an ice cream social to blame my lack of achievement on.

Nor anything on which to blame my ending a sentence with a preposition.

I love me some blueberry pie, though.