Because it's March 31

I can't let a month slip by without a single post.  I think the blog would collapse into a black hole.

So what have I been doing?  Well, I've begun teaching yoga classes, three so far.  The first was canceled due to snow.  And tonight, on the last day of March, it was canceled again...due to snow.  I am more unhappy about the snow on March 31 than the cancellation...though that isn't thrilling me, I'd rather be safe. Given that I watched a car stall out trying to get up our hill I think the cancellation was wise.

So, the happy making stuff is we have reclaimed the extra bedroom.  Diana moved out back in August but Calypso claimed that room for a period of time until we could paint her room.  We had stripped the wall paper only about a decade ago.  One must not rush into such things as painting walls.  Anyway, we finally painted her room so she moved back into it and we reclaimed the last bedroom.

Mr. Lime declared an intended use for it and I may have mentioned I thought it would be nice to have dedicated yoga space because nothing harshes a good yoga vibe like having someone try to step over you while in lizard pose, or stoop under you to ask a question while in downward facing dog pose.  He said, as long as I moved all the books out of the den and into this room I could also use it for yoga space.  so that also meant I'd finally get all my books out of boxes and back on shelves where they belong.  Win/win!  Although it was going to require a hard weeding of the book collection to fit them into the new space.  This was also a job I wanted to happen so painful as it was I was glad for the motivation to get it done.  Here are the results with one shelf yet to be built and filled on the floor.  I nearly halved the collection.  I have since gone out and purchased six more books but no one should be stunned by this.






I began referring to the room as the yogabrary.  It made me very happy.  I had lots of space to move.  No one was walking in on me or over me or around me.  My books we out of boxes.  All was well.  Then I came home after a particularly aggravating day and had more happy making when I discovered this sign on the door....








 ....which flips to this when I want to be alone.  Mr. Lime gets it.  One day I was so stressed several of his jokes went right over my head.  He patted me on the hand and said, "It's ok dear, go breathe and do your yoga stuff." 









So I did...

 And then I did some more...

...and more...



















It was very relaxing.

I am a happy Lime.

This Gift Sucks!

In the over quarter century Mr. Lime and I have been a couple there have been many gifts exchanged for various occasions, be they birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries, Valentine's Day, Mother's or Father's Day, or on rare occasion, just because.  Now to be forthright here, we often do not exchange a gift for our anniversary because it is the week before Christmas.  We also tend not to exchange gifts for Valentine's Day because of it's proximity to Mr. Lime's birthday....but sometimes we do.

As you may imagine, sometimes the gifts have been things one or the other of us has longed for and all parties are happy upon receipt.  Other times the gift is a complete surprise which also brings joy.  Then there are the gifts that make the recipient wonder what thoughts went through the giver's mind during the selection process....indeed, were there any thoughts at all?  We've covered the full range.

Mr. Lime had another birthday this week.  I had a particular idea in mind but had not yet executed it due to snow storms and the size of the item I was considering and having no place to hide it.  However, the day before his birthday he announced he wanted one thing this year....well, ok...two.  First he wanted a box of Devil Dogs.  Gross, but ok if it's what you want.  The second item was astounding to me.  He declared repeatedly that this was what he wanted.  He stated in the presence of witnesses that should he receive the hoped for item he would use it with regularity.  Calypso added her voice to the chorus and emphatically seconded the motion as to desire and commitment to use.

Now to be sure, this gift is something that were it to be given from Mr. Lime to me there may be all sorts of accusations of thoughtlessness or anti-feminist sentiment.  However, the direction was reversed and this IS what he specifically asked for.

Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, I present to you Mr. Lime's birthday present.

Two Weeks*

Remember this post from January when I bemoaned the intended replacement of a shower door leading to the total gutting of my bathroom?  Just in case you forgot, here's a little reminder.  That's my shower after it was gutted to the studs and the floor was broken up.  It revealed even worse damage than what was behind the walls because the idiot who installed it nailed the sub-floor to the dryer vent allowing decades of moisture from the punctured vent to poor into the floor.  Mr. Lime says it was a miracle I didn't wind up falling through the floor.




It's been two weeks* since the work to strip down and rebuild the bathroom has begun.  It's still not done but we estimate it should be done in....two weeks.*  There were delays due to the unbelievably harsh winter.  For example, when you have to shovel two feet of snow off your roof, and then the neighbor's because they are overseas, it kind of wears you out for remodeling.  There was winter illness.  There was the need to completely re-plumb the house.  Little things, you understand.  Then a stretch of free weekends and a flurry of activity brought us to the point where Mr. Lime could finally spackle.  He hates to spackle.  He hates it almost as much as he hates painting.  Me?  I like to paint.  I don't spackle though.  He pretended there was no spackling to be done for a while.  He struggled through the first coat.  He begged a friend to do the second coat.  He sanded it....sort of.  Then he turned it over to me for painting because the only thing he hates more than spackling is painting.  He did enjoy building that nifty little built in shelf unit though.  It's made from local ash his friend milled.

As you can see in the picture above and in this picture, I painted.  I am given to extensive deliberation over paint colors but this time around I was pretty quick about it.  I opted for Woodrow Wilson Putty because nothing says bathroom luxury quite like conjuring images of the POTUS spackling my bathroom.  I've decided to give up on becoming a librarian.  The pay stinks. I'll need student loans.  I have to deal with the public.  I'm gonna find me a nice gig naming paint colors because I am pretty sure with names like Woodrow Wilson Putty they just sit around the pool drinking heavily while they sort paint chips.  Whaddya wanna call this faded yellow chip here?  How about Millard Fillmore Wax? 

Oh and check that medicine cabinet.  Mr. Lime recessed it for me even though it was supposed to be a wall mount.  I appreciated his indulgence in this matter.

Once I finished the priming and painting (and may I say I find it hard to believe someone finds plumbing preferable because painting is a zen thing for me) I turned the room back over to Mr. Lime.  Today he put the ceramic tile floor in. It's starting to look almost like a bathroom instead of a nightmare.  It should be done in two weeks.*















*The term "two weeks" should not be taken literally.  It should be regarded as an estimate for an indeterminate amount of time which could be greater than or less than two calendar weeks, in fact, it is best to just disregard any calendar at all and assume a span of time which may best be characterized by the term "era."  Failure to release any and all expectations regarding estimates of completion date may lead to hypertension, stroke, outbursts of rage, existential crisis, hallucinations, severe nostril cramps, hammertoes, alopecia, simple chronic hallitosis, and irritable spouse syndrome. 

Woody's Appearance

 Mr. Lime has long had a contentious relationship with the squirrels in our yard.  The birds are a different story.  He has built bird feeders and checked into which kinds of seeds attract which birds.  This winter he added a couple of suet feeders dangling from the main feeder.  They have attracted several woodpeckers, which have been especially fun to see a bit closer as the feeder is just outside out living room window.  With so many snow days recently I've had time to play with Boom-boom.  I hit the jackpot this week and caught three different species in one morning.  Here is a female Red-bellied Woodpecker.  She's about the size of a hefty cardinal.

 Next up we have a male Downy Woodpecker.  When I was taking the pictures they were flitting around so quickly I thought this was the same bird as the one above.  It wasn't until I got the pictures off the camera that I was able to see it was a different species and gender.  Sorry, fellow.

Here's another shot of the Downy Woodpecker that shows the markings more clearly.  Mr. Lime tells me identifying these as different from the Hairy Woodpecker is a challenged as the markings are so similar but the main thing is the beak length.  Apparently Hairy Woodpeckers have beaks as long as their heads.  I'll refrain from comments correlating beaks and other bits. You may thank me later.




Here is the bird I never imagined I'd be able to capture with Boom-boom, the Pileated Woodpecker.  This is a female.  We've heard them in the neighborhood for years and every once in a  great while we have a fleeting glimpse of one as it flits through the trees.  They are shy creatures.  Since we put up the suet feeders the Pileateds have dared to come closer to the house.  I was thoroughly excited when this girl clung to the suet feeder for a good long time so I could play paparazzi.

And now, gentle reader I shall share a story from about 8 years ago, which was shared way back then on a long since defunct blog I shared with another blogger.  I figure it's unlikely any of you have read that.

One weekend, since there was much sickness in the house, we watched a lot of movies. During one movie scene a particular character referred to another one as a "pecker." The entire family, save Isaac giggled. Not wanting to miss any of the humor, my then 10 year old son asked what was so funny.

I informed him that pecker was slang for penis. He laughed, then paused to think and came back with, "So, that really makes woodpecker a funny name for a bird."

I replied, "Yep, and even more so when you consider that "wood" is slang for an erection." He doubled over laughing. Mr. Lime became disgusted with the entire conversation and told me I was being inappropriate.

I intoned the poor boy would be forced to learn the alternate meanings for "bird" on the school bus.

Yes, I am that mother.

Conspiracy Theory

We live in the woods, on an acre of land.  Our neighbors all have spacious lots as well.  There is also an unbuildable lot adjacent to ours.  And trees.  There are LOTS of trees, mostly oak.  In addition to flowers and shrubs which people so graciously provide as buffets for the local deer, acorns are a prized delicacy for deer.  All this is to say, space + food sources = deer in our neck of the woods.

This does not make us unhappy because you may recall we like to eat venison.  Mr. Lime, Diana, and Isaac do not have to travel far to find places to hunt.  In fact, although we cannot use rifles in our neighborhood, there is an area where bow and arrow can safely be used.  It just so happens to match up to the area where our kids' tree house was built when we moved here a decade ago.  Imagine that.

Normally, my band of fearless hunters get doe tags when they apply for their hunting licenses because for us it's about the meat rather than the trophy.  That's not to say we'll pass up a buck that walks within range but if a doe suitably sized for filling the freezer wanders by first that's what they go for.  This year, they were slow in applying for doe tags so they are limited to only being able to take bucks.  It increases the challenge since 50% of the population is now forbidden.

Sunday morning Mr. Lime dragged me to the window to show me the herd of does that had invaded our back yard.  It's been years since we've seen that many in our yard at once....and close enough to nearly pet them if we stood on the back porch.  Next he called Diana to the window.  Here then is the conversation that passed between them.

Him: Can you believe how many there are?  When's the last time you saw that here?

Her: Never.

Him: They know.  I swear those stupid things know I can't do anything to them.

Her: Yep. They have calenders.  They know it's Sunday. (No hunting on Sunday)

Him: They know I don't have a doe tag too.

Her: Assholes.  They tell each other.

Him:  I'm sure they have cellphones too.

Trying to Cure the Crankies

It's been a helluva week.  That last post is the tip of the iceberg.  Yes, even with its vast detail of my work activities, it's just a hint.  Work has been thoroughly frustrating.  I could rant at length but I'm trying to get out of rant mode.

More aggravating than being at work and dealing with the fools determined to send the school district crashing into the iceberg like the Titanic, is sitting at home unable to do much more than alternate ice bags and heat packs on my lower back and sacroiliac. It's been such a joy what with the intense pain every damn time I try to move and not being able to get outside in the gorgeous fall weather to enjoy a hike....or even just stay in my own back yard and do some yoga to help myself chill the heck out...or hell, just SIT and not feel like my lumbar spine is going to erupt.  Unrelenting pain is just such a joy.

I'm not a happy girl this week.  I'm throwing myself quite the pity party, aren't I?  Wah wah wah...

Ok, so I'll share what I was doing last weekend because it was a pretty swell time for the most part.  Last weekend I was busy turning 45.  Woohoo!  My dear pal, Gwennie, had reserved two spots for us, on my actual birthday, at a chocolate cooking class at some wellness center she goes to.  I was admittedly just a teeny bit suspect at the venue for such decadence but she knows me well enough to know I can't resist chocolate.

Last Saturday we were off to class.  After introductions it was explained that all the recipes were designed to be gluten free and mostly dairy free as well as organic and other forms of nutritional goodness that generally translate into food being less than fabulous.  I looked over the packet of recipes and found avocado figuring prominently in a couple of recipes.  Avocado is not my favorite.  There were chocolate mint smoothies with spinach.  Now I love spinach...but in smoothies?  I dunno.

After some briefing on the ingredients we were split into teams of two to produce various recipes.  At the end of the morning we'd all taste each other's handiwork.  Since it was my birthday it was determined that Gwen and I should make the cake recipe.  They were also kind enough to adapt one of the smoothie recipes to substitute avocado and apple for the banana since banana has this habit of making my tongue swell until I can't breathe.  It was very thoughtful of them not to want me dead.

Now you have to understand Gwen and me.  She and I are very different in many ways.  One venue in which this is quite evident is the kitchen.   She has participated in my annual Christmas cookie insanity and has alternated between calling me the Cookie Nazi and the Cookie Goddess.  I'm not a Nazi or a Goddess but there is some need for efficiency when producing between 75-100 dozen cookies within 2 or 3 days.  Also, with regard to the Christmas cookies, I am making recipes that are family favorites so I don't muck around with the ingredients.  I know what works.  Other recipes I muck with, not my cookies.  Gwen, on the other hand figures as long as most of the listed ingredients wind up in the same bowl and get mixed together it's all good. 

We were to bake a cake together, using a new recipe with far from traditional ingredients, after being told to halve the recipe as it was printed.  Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, I submit to you, this is the sort of thing that could further cement our love or end the relationship.  Fortunately we were able to breathe and laugh at each other through this particular challenge.  Imagine if you will, me measuring the dry ingredients into one bowl while Gwen measured the wet into another....well measured the original amounts then fished half of the partially mixed wet ingredients out since we were supposed to halve the recipe.  She's got degrees in psychology.  I suspect she may have been setting me up to see how well I coped with this on turf other than my own.  I went to the microwave to heat some water is how I coped. 

Once we got the batter all mixed it became apparent that we had still managed to get twice the amount of fats into the otherwise halved recipe.  I wondered how this recipe was going to turn out since it was made with some bizarre flour I've never used before and the proportions were off.  Into the oven it went while we made the filling and the frosting.  Oh, and I licked all the bowls.  Gwen loves me and it was my birthday so she said I got the beaters and scrapers all to myself if I wanted.  She is indulgent of what child-like behavior I cling to. 

I indulged her own child-like glee in a high-tech ionizing squirt bottle that allegedly makes water a disinfectant. She was enamored of the gadget so I found things for her to spritz and wipe up.  She was happy. The place was clean.  The teacher was happy.  The cake needed to be removed from its pan but was sticking.  She asked what to do.  I said let it cool more and her inner child was displeased by having to wait.  When a few more minutes passed and it turned out of the pan with ease she said, "I told you all that was needed was a little patience."  I almost spritzed her but instead we laughed at our respective kitchen personalities.

Finally it was time to taste everything.  I have to tell you I was truly surprised in the best way.  the cake was yummy and I would not have thought it was made from anything strange.  There was an equally tasty cookie recipe.  The smoothie, although it was kind of a sickening shade of drab green, was one I would make again.  There was fudge that was edible but not impressive to me.  The recipe that was truly stunning was a chocolate "pudding."  Instead of milk thickened by cooking it was made with pureed avocado.  It was one of the recipes I found revolting to read but I have to say...it was DELICIOUS!  Color me pleasantly surprised.

Since we started with dessert, Gwen and I followed with a lunch of veggies at a cute little place nearby.  Then I went home and was welcomed by Mr. Lime, the Limelets, and a house ready for more birthday celebration.  The table had been set with the nice china.  Diana surprised me with my favorite wine and a birthday hat I was required to wear.  Calypso made a fabulous veggie lasagna and chocolate chip cake (of the traditional variety).  Mr. Lime and Isaac had exchanged the old fridge in the basement with the one formerly in the kitchen as I had been asking for some time since the door shelves kept falling off the kitchen fridge unless the door was opened VERY carefully, in spite of significant reinforcement by duct tape. (We are classy folks here.)

It was a happy day with gorgeous weather, good food, and loving friends and family.  I was feeling the love and basking in the glow. For the drive home I took the scenic side roads to enjoy the fall foliage and enjoy some quiet time.  I'm pretty sure Hugh Jackman and I were sending each other good vibes on our shared birthday too.

And it was the 8th anniversary of this blog.  I never imagined where this thing would go 8 years ago.  I reflected on the amazing friends I've been blessed with both in 3-D life and through this crazy little world of ours, friends who carried me through some dark days over those 8 years.  It was a very good day all the way around and I was grateful.

Communion

Over a year ago I left the church I had attended and been heavily involved in for 18 years.  For a very long time before my departure I had opted not to participate in communion services partly because I was unable to be at peace with the leadership of the congregation. No one forbade me.  I made that choice myself.  I've looked around for a new house of worship and during my recent health crisis I settled in at one for the duration of that experience.  I'm not sure I'll stay there long term but it suited my need for some stability during the insanity that was dealing with cancer while working at a new job.  I'm still looking but I also still drop in there from time to time.  This Sunday was one of those times and  Mr. Lime came with me this week.

It was World Communion Sunday and it was made clear membership was not a prerequisite so we participated.  There were spiritual aspects to this service which affirmed my decision to leave my former church, not that I was in need of that but it's still a good feeling to have the instinct reinforced.  It should be noted that Mr. Lime and Isaac continue to attend the church I have left.  This causes certain observers of our family no end to the consternation.  Ok, really, it just blows their circuitry completely, mainly because they are extremely conservative, and I have clearly gone off the deep end, and why isn't Mr. Lime reining me in better?  Yes, really.  Actually, it's been a very good thing for our family in general and our partnership specifically since I have gone my own way.  That piece of information simply does not compute at all when the already confounded folks hear it....but I digress....not only in matters of faith, but in keeping to the main point of this piece.

Where were we?  Ah yes, in the pew on this lovely Sunday morning, listening to a message before communion wherein the pastor made reference to the movie A League of Their Own.  He continued his remarks with the comment, "Perhaps you recall the line..."  I looked at Mr. Lime and whispered, "Avoid the clap. Jimmy Dugan."  The pastor finished his sentence with, "...'There's no crying in baseball!'"  Mr. Lime responded to my wisecrack with, "Rogers Hornsby was my manager and he called me a talking pile of pighsit.  And did I cry?"  Then we both tried to stop laughing at each other so the pew would stop shaking and the little old ladies on the other end wouldn't be annoyed by us.

Sitting next to Mr. Lime in church laughing together, albeit somewhat irreverently, rather than gritting my teeth through a message that grinds against my core convictions about the nature of Christian charity and its expression was a moment of its own communion, one I had long since forgotten could exist.

Isn't It Romantic?

Calypso and Diana were discussing the show Game of Thrones when Calypso swooningly made mention of how one character referred affectionately to his wife as Moon of my Life.  I snorted and remarked that it sounded like she bared her buttocks derisively to her husband to have earned such a pet name.  Calypso was annoyed by my interpretation.  Mr. Lime was inspired and told me I was the hemorrhoid of his butt.  I smiled sweetly and cooed how he was the pus of my pimple.  We were off an running.  Allow me to share the list of other terms of endearment we swapped as we gazed lovingly across the living room.

He is the eye crust of my morning.

I am the scab of his kneecap.

He is the wax of my ear.

I am the snot of his cold.

He is the flake of my eczema.

I am the cavity of his tooth.

He is dandruff of my scalp.

I am the fungus of his feet.

He is the ingrown nail of my toe.

I am the lint of his navel.

He is the stink of my armpit.

I am the canker sore of his lip.



With that our daughters groaned in complete revulsion and left the room...which is more or less the reaction a big, wet smooch used to get when they were younger.  Some people just have no sense of romance.

This Can't Be

Mr. Lime has been an athlete his entire life.  Soccer, baseball, softball, long distance running, and bicycling have been his main pursuits but he has played a myriad of other sports in other capacities.  He has coached soccer our entire married life and Little League, basketball, swimming,  and cross country at various times over the decades.  He is well-versed in coaxing the best out of his players in spite of injury, disability, or lack of any appreciable skill.  That's not to say his teams all have winning records.  Most notable among the Charlie Brown-esque teams is the junior high girls' basketball team he has coached for years.  He is the first to admit he's working with very little in terms of skill level of players or even knowledge of the basics of the game.  Yet he is generally regarded with respect and affection by players and their parents because he is a fair coach who stresses developing skills properly, being sportsmanlike, and enjoying the game.

He married me.  I am decidedly non-athletic.  In PE I was always among the last two to be chosen for a team (the kid with Downs syndrome was frequently chosen before me). My own father has called me athletically declined.  I was cajoled into joining an intramural volleyball team in college and very nearly asked not to participate by the Christian fellowship I represented after I demonstrated my lack of prowess by repeatedly hitting myself in the face with the ball when I tried to return it (yes, my lack of skill apparently strains even Christian charity).  I drove a previous boyfriend to rage with my inability to connect a golf club with the ball on the tee.  (In my defense he had a rage problem anyway...).  Early in our marriage, Mr. Lime wanted me to learn to play tennis so we could play together.  He gave up on teaching me because he was still young enough to be in the mode of wanting a partner who'd actually provide some level of competition and I was struggling just to get the ball over the net.  I like to think I helped him develop patience with his younger players who display ineptitude.  In a rare instance of displaying a superior skill set, I was far more nimble a rock climber than he was and much less daunted by narrow ledges.  (He was still young enough to want competition but without being dominated regularly so that didn't go very well either at the time.  He's come around since then.)

So we have a jock married to someone who feels pleased when she can walk upright and not trip while carrying a load of groceries.  This continued for over twenty years.  I did have some successes with weird pursuits such as fencing because I learned it along with a class full of people who had no more experience than I did.  What I lacked in athletic ability I made up for in ferocity.  I did well in the class tournament until I was up against a guy who was a foot taller than I was and whose reach exceeded my own considerably.  I had no idea how to contend with that.  Otherwise I was undefeated.  That experience was short-lived dude to lack of opportunity to continue.  It was also a serious anomaly in my fledgling attempts at anything resembling physical endeavors.

Ten months ago I discovered yoga.  I loved it from the first class even when it revealed great weaknesses and deficiencies on my part.  This was due to seeing a wide variety of body types present in my classes and even among my teachers, including bodies few would regard as athletic.  It was further aided by a core message of yoga, that of being able to accept oneself and observe one's state accurately but without negative judgement.  That was a novel but very reassuring perspective which stood in stark contrast to the hyper-competitive mindset so prevalent in organized sports.  It also differed from the no pain/no gain attitude, which was always pushed on me by my former chiropractor and boss but has never served me well when I was trying to recover from back injuries and attempting to regain some strength.  With yoga I've been able to accept where I was beginning and gently move toward greater strength and flexibility.

I felt I had made some real strides before surgery but of course had to return to yoga with great care during my recovery.  It was humbling to have to go back to the beginning but again I was reminded of non-judgemental observation, letting my ego go.  I was surprised when a classmate asked me after class one day if I was ok because she noticed I was taking it so easy and "you've always been so strong in class."  I thanked her for her concern and explained I was recovering from surgery but inside I was stunned to hear someone describe me in a way that suggested noticeable ability.  A later class involved a particular focus that felt really comfortable and the teacher encouraged me to challenge myself more deeply.  As she led me to do so and it went well she remarked that she wished these poses were so easy for her.  Mind you, this woman can physically kick my butt without trying and had done so the week before.  I was shocked to hear she envied something I could do in yoga.

This week when I came home from a particular class Mr. Lime, as is his practice, asked me how things went.  I said it was an enjoyable class and that I was surprised to find I was not struggling as much with the particular focus we had this week because I could remember how achingly hard these particular poses were when I began.  I could recall not being able to hold them for even half the time we were asked to do so and having to modify a lot but that today I could do so much more than I ever would have expected I'd be able to do...especially with all I've gone through medically in the last few months.  I said it was a good feeling to have come this far even though there's still a lot more ground I haven't even considered yet.  He half-smiled/half-smirked as I went on.  I asked him what that look was for.  He patted my shoulder reassuringly knowing I'd need to have it broken to me gently as he said, "What you're experiencing...it's called athleticism."

I gasped in disbelief, "Say it isn't so!"

The Part Where I Reveal My Neurosis and Inability to Keep Track of Time

So, um, yeah, I thought I posted this before I went to Maryland for a week of beach convalescence but apparently I forgot that button that says "publish."  We're gonna chalk it up to post-surg brain augmented by needing to run around like a loony trying to get all the last minute details attended to before Isaac went to Haiti and  Mr.  Lime took Diana to Georgia to visit his mother.  Then there was that bit where Isaac never got his shots and Mr. Lime's mother wound up in the hospital right before they arrived at her house and I was trying to make sure I had enough clean underwear for a week away from home.  Yeah, so um, if I worried anyone with my lack of posting sorry about that.  Here's what you were supposed to see....just to demonstrate my mind is still as whacked as ever.

Scene: over a week after surgery, Lime and her husband sit on the couch.

Her: My incision really itches.

Him: Well, take off those steri-strips.

Her: I can't do that.

Him: Why?

Her:  My neck will fall out.

Him:  The doctor just told you today they could come off.

Her:  She said I could start helping them loosen.  She didn't say rip 'em off like a bandaid.

Him: (incredulous) What?  We can't have anything with labels in this house because you peel them off as soon as you find them but you won't pull the strips off your neck?

Her:  Right, because my neck will fall out.  I have exquisite self-control under such circumstances.

Him: (rolling eyes and sighing) You neck will not fall out. Get them off.  Get some air on it.  They itch because they can't breathe.

Her: They itch because they are healing.  It can't heal if my neck falls out.

Him: You are insane.

Her: Which is why you love me.


The good news is I eventually took the strips off a couple days later and my neck didn't fall out.  However, I am still working on groovy stories for the scar.  Before the surgery when I thought the incision would be bigger I thought I'd tell people I tangled with the mafia and won.  I've also decided I may draw eyes and nose above it and ad fangs coming out of it like it's a mouth and call it Sid.  My kids have been calling me Frankenmom and Mr. Lime has been calling me Frankenwife so for Halloween I will surely need to attach bolts to the side of my neck.  Please feel free to leave your own suggestions as to bad ass or amusing stories for my scar.

To My Son on Father's Day

Yes, Isaac, I mean you, even though you are only seventeen, even though you are not a father.  You're a good kid.  For that I am grateful.  It makes me proud when you behave maturely and when people comment on what a considerate, kind, respectful, and hardworking guy you are.  But you are seventeen and you do have your moments.  We all did at that age.  Yes, your father and I did too.

Which brings me to your father.  When he was a little younger than you are now his world was completely rocked, turned upside down in ways that seem inconceivable.  If you saw them on TV you'd laugh at the implausibility, and yet, this was his reality.  You've grown up knowing it was his reality but really only in a theoretical sense.  To you it is just a fact that carries no real emotional weight and that's understandable.  For your father it is the great and overwhelming sadness that colored his world forever.  It destroyed some of the people he should have been able to rely on, leaving him bereft of support when he needed it most.  It damaged him, but it did not destroy him.  That is important for you to understand.  It did not destroy him.  And he did resolve to do better than what was done for him.

You and your dad go head to head sometimes, in ways you never have until recently.  I know this is not unusual for fathers and sons, though please understand I also lacked an example of "normal" and "healthy" where fathers and sons were concerned so sometimes I am unsure of how to respond.  I know you are a sensitive young man.  You are quiet and always thinking, always processing. I know that the conflict is painful.  I know you want things to be better.  Your dad does too and so do I. 

Here is what I want you to know and remember.  Your dad and I both had fathers who let us dangle in detrimental ways as we were growing up...but we both actively sought to be at peace with them, in spite of their imperfections and in some cases, willfully harmful decisions.  We didn't do so by enabling bad decisions from them or being willing to be subjected to continued harm.  We did set some boundaries and we did find ways to forgive and to build something better.  In some cases the response we got was a similar effort.  In other cases, not so much.  Sometimes people can change, sometimes they opt not to.  But we have to be willing to do our part in seeking and creating peace.

You and I have discussed how to make peace.  I am deeply grateful that you trust me when you are feeling hurt.  I have seen you try to put into practice things I have suggested.  I have seen you enjoy some fruit in so doing.  I've also seen bad days when you and your father just continue in stubbornness. 

I know you alternate between despising and being perplexed by some of your father's exhortations.  I admit to being surprised by some of them.  Understand they are sincere because they are hard won lessons he has learned.  Some of these lessons are recent to him and so you are inclined to judge him as hypocritical because it's not what you grew up seeing demonstrated before you.  He is trying very hard to pass those lessons on to you now because he realizes the mistakes he has made in the past. 

On this Father's Day I want to encourage you.  I want to remind you he loves you and wants a relationship with you even if his way of expressing it is clumsy. He has worked hard to redeem the name his own father besmirched so you need not be ashamed of it the way he has been.  He has given to you things he himself never received.  Your dad has already chosen to do better by you than his dad did by him in a myriad of ways. 

Happy Mother's Day

 For Mother's Day one of my requests was to be able to take some family pictures.  We usually do that on Easter but folks were flung in all different directions.  My family indulged me on Sunday.  Aren't they a lovely looking bunch?

We all get a bit bored with traditional, everybody say, "Cheese!" pictures. So we decided to get some good actions shots.  What?  You don't canoe in your moss covered front yard?  Well, I can't help it if you lack a sense of adventure.

We needed to practice looking our best.

I wanted Calypso to be well-groomed so I decided to emulate a proper chimpanzee mother.










Diana found the whole process very tiring.

Isaac is 6'3" now.  I needed to squish him down a bit to fit him in the frame with shrimpy little me.










Everybody ready?  Smile!

Oooh, look what some smiles and a black and white filter does for this bunch.

Endurance to Overcome

I am not a runner.  I never have been.  I don't expect I ever will be.  To me, running is a form of torture.  It it endless, pounding torment and an inability to breathe.

Mr. Lime is a runner.  He has been a runner since he was a teenager.  He has run more races than I can count, two of them have been marathons.   For him, running is sanity.  It is how he clears his head after a long day at work.  It is where he finds peace.

I freely admit I was not in the least bit happy when he decided to run his first marathon because I was an at-home mom with three young children and Mr. Lime was already very busy with work and volunteer activities.  The training regimen to prepare for a marathon was, to my way of thinking, just more time away from home for him when I was already feeling rather desperate for a break.

I also admit I did not have an inkling what running meant to my husband until the day came when he could not do so.  Then I understood clearly that this activity was what made him fit to live with.  I am happy to say he was able to recover from that which prevented his running and get back on the road. It keeps him healthy both physically and mentally.

Over the years he has coached a number of different sports and Isaac has played several as well.  It has been interesting to note the personality tendencies among different sports or among positions within a given sport.  Perhaps to those who have always been athletically inclined this is all quite obvious, but for me, the non-athlete, the one who avoided organized and competitive sports it has been a revelation.

I've grown to understand that runners are a different breed, marathoners especially so.  Over the years so many of the races Mr. Lime has entered have been connected to the benefit of a charity in order to raise money for research and awareness within the community.  I don't have any actual figures but I can't think of any other competitive sport that would so consistently have such events in such great proliferation.  Charity games may occasionally be organized within other sports but so often they are mere exhibitions if they occur at all.  And believe me, I'm all for that, make no mistake.  It's just that if you're looking to see real competition don't expect it in a charity baseball game because the players aren't going to want to risk being injured for their real games.

Another difference is the more egalitarian aspect of races.  You'll find elite world-class athletes who have teams of professionals coaching them running in the same race as guys like Mr. Lime who train themselves, as well as people who run under adverse conditions such as various "disabilities"  (I use the term loosely because if you manage to complete 26.2 miles you're doing better than many able-bodied folks).  Of course, Mr. Lime and the others aren't going to give the elites a run for their money but they will run the same course at the same time and cross the same finish line.

There is also the respect between runners.  The fiercest competitors may actually be training partners and though they give it their all there is often a genuine happiness for whoever has won because they understand what was required to get through a long distance race.  Although it is a solitary activity and competition there is a community that emerges from enduring the endless road hours in preparation through all sorts of awful weather, through injury and illness, through your own mental roadblocks, and sometimes through the disapproval of the people around you.

I don't know any of this from personal experience because I'd rather crawl over broken glass than run.  I know it from observing my husband and others like him.  And so, from observing both his character and the character of other runners I've known, I was deeply touched, but not at all surprised, to see during the London Marathon this weekend a massive crowd stood in silence before the race to remember the victims of the Boston Marathon Bombing and that so many of the runners held their hand over their heart as they crossed the finish line to honor the same victims.  May those victims find similar endurance to overcome the obstacles in their paths.

Snow Day vs. Snow Delay

We live where there are mountains and where snow days are a regular occurrence.  I now work in a school district in a far lower elevation and at a more southern location, hence there is less severe weather there.  Today Mr. Lime and Isaac had a snow day.  I only had a two hour delay.  I was a little envious of their chance to stay home in front of the fire as I drove out into the muck (fortunately our road was plowed in time for me to go to work otherwise I can not get down the hill we live on).

In the middle of my day I received a text message reading, "Hope you're having a good day at work," with the following picture.

Understanding that this was a not so subtle attempt to get a rise out of me I responded, "I'm having a great day because I know having all three of you at home while I am at work means I will return to a spotless house with dinner already in the works."

Since Calypso has been doing some of the cooking I didn't think much of the follow up question as to what was to be cooked for dinner.  However, I continued on my theme of unrealistic expectations and said the menu should be French onion soup followed by a spinach salad with a light vinaigrette.  The entree should be crab cakes with roasted fingerling potatoes and steamed veggies.  Dessert was to be a warm chocolate lava cake.  Of course I assumed I'd be getting nothing of the sort.

When I arrived, the house had been vacuumed and de-cluttered and the bathroom had been cleaned.  Dinner involved frozen crab cakes, spinach salad, baked potatoes........and chocolate lava cake.

It was a very nice surprise and made schlepping off through the slush and muck kind of worth it.

Overheard at Chez Lime

During a family movie night at home...

Me to Isaac:  Give me a foot rub, please.

Isaac: No way!

Mr. Lime:  I don't like footrubs.

Me:  Are you kidding?  Who doesn't like foot rubs?  I love foot rubs.

Calypso: I like back rubs.

Mr. Lime: I like scrotal rubs.

Isaac: I like nipple rugs...er rubs....

Mr. Lime: Wow, just imagine a rug of nipples.

Isaac: I think a wall of them would be cool...or a nipple bed.

Me:  Bed of nipples instead of a bed of nails?

Isaac:  Oh yeah!  Or make a beanbag chair out of a giant nipple.


Ah, yes, things devolve quickly around here...

Slice of Lime-Redneck Woman

Mr. Lime, Diana, and Isaac are all hunters.  I am glad they are because having a freezer full of nice lean, organic venison is so much cheaper and healthier than buying beef all year.  Mr. Lime got a deer during archery season which takes place earlier in the Fall.  Hence, there was a little less pressure for him to get one during rifle season which starts the Monday after Thanksgiving. 

Once he got his first deer he began asking me to accompany him to the woods.  I can't hunt since I don't have a license but I am allowed to sit with him.  Of course, that necessitates dressing the part.  Orange is required for safety and many warm layers are required to prevent frostbite.  Sitting very still and quiet is not exactly conducive to warmth.  I finally gave in and went with him last weekend. 

Decked out in camo, orange, and oversized, insulated coveralls (complete with bloodstains!) with Mr. Lime and Isaac in their respective gear, I commented that I looked like one third of Larry, Darryl, and Darryl.   They assured me I looked like the dullest member of that trio.  We walked to the tree stand and Mr. Lime sent me up the ladder then joined me.  Next he told me he wanted me to hold his gun.  I did so while looking out where he said the deer path was when he snapped this with his phone.  He thought it might help convince me to get my hunting license if I saw myself looking all official.

Well, it was nice to be invited to the inner sanctum of his hunting world but I gotta say I much prefer cooking the venison in a nice warm kitchen to sitting in a cold tree stand waiting for the deer to walk within range...not to mention preferring the smell of curried venison to that of doe estrus "cologne" designed to attract the bucks.  That is truly foul.

But hey, I look the part, right?

More Power

Many years ago Mr. Lime purchased a Makita 12" sliding compound miter saw similar to the one above.  When he brought it home and unloaded it he caressed it lovingly, cooed at it, and declared it better than sex.  I arched a single eyebrow at him as I responded, "If it's dangerous teeth you want, all you have to do is ask."  He was disinclined to accept my offer.

Today, I worked with him to help build a large deck around a pool.  It's the first time in the many years he has owned this thing that I was allowed to use it.  It was groovy and I liked being able to cut through a pressure treated 4x4 like warm butter but I'd like to state unequivocally and quite emphatically, it was NOT better than sex.  However, sitting on a board while he cut it with a circular saw was mildly arousing.

PSA for the Gents

I am picky about the toiletries I use, mainly because I have sensitive skin and I am inclined to reactions to harsh detergents and chemicals.  Artificial fragrances and perfumes make me crawl right out of my skin.  Consequently, the toiletries I buy tend to be a bit pricier...though for the life of me I don't understand why natural ingredients are more expensive than a bunch of synthetic chemical compounds.

As a bit of background it should be noted that during the last shopping trip I purchased a different brand of bar soap because there was a significant savings over what I normally buy. Mr. Lime informed me that he was not a fan of the new soap. I asked if it was because of the relative lack of lather compared to what I bought before. He shook his head and replied, "Nope. The old stuff makes my balls tingle. This stuff doesn't." Isaac concurred and agreed with a serious preference for the "tingle effect."  They went on to recount an encounter with a particular body wash someone left in the shower when they were on a group trip and housed in a guy's dorm.  The owner of said body wash bemoaned how quickly it ran out, at which point, about four different guys spanning several decades in age admitted using it for the amazing and..erm...invigorating...sensations on one's manly bits.

Honestly, I have never had Dr. Bronner's Magic All-One Peppermint Soap, or any other soap for that matter,  make any part of my anatomy tingle....of course, I also lack external gonads. Aside from it being natural and not making me breakout, I like it because I'm not a morning person and the smell kind of helped me wake up in the shower.  So for the....uh....edification...of my male readers I thought I'd pass along that little gem in case any of you need that extra pick me up in your daily shower.

I guess now we know what the "magic" is all about.

Oh Hell No!

Hell No #1

So Mr. Lime, Isaac, and I went out for dinner.  The waitress came to take our drink order.  Mr. Lime ordered a Guinness.  I ordered a hard cider.  The waitress looked at Isaac and asked what he wanted.  He was flipping around in the menu trying to find where they listed the sodas they had available.  He could not find it.  The waitress reached over and handed my 16 year old son the cocktail menu.  Being either relatively innocent or trying to make sure he didn't get in trouble he began looking in there for the soda menu.  The waitress began showing him where the beer listing was.  Finally, Mr. Lime interjected with some firmness, "He'll have a ROOT BEER."  Isaac looked up in his consternation and added with relief, "Yeah, root beer.  I like root beer.  That's what I'd like. Thank you."

His father an I were looking at each other in incredulity.  Granted Isaac is 6'2" and often passes for older than 16 but he does still have a face full of pimples...and we live in a college town...where underage drinking can be an issue...so most restaurants card anyone who appears to be under 30.  Isaac finally noticed our surprised expressions and gave an innocent, "What?  What's going on?"  I informed him that the waitress seemed to think he was legal to drink.  Isaac was deflated to realize he had missed what he thought was a golden opportunity.


Hell No #2

During the same dinner I ordered my second pint of hard cider.  I am not a heavy or even frequent drinker by any stretch of the imagination but I do know how to pace myself so I don't often get tipsy and very rarely get drunk.  Mr. Lime has seen me legless only twice in 25 years.  However, this was less than a week after surgery and halfway through my second pint I noted with surprise that I was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol.  Given that I had been sipping not slurping and that I had food in my stomach I surmised I was still working out some of the drugs in my system if it were hitting me this quickly and stated my intention to slow down.  Isaac was piqued.  "You're drunk?" I told him I was feeling the effects but not trashed.

"Well chug it, Mom!  I want to see you drunk!"

"Not on your life, boy."

"Dad, have you ever seen Mom drunk?  What's she like?"

I arched a single eyebrow at Mr. Lime suggesting he choose his words carefully as I remembered that the second time he saw me completely blasted was only last summer and that the friends we were with found it so hilarious they are still talking about it.  He just smiled and said, "Happy.  She's just a reeeeeeaaally happy drunk."  Which is true and all the boy ever needs to know.

Overheard at House of Lime

SETTING: Isaac and a friend enter the house and begin a conversation in the foyer.  Lime is in the dining room.  Mr. Lime is in the kitchen.  Both parents are within earshot of the teens.  There is a small box of the cremated remains of Grandpa in the foyer.  Unbeknownst to Lime, in the foyer there is also a large box of ashes from the fireplace.



Isaac's friend: (regarding fireplace remnants) Is that kitty litter?

Isaac: No, those are ashes.

Mr. Lime: (with some level of irritation hinting at Isaac's dereliction of duty) Those were supposed to be dumped in the woods.

Lime: (incredulously) What?! I thought you were taking your dad to Harrisburg next week???

(Dead silence then questioning looks all around the room as Lime comes out to challenge the preposterous expectations.)


Mr. Lime: (flatly) Uh, I was referring to the fireplace ashes I asked Isaac to dump this afternoon.  They're in the foyer.  (suddenly inspired)  However, you're idea might not be such a bad one...