Springtime in the northwest. But I would not trade a thousand rainy days for the drought of Southern Oregon, the interminable ninety-degree wasteland of July through October, dry grass fire danger water your garden twice a day heat stroke land of my half-life. Nope. I'll take the second half wet and green.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
p t
Physical therapy is a crock of shit.
That being said, it may be helping. Ilsa/Ingrid/Ursula, the svedish sadist that tortures me twice a week, a large and accented vooman, seems to know her business. She sends me home with two or twenty new exercises every time, which she says, "You'll want to do three or four times a day." She's wrong about that. I don't ever want to do them again. I don't ever want to see her again.
My surgeon said that in six weeks, I'd wish I hadn't had the surgery. True enough. That's supposed to pass too.
That being said, it may be helping. Ilsa/Ingrid/Ursula, the svedish sadist that tortures me twice a week, a large and accented vooman, seems to know her business. She sends me home with two or twenty new exercises every time, which she says, "You'll want to do three or four times a day." She's wrong about that. I don't ever want to do them again. I don't ever want to see her again.
My surgeon said that in six weeks, I'd wish I hadn't had the surgery. True enough. That's supposed to pass too.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
dogland
This week my husband had a really good, but impossible, idea. We have dogs. Two dogs who eat and poop and entertain us. Each year we spend hundreds of dollars to restore the landscape they destroyed over the previous year. Each year we select another large section of our limited outdoor space to donate to shitland. Each year my husband accuses me of trying to keep them off the grass, favoring the outdoor ambiance over the animals well-being.
Perhaps.
But this year, he has had a change of heart. Either that, or I've finally worn him down. It's possible.
Our backyard is comprised of three sections: deck, stone inlay, and grass, in that order. Roughly 10x10 sections of each. So, to give you an accurate picture, it is a 10x30ft. space. I have, for years now, wished the deck was in the center of the yard. Today, my husband said, "I can just move it." To which I replied, "Can not." To which he replied, "Can too," and so on. There are few things in life more certain that my husband's actions once challenged. The deck was moved by noon.
Now, the dogs will have the area to the left of the backyard as their own private toilette, complete with cedar chips to help with the aroma. They will have less space than ever before, it will all be fenced with wood, and I will have a new outdoor decorating project.
My husband said, "Why does everything have to look nice when you're involved?" I answered, "It doesn't matter why. It only matters that you understand that it is true."
Bless him. He no longer argues that there is only one shade of white.
Perhaps.
But this year, he has had a change of heart. Either that, or I've finally worn him down. It's possible.
Our backyard is comprised of three sections: deck, stone inlay, and grass, in that order. Roughly 10x10 sections of each. So, to give you an accurate picture, it is a 10x30ft. space. I have, for years now, wished the deck was in the center of the yard. Today, my husband said, "I can just move it." To which I replied, "Can not." To which he replied, "Can too," and so on. There are few things in life more certain that my husband's actions once challenged. The deck was moved by noon.
Now, the dogs will have the area to the left of the backyard as their own private toilette, complete with cedar chips to help with the aroma. They will have less space than ever before, it will all be fenced with wood, and I will have a new outdoor decorating project.
My husband said, "Why does everything have to look nice when you're involved?" I answered, "It doesn't matter why. It only matters that you understand that it is true."
Bless him. He no longer argues that there is only one shade of white.
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