Author Archives: mohawkvalleygirl

Well I WAS Writing

This is embarrassing. Remember yesterday, I took a sick day because it was just too much trouble to type in all I had written for a post. Today I am feeling much better, thank you, and I sat down to type.

And type and type and type.

What a long-winded yahoo I can be! Digression after digression! I found some of them fairly amusing, but perhaps I flatter myself. Doggedly, I kept typing, thinking I could edit. Ooh, but I’ll just leave that one in. Oh, and that’s a good one. Hmm, that could be a whole other blog post.

I was almost up to 1,000 words and I wasn’t done typing. I’ll be honest: it was too much me even for me.

On the one hand, I feel strangely vindicated. After all, yesterday I had to think it was a little wimpy of me. I only had to type the thing in, didn’t I? Yet I took a sick day. Now I see if I would have tried to type it in, I would have been in tears. As it is, I’m getting a little wrist-to-foreheady.

I think it is shaping up to be a pretty good essay, all about the problem of setting vis a vis the novel I am currently writing (I determinedly refuse to say “attempting to write”). Sometimes writing about writing is a good way to ease back into writing. And sometimes the only blog post I can manage is writing about not writing.

200 or Bust

This is not so much a Wuss-out Wednesday as a Bloggers’ Sick Day. And now that I think about it, I’m not so sure I can legitimately call it a sick day. I mean, if it was a real sick day, couldn’t I just type in one sentence and done? Sick day. Means I don’t have to do it.

But I won’t feel happy until I write at least 200 words. Can I manage 200 words? Maybe 150 would be OK. I feel obligated to say at this point that I DID have something written for today. Only it was long. I can’t type in that many words. I’ll save it for Non-Sequitur Thursday.

I did not feel this awful all day. I had rather an OK day at work. But my sinuses were bothering me to the point where I took a decongestant. Now I am so lightheaded I question if I have any brain left. I know, I KNOW many of you were questioning if I had any brain to begin with. What a dull, obvious joke. You should be ashamed of yourselves.

Now my word count tells me I am over 180 words. I question how accurate that is, since it is taking me two sentences and more to get to 190. I guess it doesn’t add each word as I type it. Ooh, ooh, I looked away and now it says 226. Score! I’m going to lay back down and continue to watch the room spin.

12 Hours Make a Difference

I ran Friday morning (another prior to 4 a.m. start) then gave blood Friday afternoon so gave myself Saturday off. I took Sunday and Monday off for no good reason, although I did take nice walks with my poocher all three of those days. Still, I thought, three days off isn’t so bad. It’s not like, for example, two weeks off (don’t judge). Still, I was determined to run today (Tuesday).

When I remembered to during the day, I reminded myself that I would run after work. My plan was to run on the mini-tramp if it was raining, which I kind of sort of expected to happen. That wouldn’t be so bad, I thought. I could watch a silent movie while I ran. Or maybe Judge Mathis. I could rock the mini-tramp.

As the afternoon progressed, I watched the sun continue to shine. I know it can cloud up in an instant in the Mohawk Valley (“If you don’t like the weather here, wait five minutes”), but it showed no disposition to do so. So I would run outside. That was OK, too. I wanted to run out Main Street and check the name of the street you take to the path over what used to be the hydraulic canal. I haven’t run that path in a while. I could rock that.

I’m sure some readers have guessed, I didn’t rock much of anything when it came right down to it. Oh, I got myself out the door and moving. But it wasn’t very fast. It was warm and humid. The air was heavy and I felt heavier. Get used to it, I told myself. It’s only June. I reflected that this was the difference between jumping out of bed to run and working all day before running. At least I was hydrated, because I keep a bottle of water handy at all times while at work. I tried to feel the benefits of hydration. All I could do was marvel at how dreadful I must feel if I were not hydrated.

I turned down German Street towards Main Street. There is quite a lot of traffic in Herkimer around 4 p.m. There is a 4-way stop at Main Street, but did I trust it? I could see from two blocks away the line of cars going in each direction on German. I could make eye contact with the near driver, he could wave me on, I could start going and the guy going in the opposite direction could nail me. Well, he probably wouldn’t nail me, starting from a dead stop as he would be. But still. Perhaps I would continue down German Street.

But first I would have to cross Prospect, and there were two cars waiting at that stop sign (it is a T, not a 4-way). They would probably let me go, but would I be robbing them of their chance to get onto German? I couldn’t take that responsibility. I turned down Prospect. This wasn’t so bad. I could run down to Meyers Park.

Couldn’t I?

My legs felt worse and worse. They begged me to stop. They pointed out soft patches of grass where a middle-aged lady could probably take a very comfortable nap. I knew I couldn’t really, but the argument was persuasive. I reminded myself that I knew how to persevere. I questioned whether that was really true.

Then I began to wonder why I had not stayed sensibly in my house on the mini-tramp. After all, where is it written that one may only run on a mini-tramp if it is raining? Why couldn’t I run on the mini-tramp any time I wanted to? It’s not that my house is so much cooler than outdoors, but the humidity has not penetrated in yet, as it undoubtedly will soon start to do. Moreover, I have a ceiling fan in my living room. That would have to help. Then the great outdoors provided me with some breezes, and I felt better about everything.

For a little while.

I did manage to persevere, for at least a short run. I was up to 26 minutes at the last increase, but I thought a 20 minute run would be acceptable for today. I will persist in calling it a run. Maybe it looked more like a shuffle or a plod or worse, but at least I did it. And wrote a blog post. That is not bad for a Tired Tuesday.

I Liked Philo’s Dog

This week I offer Mystery Movie Monday. I would prefer Monster Movie Monday, but I didn’t have a monster movie to hand. Instead, I asked Steven to make a selection from his DVD set of 50 Mystery Classics. He chose The Kennel Murders (1933), a Philo Vance mystery.

Spoiler Alert! I probably won’t give away the solution, because I didn’t properly understand it, but I will certainly give away some major plot points.

I was a little concerned to see the word “kennel” in the title, knowing Hollywood’s history of NOT being kind to animals (perhaps you read my blog post about it). I did not want to watch a movie where dogs die.

Sure enough, a dog gets murdered. Philo does not seem too exercised about that murder, although the dog’s owner threatens to kill whoever did it. I was not clear on who did do it, and I couldn’t figure out how it fit in with the rest of the plot. Then again, as regular readers know, I don’t always pay a whole lot of attention to these things. Another dog gets hit on the head with a poker, which does figure in, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

The movie opens on a dog show. There is Philo Vance with an extremely cute Scotty dog. His dog does not win, but Philo loves him. So there’s one reason to like Philo Vance, at any rate.

Next we meet a beautiful heiress (is there another kind?) who can’t seem to get any of her own money from her unpleasant trustee or guardian or whatever he is to her besides unpleasant. It’s pretty clear who the victim is going to be and there will be no shortage of suspects.

It is a bit of a surprise later on when one of the suspects who was starting to look really good (as a suspect, I mean) ends up dead. I guess I should have seen that coming. After all, it’s “murders” plural in the tile, and I’m pretty sure they didn’t count the dog.

The dog that gets hit on the head seems to make a full recovery and I guess helps solve the mystery. Or helps Philo prove he has correctly solved the mystery. Like I said, the solution kind of mystified me. As is often the case, the “proof” would never hold up in a court of law. For that matter, the medical evidence was pretty spurious, too. But these are mere quibbles. One must take movie mysteries at their own estimation or not at all.

Philo’s dog has a pretty good scene where he shows Philo something important. I just love a cute little dog.

In retrospect, I’m thinking it might have been a good idea if I had paid more attention to the movie, maybe made a few notes, before I tried to write about it. Then again, it’s Monday.

Historic Fun

When I heard the Herkimer County Historical Society was holding an open house on Saturday (yesterday), I was delighted. They are usually open from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Monday through Friday, when I happen to be at work. They open on Saturdays during July and August as well as between Thanksgiving and Christmas, but in the meantime, I have to grab my local history fix when I can.

I love, love, love local museums. Wherever I live, going to the local museum is one of my favorite things to do. I’ve been through Herkimer’s several times and I see something new each time. Saturday’s open house ran from 10 a.m to 2 p.m. I got there shortly after ten. I had beaten the crowds and walked around with a volunteer in kind of a personal informal tour. We chatted about lots of things. It was great fun.

I also checked out their archaeological dig, right on the museum grounds. How cool is that? The dig was excavated once before, but they have been able to open it again this summer. Many people have volunteered. Their big discovery this time is a well, but they have also uncovered many fragments of items such as bottles, pipes and pottery.

Two volunteers were on the porch between the museum’s two buildings, carefully cleaning and sorting the fragments. One lady showed me two bottle fragments of colored glass.

“Now I want you to find all the pieces of that bottle and put it back together,” I told her. She said she would get right on it. Then I praised them for using their own toothbrushes for the task and we all laughed. You know me; I have to be silly.

I really enjoyed my visit. I intend to write more about the historical society and their exhibits. However, for today I thought I would just give a brief shout out. Now I must get back to my usual Wrist to Forehead Sunday.

Sorry, Folks

Sorry, no Saturday Running Commentary this week. I gave blood at work yesterday and felt like taking it easy for one more day. I did a few blogworthy things this morning, but I feel that whatever I write about now I will not do justice to. That is a rather dreadful feeling for a writer. You would think we would get used to these crises of confidence, but I never have. I suppose there are writers who never have such crises, or never admit to them. Well they aren’t me, that’s all I can say.

So how about a Preview of Coming Attractions. That sounds better than I Could Write About This But I Won’t.

I walked with Tabby to the post office this morning, to mail a few post cards. I know, I can usually manage a pedestrian post and I probably will in the near future. After we got back from our walk, I set out on some real Mohawk Valley adventures.

These involved the Herkimer County Historical Society and the 1834 Jail. These comprise two of Herkimer’s Historic Four Corners, which Tabby and I walk quite often. I really want to think more and write something worthy of these places.

Both stops involved some time standing out in the direct sunlight. I have a problem with the sun. I could be part vampire or part Addams, I suppose. In any case, when I returned home I did not feel well, so I took a nap. After some coffee I’m feeling a bit better, but still not up to par.

So I guess this is Wuss-out Saturday. Not very alliterative, I’m afraid, but there it is. I’ll try writing shortly after coffee tomorrow and so avoid Wrist to Forehead Sunday. I do hope you’ll stay tuned.

Just an Expression

For today’s Friday Lame Post, I offer another edition of Cliches Revisited.

“It’s like living in a fishbowl.”

People usually say this about places with large windows and no curtains. My first response is, you’ve probably never lived in a fishbowl, so how would you know? It seems to me that living in a fishbowl would be a whole lot more boring, even if it had one of those little castles or sunken ships. In your average living room, picture window or not, there is usually at least a television set. All a fish can do is swim around. They can’t even run out for a loaf of bread as many of us can. The fish don’t seem to mind, but then I don’t know what a fish thinks.

I know, it’s Just an Expression. I realize it means, “I feel as if everybody can watch my every move!” Oh, get over yourself. Most of us are not that interested.

Next cliche: “Kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray.”

I have never personally licked an ashtray, but I would think that the consistency is probably much different from the mouth of a smoker. Hello! Glass, metal or plastic covered with ashes… the mouth of somebody you presumably like well enough to kiss.

I know! Just an Expression. Look, people can feel free to kiss or not whoever they want, as far as I’m concerned (as long as the other person wants to be kissed). But just say, “I don’t want to kiss a smoker.” You do not need to engage in inaccurate hyperbole (or is hyperbole inherently inaccurate and I am guilty of redundancy?).

Oh dear, those were the only two cliches I thought about while I was running this morning. I think three would make a better post. Ooh, there’s a cliche, “Third time’s the charm.”

What is it about the number three? Three wishes. Three Little Pigs. Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau. This is not a cliche I can argue with. Three is, apparently, a very good number. The best I can do is buck the system and not deconstruct three cliches. Thank you for playing. And have a nice Friday.

My Philosophy is You Have to be Philosophical About It

My plan was to write two posts today. I intend to give blood at work tomorrow. Sometimes my body reacts badly to that and all I can do is lie down and watch the room spin. So I thought, I’ll write my Friday Lame Post on Thursday as well as Thursday’s post, type both in and be ahead of the game. I’ve done it before. I can rock this.

I even had some pretty good half-baked philosophy for Lame Post Friday. I had no ideas for Thursday, but there’s always Non-Sequitur Thursday. I sat down and wrote two paragraphs for Friday. That I wasn’t so thrilled with. I spent the rest of my breaks at work solving Cryptogram puzzles from a Dell Puzzle Book or working on the crossword in the newspaper with a friend of mine.

Well, Thursday’s post was still going to happen. I had plans to go home and plant my tomatoes. I could do a gardening post. Well I may yet do that. For right now… well, let’s just say the tomatoes are not planted yet and at least I didn’t cry.

I can’t, I positively can not keep writing posts about Why I Can’t Write a Post. Well, apparently I can. The question is will anybody keep reading them?

Big Plans for June

The Blog Runner is doing a Juneathon. He is a blogger I read sometimes (I don’t read anybody every day. Sorry, fellow bloggers). He runs a lot more than I do, by the way. Participants in a Juneathon, if I have this right, do something physical every day in June and write about it. This is the sort of challenge that appeals to me. The Blog Runner is doing it to prepare for a particular race.

In my case, the only race I have on the horizon is the DARE 5K in August. If I keep going at the rate of 3 or 4 runs a week I can get there handily. Come to that, I could probably run a 5K now. It would just take me a while. And the hill in the middle of this particular 5K would not be any fun at all.

Moreover, I’m not concentrating on physical fitness this month. June 6 marks one year of working on the novel I vowed I would finish (I have started MANY novels that I have not yet finished)(point and laugh if you must but how many novels have YOU finished?). I decided June would be All About Novel, preparing for my week vacation at the beginning of July. If I work hard for 30 days while at work (um, on breaks, I mean), I should be geared up to really make progress for nine straight days off.

So I commented on the Blog Runner’s post praising the idea of Juneathon but declining to participate. Then I realized I had gone for a run June 1 but had NOT worked on my novel.

In my defense, I had worked on said novel for the previous eight days. This is better than I’ve done in a while. One thing I try not to do is take days off. One thing I have been doing a lot lately is taking a day off.

June 2, 3 and 4 (today) I worked on the novel. I ran again July 3. So I could do a Novel Juneathon having missed one day or a Fitness Juneathon having missed two. Or I could do some push-ups and sit-ups before bed and only have missed one. One thing I can’t do is go back in time and not miss any days. And one thing I am unlikely to do is both kinds of Juneathon. Just saying.

However, a Julyathon for fitness is possible. I don’t think I will write about my physical activities every day, but every third or fourth day I can recount what I’ve done so far. That will leave space for posts about Mohawk Valley adventures, cheesy movie reviews and, of course, my beloved Lame Post Friday.

But first I’ll try to get through June.

Watching for Skunks and Psychos

Is there any better feeling for your legs than the cool-down walk after a run? I suppose there could be, but I’m not familiar with it.

Steven has two early shifts this week, so I thought I’d take advantage of the early rising and get a run in before the heat of the day. It only partially worked out for me.

I should have suspected the temperature would not be cool when it did not seem to cool down yesterday evening. I put the fan in the bedroom window, realized the air coming in was warmer than the air already here, took the fan out and shut the window. Of course I’m used to warm nights. I’m pre-menopausal (oh shut up, it’s a perfectly natural thing that women go through and I’m not going to pretend I’m not middle-aged). I never know if it’s the weather or hormones. My trick is to tell myself it’s hormones, then I wait quietly for the feeling to pass. It took me years to realize the benefits of waiting quietly, but we’ll save the half-baked philosophy for Lame Post Friday.

It was 3:38 when I left the house. I’m still a little nervous about running before dawn. Today being garbage day I was more wary of skunks than psychos. As I turned onto German Street, I thought I smelled one. Yikes. Um, skunk, not psycho. I don’t know what a psycho smells like.

A note about my breathing. I have dreadful sinus problems. I usually cannot follow the “in through your nose, out through your mouth” dictum, because my nasal capacities are not usually up to it. My sense of smell is unreliable. Sometimes I smell things that other people do not. Sometimes I can’t smell things that other people can. It is most inconvenient. On today’s run, I tried a nose inhale every so often to check for skunk odor. I didn’t smell anything after the initial whiff, although I later caught a nice floral scent.

It was a very lonely run. Block after block of no cars, no people and no lights on in houses. I passed a young man walking on my street almost as soon as I left my house. Heading home after a hard night out? Or a hot one night stand? These are the speculations that add interest to my runs. I either saw him two more times during my cool-down walk or I saw two similarly dressed young men. If it was the same man, perhaps he was out for a long walk pondering a problem. Maybe it was a ghost. How cool would that be?

The mugginess started getting to me early on. There was barely a breeze to relieve me. I felt a little ill-used, running in the dark and not having some cool air to run in. I cheered myself up by thinking about the bottle of water waiting on my deck for me and the cool shower after my walk.

I kept an eagle eye out for skunks. Psychos did not concern me as much, although naturally I watched for them too. I saw an animal cross the sidewalk way ahead of me. A cat, I assured myself. As I approached a trash can and bag, the rustle of an animal startled me. I hear my feet scrape on the sidewalk as I stopped short. A cat flew out from behind the bag and across the lawn. Definitely a cat. Phew!

It was really not a problem to keep running. I can’t say I reached the “I can rock this” stage, though. I am skeptical of my ability to rock anything prior to four in the morning. Then again, if I keep up these early morning runs, maybe I’ll surprise myself.