out run...

Oh My God... what in the name of all that is holy was I thinking!

I hope you people with your glowing words of encouragement, while snickering behind your coffee cups, have not put any discretionary funds on this endeavor.

A former runner gave me a workout program, to use as a format for getting in shape to run the 5K. Downloading the program was the easy part.

First day of training:

Couldn't find my vest of many pockets to pack my phone, my glasses, Willie's dp bags, my little Sig, three mags, my knife, water bottle, first aide kit, and a tube of lip balm. Finally uncovered it and loaded up. There will be no photos, use your imagination.

Put Willie on his lead, and headed out.

Not too bad the first 5 minutes...

Then controlled breathing goes to a loud wheezing, gasping sound.  A thoughtful neighbor asks if he needs to call the EMT's, there is no air to answer, so I just shake my head, No!  He salutes me with his coffee cup to hide his laughter.

The girls are not at all happy about the darn sports bra, they prefer free range lounging pj's.

The ankle I tore up as a kid, has decided it really doesn't care to do this, and will protest by alternating between muscle spasms and shooting pain.

Willie has lost all sense of how to behave on a lead. He does not seem to comprehend that if I fall on him, he is done for.

Our neighborhood is in the hills, hills go up & down... a lot. Thank goodness for kegels. Kegels are our friends when we are far from home.

As we are headed back, I smell someone BBQing brauts, wait, it's early in the morning... hmmm.

According to the Jackwagon running program there is a day off between workouts so your body can rest. Rest!?!  How about heal the heck up.

  

TBT: Granny...

Way back... My Granny H at 12 in Dakota territory.

She was the best granny! A wonderful school teacher, she started out teaching in a small one room school house, and lived with the families of her students.  An awesome seamstress, she made beautiful tailored wool coats for all of us grandkids, and flannel jammies. A good cook, the Cowman loved her cow tongue sandwiches, I loved her pickles, my kids loved stopping by her little house for her homemade ice cream.  As a Scrabble player, she was tough to beat. An avid SF Giants fan. A voracious reader, she instilled a love of books. She got Shakespeare, and made girls night at the SF opera happen. Though never much for riding, she dang sure had try... 

Granny on Grampa's Elk hunting pack mule

   

She would have a fit and then laugh, if she was still around to know I put that last pic up.
Miss my rock solid gran...

Glimpses of Granny...

Going to the mountains in the summer with my granny is behind a great many of my happiest memories.  She was an excellent seamstress, a Scrabble champ, crossword queen, bridge player, a lover of books, and a teacher by heart and profession.  The only one who had the patience to bestow some of her knowledge on a little girl with wild blonde pig tails, dreams of horses, and a propensity for taking risks. 

We were an odd mix, she and I, who rubbed along very well. I don't remember her ever swearing, or yelling.  

She, of the good manners, proper English, gardening, world travel, Shakespeare, and the Giants. Me, of riding any horse I could catch, digging up her flower beds in search of perfect night crawlers for trout fishing, and stripping naked to swim with the water snakes and trout in the big granite pools of that high mountain stream.

Her, maker of beautifully tailored suits and coats, and I of finding a way to match the hatch. 

Her, setting on the cabin's deck, snapping beans while reading a classic to a little blonde girl curled up in a wicker chair, with the sun's warming cover, til sleep overcame even the best of tales. 

These boots are made for stomping!

My theory is: If your going to be a muck shoveling puddle stomper you should do it with a pair of boots your Gran painted for you, and Laughter. Hope your enjoying them Miss J. As soon as I get my pair finished we are going on a puddle stomping holiday...

a forever flannel Granny

Christmas time is here and I'm not ready, again. The tree is up with lights, no ornaments. Wreath has been hung on the front door, without bells. Gus is wearing his Christmas kerchief, oh, there it goes, guess he wasn't into it after all. Chicken castle is finished, but they won't roost in it, preferring the branches of their tree. If it gets any colder we'll have Chick on a Stick for Christmas.

I did manage to re-grout the entire firebox of the fireplace today, so maybe a warming fire as soon as it cures. The emergency, err, Christmas candles are lit.

The spirit has not come over me, yet. I'm trying to make all the presents, but only have them half finished. Have you ever tried to knit and sew at the same time?

Things are so very expensive, and all the commercialism is depressing. Then Himself says that they are going to be laid off work the last two weeks of the year, possibly longer. Come on spirit I need you now. What are the words to that song, aah yes, "sounds like life to me"!

What I really wanted to tell you about was my flannel Granny. I have such great memories of my Granny. She introduced me to Shakespearean theater, the train, the mountain cabin, books, milk cows, books, mules, and the opera in SF.

Every Christmas she got each of us grand kids a pair of flannel jammies. They were homemade when we were little, and always of the best flannel to be had. As we got older they were often store bought but still of that wonderfully thick material. We weren't always appreciative of our flannel jammies, mostly because we knew what was in our boxes on Christmas Day. No surprises there. But the thing is, out of all the presents we have gotten over the years, Granny's flannel jammie presents, are the ones that we all remember. Even after all this time, get the cousins together and the flannel jammies from Granny stories are sure to come up, with laughter to follow. Thanks Granny, miss you, love you, flannel forever.

Basement Bingo

Bingo was the vice of choice for the Cowman's maternal grandmother. She was a lovely elder, who had the "sight" and could drink you under the table any day of the week. When she moved closer to family so we could keep a caring eye on her, the vice came with her.

My volunteering to be the one to take her to weekly bingo in the church basement seemed at the time, a kind thing to do. How much would it take for me to drive in from the ranch, pick her up, and take her for a few hours of bingo? In my inexperience I hadn't realized how serious the whole thing was to her.

She always met me at her apartment door, nicely dressed, carrying a cane, and a huge handbag. The huge handbag contained several sweet little ol lady hankies, her bingo money, a dozen or more brightly colored marker dabbers, her special cushion, a wallet for identification, her smokes, a propane fire stick lighter, her mace, her loaded pistol, and her flask. Most of these items were not allowed in the church basement, but she said that was between her and her God!

She would hustle into the basement while I was parking the pickup, and was usually settling in by the time I got down stairs. There was a whole lot of prep before the bingo games started. A certain place to sit, a certain order to the placement of all her paraphernalia and a few comments to the other elders (usually of a derogatory nature).

One particular evening she commented to me that she had just about had it with the ol crone setting next to her. Thinking to divert her attention I asked if she had spoken to an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair that she had previously seemed to be fond of. "No, and don't be trying to change the subject." Having put me in my place, she continued her game.

Things got a bit worse when the ol crone won the next game, Gran thinking she had bingoed first. The elder gentleman wheeled over to congratulate the ol crone. He no sooner got the words out of his wizened mouth than Gran was on him like a bad rash. She took to him with her cane, at the same time trying to keep up with the dobbing of her multiple bingo cards, and giving the ol crone what for. After I pulled her off the elder gentleman, righted his wheelchair, picked up all her paraphernalia, apologized all around, and hustled her towards the door, the sirens sounded. She had set off the fire alarms with her smokes.

I got a call from the Priest a few days later, the Cowman's gran was banned from bingo, and would be expected at confession and mass, frequently. Good luck on that one, Father!

Close to the Heart of the Matter

What fun to see the grands, if only part of them, and only for a few hours. That tall handsome young corpsman will be returning to duty in a few days. He has continued being a kind caring adult. He was the first of many grandbabies, as was his mother before him, so there is a very special place in his granny's heart for him. I was there at his birth, and a thousand other events over the years. I've Loved watching his life story unfold. Be proud Marymine, be very proud!

manners

Manners are a big deal to me. When my children were young they learned manners and respect, sometimes it was an easy lesson,other times not. They have taught the same to their children. Often today respect is not around much. Example: I recently went to a grand's school awards assembly. not near enough seating (poor planning on the admins part & could have been easily solved). There were a fair number of men and boys setting and not one offered his seat up. Now I may not look like the granny of seven, or need to be setting, but there were others that did. Come on grannies, speak up. I did to the gang tat Hispanic guy playing with his cell phone who was seated right beside where i stood.