Category Archives: humor

Monday Malaise

All I want to do is lie flat on my back and stare at the ceiling.

I even had to force myself to write that sentence. This is, after all, why I invented Middle-aged Musings Monday. So I could ease into the week with a minimum amount of effort.

Then again, the minimum amount of effort is still some effort. And no effort is wasted, as I noted in an earlier post (it is way too much effort for me to go back and check the date or what I actually said about it).

Astute readers (if any) may remember that I said I would post every day for one year. That year was up as of May 23, and yet I am still posting every day. Perhaps I should finally give myself and my readers a day off. Nah. Readers can happily give themselves a day off by simply Not Reading. I personally feel I take many days off with silly postings such as today’s.

I had started back at the beginning of Mohawk Valley Girl, reading every post and jotting down title and subject (if it wasn’t obvious) in a notebook. I thought I could kind of do a State of the Blog thing, see where I’ve been, what sort of post got the most “likes,” what sounded good. I haven’t gotten very far.

I’m not getting very far on this post either. Oh dear! Where am I and what have I done to myself?

After I wrote the preceding, I worked and ate and drank Gator Ade (not all at the same time). I felt quite drained of brain. As the day progressed, I began to feel a little better. Not that my brain came back to life; I just felt a little less brain dead. I thought perhaps if I typed in what I had written this morning, I could bring it all to an insightful conclusion.

As Benjamin Franklin said in the play (and movie) 1776, “I’m thinking, but nothing is coming.” I may have that quote wrong. I’ll let you know after I watch the movie again. In the meantime, I have a bed to lie on and a ceiling to stare at. Happy Monday, everyone.

Run Through Adversity

I am writing another post about a run, because that is how I motivated myself to start and to continue. It really does add interest to a run, writing my blog in my head as I go.

I woke up early this morning with a muscle spasm in my shoulder. Oh, it was painful. No position was comfortable and moving around trying to find one was even worse. I managed to fall back asleep a couple of times but was glad to get up, thinking that eventually I could apply ice and/or ibuprofen.

First I applied coffee, of course, and requested sympathy from my husband, Steven, which he generously supplied. I ate a banana with peanut butter so I would not be taking the ibuprofen on an empty stomach. Steven found my ice pack and I kept that on for 20 minutes (I seem to remember reading somewhere you are not supposed to leave ice on for longer).

When Steven left for work shortly before nine, I got on my running clothes and set out. The ibuprofen and ice had not been the miracle cures I was hoping for, but with the Boilermaker looming ever closer, I didn’t feel I should take the day off. I mean, I may not run every day between now and July 8, but a Sunday when I don’t have to work and intend to run for an hour and up to Herkimer County Community College (HCCC) the front way… I thought I would at least try.

It was much nicer running prior to 6 a.m. on Saturday. At 9 a.m. the sun is already fairly high in the sky and it was warm. I thought about how shady it would be running down from HCCC the back way. I thought about a cool drink from the spring. I thought about how much my shoulder was hurting and how my legs were not even daring to complain.

I told myself that it was OK that I couldn’t lift my head comfortably. Going up the hill, it is good to look down at your feet and not think about how much further you have to go. Soon I was on the hill. That sun was hot. I told myself that the Boilermaker might be hot. I saw the spray paint from the DARE 5K: “Have fun!” The sarcasm was not lost on me.

At last, at last, I was almost to the top. Would I continue uphill past the buildings? I thought I would. For one thing, an hour is a long time, even running as slow as I was running. There was no shade to be found. Just keep going. Finally I could cross over to Reservoir Road. It was all downhill from here.

I think running on a gentle down slope is a fine thing. One of the few times when gravity is my friend. A breeze would have been nice, but you can’t have everything. When I got closer to the reservoir it actually seemed a little hotter, definitely more humid. I thought it was supposed to be cooler near the water! I felt a little ill-used about that. Then I was into the woodsy area and it was cooler. Lots of shade, a nice little stream trickling next to me, aaaah. My legs were all, “We got this.”

I decided to run all the way down to German Street and back up Lou Ambers Drive to get to the spring. I was not quite halfway through my hour, but I thought I would be able to make it. I turned left where a sign said “No left turn.” I actually did not see the sign, because of the keeping my head down thing, but I knew it was there. I love being a rebel.

Two men were filling bottles at the spring, but they finished just as I got there. I wasn’t too worried. Most people are nice and will let a thirsty runner sneak in for a drink. Brief refreshment! Then it was onto the parking lot of Salvatore’s. I wished there was a sign that said “Do Not Enter.” A sign did say “customer parking only,” but I am in fact a frequent customer of Salvatore’s, and tempting as it sounded, I did not intend to park. As I went around the side of the building, I saw the sign that said, “No through traffic.” Yes! My rebel status was safe.

On I ran, encouraged by an occasional breeze and/or shade. I found one other “Do Not Enter” sign to enter in spite of, so that made me happy (I know, it takes so little to please some people). My legs informed me that they had burned off the entire banana with peanut butter and would like some more fuel. I told them to start working on the fat in my butt. They wanted a fresh Angus burger, cooked on a grill, with tomato and red onion, on an onion roll. That image kept me going for a good block.

Toward the end of the run, as my legs continued to complain, my shoulder started hurting a little less. It did not want to move, but it was no longer screaming at me. I found I had to concentrate on breathing or I wouldn’t breathe. What was that all about? I was so ready to stop! But I persevered.

My theory has always been, if you can run one hour, you can run two. You just don’t stop. I have run the Boilermaker in less than two hours. I think I’m good.

Just Another Run

Saturday I ran earlier than I have in a long time, because Steven had to be to work at 6 a.m. As soon as he left, I was heading out myself, much to Tabby’s disappointment (I’d take her with, but she doesn’t like to run with me).

I decided to take advantage of the early morning lack of traffic and cross Route 5. This has the added advantage of not having a lot of hills. I can take it easy once in a while (don’t worry; I intend to run my favorite front way to Herkimer County Community College tomorrow). I intended to run down the canal path which I can pick up near MOVAC, the ambulance place.

As I reached Mohawk Street, I saw a runner some distance up ahead of me, not running very fast (I know, I should talk). I wondered if I would catch up with him but doubted it. Then I decided to explore a side street and lost him. It seemed to be taking me a long time to get anywhere, but I figured that was OK. I intended to run for 55 minutes. How far I actually got was immaterial.

At last I reached MOVAC. A guy in some uniform (an EMT?) was putting stuff in his car. We exchanged greetings. I did not expect to meet any walkers or runners on the path. I didn’t even see that much traffic. I knew I could reach the Washington Street bridge, because I had reached it before on, I think, a 50 minute run.

I enjoyed looking at the canal and the foliage that surrounds it. I saw some irises. I didn’t think they grew wild. Maybe somebody had put the bulbs in at some point. It was too far from the road to have fallen off the back of a truck, or so I thought. Anyways, the speculation occupied me for a few feet. I saw a Caution sign on a natural gas pipe, so I was cautious. Where was that damn bridge anyways? Ah yes.

Soon I was running on South Washington Street, where there was no sidewalk. Some weeds had totally overgrown and leaned onto the road. I was glad there was no traffic as I detoured around them. Somebody ought to clean this up, I thought. Then again, plants are plants. I suppose even overgrown weeds help clean the atmosphere by converting CO2 to oxygen (I probably don’t have that right).

I ran up and down a few streets, since I had some time to kill. There are some houses around there that have seen better days. I looked for the ones that showed some effort at making an improvement, of which there are always a few. I noticed a couple of porches completely filled with junk. What a waste of a good porch! Wouldn’t you like to sit on your porch and enjoy the moment, I mentally asked those people (not that I would actually ask somebody that, because people can pile junk on their porches if they have mind to).

I was headed back toward Route 5 when I saw one more street I had never run down and thought I’d check it out. A house on that street still had a Merry Christmas decoration up. Then again, it was on a high outside wall. I have no idea how they got it up there in the first place, and I do not blame them for leaving it the hell up there once it was in place. Then too, don’t some people say we should make the Christmas spirit last all year? There you go.

It was no problem crossing Route 5 again and I was on my way home. I looked at my watch. Oh dear, was this going to take me more than 55 minutes? I told myself it was OK if it did. I intend to up my run time to an hour tomorrow anyways. Why not a minute or two longer today? I should mention that I had been firmly in the “I can rock this” stage of my run since somewhere on the canal path. I had consumed coffee and a banana with peanut butter earlier that morning. I think it helped.

After crossing a couple of streets on a diagonal (once again, let’s hear it for no traffic!) and cutting through a couple of parking lots, I actually had to run past my house and backtrack to keep going for 55 minutes. It was a very enjoyable run. I am going to be so ready for the Boilermaker! (Oh, I hope those aren’t some of those “famous last words” you hear about!)

Decked Out

One of the chores I had put off on Saturday for my marvelous history tour was working on the container garden for my deck. I still had time Saturday afternoon so I set out for Tripple’s Produce in Schuyler to see what I could do.

I had heard that the best selections for plants was the previous two weekends, but I wasn’t particularly worried. If there was less to choose from, it might make my selection process easier. I might even be able to keep from going overboard as I tend to do. So much for that hope.

My selection process is actually pretty easy: I want them all! I tried, I really tried to be conservative, but I ended up with two cardboard boxes of flowers. As I carried one to my truck, I saw that a nice young man had picked up the other. Tripple’s is a good place to get plants.

My next stop was Aubuchon Hardware in Herkimer to get dirt. A nice young man named Kyle helped me there. As usual, I was not sure exactly what I wanted (yeah, yeah, yeah, dirt. But there’s dirt and there’s dirt). Kyle showed me a bag. It was 1.5 cubic feet to 2, which I remembered I had gotten before. Kyle already had the 1.5 cubic feet bag on his shoulder when I saw the stuff I had gotten last time. I decided to stick with what I had. Well, what Kyle had.

“After all, it’s already up on your shoulder.”

“Oh, that’s all right.”

It turned out to be on sale, too, so bonus. I drove home, wrestled it out of the back of my truck and got to work.

And ran out of dirt before I ran out of plants. Steven was due home for lunch, so I seized the opportunity to take a break. When Steven returned to work, I put Tabby in the truck to return to Aubuchon. I knew it wouldn’t take long and she so likes to go with.

I told a girl (didn’t see her name badge) what I needed (I had memorized it from the bag this time). She asked Kyle to get it for me. It was not the same guy. As I questioned my memory, Kyle 1 showed up.

“I came back for more dirt,” I told him. “The other guy is getting it for me.”

“You got helped by both Kyles today,” the girl said. I was glad to have that mystery cleared up.

When Kyle 2 carried my dirt outside, I said, “It’s the truck with the cute little dog looking out the window.”

“Oh, you can bring your dog in the store,” he told me. I’ll remember that for next time.

I have to confess, I ran out of steam before I ran out of plants. They’re still waiting for me in their little plastic holders. Only a few more to go, and my deck already looks considerably less lonely. However, I think I will need to go someplace and buy a few more flowers. I’m not going overboard; I just think the deck needs a little more purple.

Go Directly to Jail

When I read the paper Saturday morning I discovered it was Museum Day. I love museums! I further discovered that Herkimer’s 1834 Jail would be open for tours. I love the 1834 Jail! I had a number of other things I was “supposed” to get done on Saturday. I put them on hold and headed for the Historic Four Corners.

I felt a little guilty walking there without my dog Tabby. I always feel guilty walking without my dog, but especially walking toward Herkimer’s Historic Four Corners, because she always pulls me there when I let her decide which direction to walk.

I arrived at the jail shortly after 10. Already some people were there (it was to be open from 10 to 2). A gentleman told me I could just wander or have a guided tour. I thought a guided tour would be fun.

I was very impressed with the progress that’s been made in fixing the jail up. I had last been on a tour there some years ago (alas, pre-blog days). At that time the first floor still looked like part of an abandoned building. Now the walls looked clean, nice and finished, except where they purposely let prior walls show through.

The front part of the jail was the sheriff’s living quarters, I was told. The guide also showed me where the sheriff could peek through at the inmates, since the sections were separate. Two other ladies joined the tour. They asked when the jail had stopped being used as a jail. 1977, our guide said.

“Oh, we would have been here!” one lady exclaimed, and I believe she meant they would have been inmates. They were fun.

We saw some displays on the history of the jail and of its two most famous inmates, Roxalana Druse and Chester Gilette. Jim Greiner, author of Last Woman Hanged: Roxalana Druse was on hand with his book. One of the fun ladies bought the other a copy. I, of course, already have one (must do a blog post book report on it).

Jim offered to take us on a tour of the upstairs. We couldn’t go up to the third floor, where Druse was housed before she was hanged. We admired the beautiful ceiling in the bathroom, which was revealed, Jim told us, when the drop ceiling was removed. It was a high ceiling. It seems like in these older buildings the ceilings are either so high you couldn’t heat the room or so low tall people couldn’t stand up (I never have that problem).

When we went to the section with the cells I remembered it very well from the previous tour and from a couple of haunted houses the jail hosted.

“I remember being here,” I started to say.

“Oh, you were here all right,” one of the fun ladies said, alluding to my evil past (how did she know?).

Of special note in the women’s section was a beautiful claw foot bathtub which could not be removed, because they had built the walls and door around it. Another highlight was the cell which had housed Chester Gilette. Gilette had apparently received some special treatment during his stay at the jail. Pretty nice for a guy that tossed his pregnant girlfriend into the lake.

The fun ladies had to leave before seeing the basement, but I went down with my first guide (whose name I stupidly forgot to ask). I saw the kitchen, where they had uncovered the original fireplace that had been used for cooking.

I was so glad I had noticed the jail was open Saturday. And I’m very pleased that such efforts are being made to preserve such a fascinating piece of local history.

Up the Hill or Over It?

I seem to remember threatening to turn this blog into All Boilermaker All The Time till I actually run the thing. Maybe for a post or two afterwards (must document my crash and burn after all). Therefore I offer the following concerning my run this morning, Sunday June 3, 2012.

On Sundays I like to run up to Herkimer County Community College (HCCC) the front way. That is a quite steep, fairly long hill. It’s a challenge and it looks like one. Local readers are always properly impressed when I tell them I do that. I know, I know, we are supposed to do things for our own satisfaction and improvement, not to impress others. Still, it’s kind of nice when people say, “Ooh, you run that hill?” I guess I’ve blogged (silly verb) about that hill several times, so sorry if I’ve bored you with yet another description of it.

Anyways, I set out. At least it wasn’t misting, as it was on my Saturday run (why didn’t I blog about that one? I never run in the rain!). In fact, my hands were cold. What was that all about? I tried not to worry about it. My legs weren’t complaining too much yet, but I was prepared to ignore them when they did.

No cars in my way as I crossed the street. No dogs to stop and pet. It was shaping up to be a fairly uneventful run. My legs soon informed me they were not in the least inclined to run a hill, small or large. Luckily I had already practiced ignoring them.

One trick to running up a hill is to look down at your feet. Then you can’t see how steep a gradient you are running. Another help is to realize that as long as you keep moving your feet, however slowly and incompetently, you will get up the hill. Eventually. It turned out to be one of those runs where I needed all the help I could get.

Up, up, up. I looked forward. Not too discouraging but bad enough. I looked behind me, thinking if I saw how far I had come I would feel better. No good, the road curves around so you can’t see the beginning. Well, I know that road, I knew I was closer to the end than the beginning. A few more steps and I could look off to my right and see Herkimer spread out below me. If it wasn’t too misty. It was.

No matter, I was at the college. There were the dorms, or barracks as my army brain wants to call them. College is not in session, so no chance anybody would holler something out the window at me, as happened once. I didn’t run on up onto campus but turned right over to the back way to run down. Ah, downhill. Where gravity is my friend.

On the way up I had seen some stuff spray painted on the road for the DARE 5K, which I ran last August. I hope to run it again this year. It’s fun, it’s local, it’s small, it’s SHORTER than the Boilermaker! Actually, the Boilermaker is pretty fun. And it’s the small, local aspect of the DARE run that appeal to me most. But that is for another day. Today my mission was to keep going for 55 minutes.

As I ran down, I saw some more DARE 5K stuff. “Have fun!” I read. That seemed a whole lot less sarcastic on the way down. I don’t mind being told to have fun when I’m doing a difficult run. What I don’t like is on the Boilermaker when they tell me, “It’s all downhill from here,” when I know damn well it is not. But perhaps they mean it figuratively. I don’t stop to discuss it.

I decided to run back to Lou Ambers Drive and stop for a drink at the spring. I had wanted to do that Saturday but had picked up a penny earlier on the run. I had tried to drink one handed. Not so successful. Today I had both hands. Aah! Plenty of water stations along the Boilermaker route. That’s something to look forward to.

I ran up the hill by Valley Health Services for good measure. I must admit I was more out of breath at the top of that hill than I had been at HCCC. Explain that to me. I suppose because it was later in the run. Or because I am old.

The run did take it out of me. I think I may need to start consuming more protein or Gator Ade or vitamins or something. I had some majorly philosophical thoughts as my run continued after the two hills, but I see I am over 700 words, so I will save them for another day. Perhaps a Middle-aged Musings Monday.

The Lame Lingers On

Yesterday I made a post just to make one, which is now what I have done both times I gave blood. In my defense, apparently they took the whole pint out of my brain. Actually, I think out of my legs too, because they got pretty wobbly (but I wasn’t woozy; see last post). All this by way of saying, I’m still feeling pretty damn lame.

I ran this morning, a good long run. Nothing blogworthy happened, but since when does that stop me? I had a couple of authentic Mohawk Valley adventures before the morning was over. And I patronized a couple of Mohawk Valley businesses. I’ve been Mohawk Valley busy! (Yeah, that was a kind of a lame thing to say. Don’t judge.)

I actually started to write a post earlier, hand writing it in a notebook before typing it into the computer, as I like to do. I couldn’t do it. Seriously, I could. Not. Make. Myself. Write. I tried! I would start a sentence, know in my head how I was going to finish it and it was just too much effort to move the pen. It was weird. I gave it up before I freaked out. This was in between my Mohawk Valley adventures and patronizing of local businesses.

That isn’t supposed to happen. When one has something to write about, shouldn’t one be able to write? I ask this rhetorically. It is rare that I have pen in hand and can’t actually put words on paper. Maybe not the words I had intended to write, but, you know, something. Right now I’m sitting here at the computer, making this up as I go along and I must say it is flowing pretty well. I may read it back to myself and reach for the backspace button. That is a recurring problem with composing at the computer.

It may be a good idea to re-think this whole Mohawk Valley Girl blog thing. After all, I have been at it for over a year now. That was my deal: I was going to post something every day for one year. I don’t know what I expected to happen after a year. Something magical, I suppose. It seems all that has happened is… I continue to post every day. I fear I shall tax the patience of my readers (I used to say “both of them” at this point, but WordPress informs me I have over 50 subscribers; that is so cool) with all these lame posts.

Then again, I always say, go with your strengths. And as another blogger observed (or was it someone commenting on her blog? Must look it up sometime), writing about not writing is still writing (it was Marble Hill Press, another WordPress blogger and a fine poet).

So I apologize if you didn’t like today’s lame post. I will attempt to be more substantial tomorrow. Hope your Saturday is going well.

I’m NOT Woozy!

Note to Self: When planning to give blood, write blog post BEFORE actually bleeding.

Last January I had a rather disastrous experience of giving blood. I had apparently not had enough to eat that morning and was suffering from what might have been a migraine (all I know for sure is that it was a headache, but people take your pain so much more seriously when you say migraine). I was so woozy I got two blog posts out of it. At that time I had signed up for a time to donate on June 1. That is today.

I had cleverly, so I thought, changed my appointment time to right after lunch. When Steven nicely packed my lunch, I asked him to make it a hearty one. Thus, a turkey sandwich and spaghetti salad. Also, some cheese, crackers, fruits and vegetables to eat at my morning break. I would be fine!

It was prior to my appointment time when I made my way to the blood drive place, but I had finished my lunch and the co-worker who is usually working the crossword puzzle at that time had taken the day off (lucky bastard). Of course it took longer than I would have liked waiting in line, but I finally got on the ancient gurney and got stuck. I stared at the ceiling and tried to see if I was feeling lightheaded.

Then I was sitting at the canteen, drinking apple juice and eating cookies. My head wasn’t feeling too great, but I knew it was an improvement from last time. I left there and got back to my machine before anybody could tell me I wasn’t looking so good.

The whole way back to my section, I repeated to myself, “I’m not woozy. I’m not woozy.” I had to admit to a little lightheadedness, but surely that was no problem. At least I wasn’t nauseous.

Until I had sat at my machine for a few minutes. I got a Gator Ade out of the machine and drank it. I would soon be as good as new. Any minute now, I would feel better. The Gator Ade was gone, as was my pocket change. I would soon feel better. I picked up my reusable bottle and headed slowly towards the drinking fountain. Water would be good. Water would make me feel better.

I confess, I was looking for one of my particular friends so I could say something like, “I don’t feel good!” and get some sympathy. I heard somebody behind me call my name. Two co-workers thought I didn’t look so good. One gave me the rest of her trail mix cookies she had gotten out of the machine. The other gave me a dollar and insisted I get a bag of his favorite trail mix, the one with bananas, raisins, nuts and other fruits. I took the goodies back to my machine and got some more water.

I have the nicest co-workers. I did feel better after I ate something. I worked slowly and somehow made it through the rest of the day. I did not, however, feel the least bit like writing anything down. I somehow managed to jot the title and opening paragraph during the 2 p.m. break. Everything else, I composed just now as I sat here typing and thinking, “Oh, I do feel better!”

It is Lame Post Friday. I am allowed to be lame. Before I wrote this, I went back and read the lame post I did on the last day I gave blood (before I wrote the two posts about being woozy). I think it was actually a little more amusing than this one. It was certainly shorter. Oh well, what the hell, as a wise woman once said (it was my mother). I can only try again tomorrow. Happy Friday, everyone!

Just Like PT!

It really was not just like PT, but I thought that might make a catchy headline. PT, in case you did not know, stands for Physical Training in the army. That is where I learned to run, among other things.

In honor of Memorial Day, I put on my ARMY t-shirt to run in. This did not make it like PT, actually, because I also had on some comfy spandex shorts, not the doofy PT shorts they issue you. It was also not like PT because in army PT, you do not DARE untuck your t-shirt from your doofy shorts. I remember once running at army PT another soldier said, “I WANT to untuck my shirt!” To do her one better I said, “I want to take mine off and wave it over my head!” Then I added, “Under strobe lights, to a pulsing disco beat!” for good measure. I was actually shouting this after her, because she ran faster than me. I used to have fun during army PT.

I actually did not want to run this morning. I had two long, hilly runs the last two days. I usually take Mondays off. But I also usually work a 10-hour day Mondays. Today I do not work. I was up shortly after 6 a.m. (a very late sleep-in for me). It was plain silly not to run.

To make things more tempting, I promised myself no major hills. Then I thought I would try to cross State Route 5, which runs down the middle of Herkimer, and run in an area I rarely run in. I figured earlyish in the morning on a Monday holiday, I could cross without too much trouble.

I further decided to run to the canal path, which you can get on where State Route 5 crosses Route 5S, where Herkimer meets Mohawk. I was not sure how long it would take me to get there or how long down the path I could run, but it fulfilled my quest for Someplace Different and a running/walking/biking path might be fun.

Crossing State Route 5 was no problem. There is a button that will give you a WALK signal, but I managed to sprint without waiting for it. Ooh, now I was in different territory. Not unfamiliar, because I have run there before or even been there numerous times in a car. Past some businesses. A computer repair place, a bike repair place. I really ought to get my bike back on the road. Pedaling a bicycle is much easier on the joints than running. I noticed they also offered snowshoe sales and rentals. Snowshoeing sounded good to me. Any sport that you can do slowly sounds good to me when I am running (which, of course, I also do slowly).

It did not take me too long to get on the path, but now I started to fret. How far down the patch should I go? I knew there was a bridge over the canal that brings you to Washington Street. It would be good to run that far then go home by way of Washington, but how long a run would that make? I kept looking at my watch. The bridge was nowhere in sight. I’m sure it is further away when one is running than when one is driving.

A small group of ladies was walking toward me. I said good morning, but they ignored me. They were having a conversation. Still, a little wave would have been nice. I was exerting a lot more energy than they were, so I felt a little virtuous about that. But they were being easier on their joints and being sociable with each other, so they could feel virtuous about that, if they so chose.

I would run out 20 minutes then turn around. Or maybe 25. After all, I was up to a 50 minute run in my training regimen. Was it a good idea to run out a full half of what I wanted for my total? Did I want to run out and back? I would run to that curve in the path up ahead and see if I could see the bridge. Well, maybe a little further.

Of course, if I got to the bridge, I would have to go out on the road to cross it. The path goes underneath the bridge. There was the bridge! Was there a way to get easily from the path to the bridge? I didn’t think so, so I got out on the highway. Not a wide shoulder, but a shoulder. I thought I could hear a HUGE truck coming toward me. It turned out to be a garbage truck, not a negligible size by any standard. He nicely hugged the center line and even crossed over it a little as he approached me. God bless him.

Almost to the bridge. I could see that I would have had to crash through some grass and climb over the rail to get from there to here. Well, I will do that next time. Highways are scary. A small but existent shoulder on the bridge. There was a narrow lip by the railing, but I did not get on that. For one thing, the railing would have been at the bottom of my hip. I could just see me tumbling over and falling down, down, down to the water below.

Then I was on Washington Street. It wasn’t going to take me any time at all to get home. Would I even fulfill my 50 minutes? Of course it took longer to get home than I expected, but I still had to go around the block then past the house and backtrack. It was a pretty good run.

When I got to the computer, I went on a Facebook page of Veterans of Rome, NY and posted that I had run in my ARMY t-shirt in tribute to soldiers past and present. A couple of people liked it.

More Deck Drudgery

So there I was, with a scrubbed deck (just a week ago), a can of stain (stain and clear coat in one!), a brush, a roller… everything I needed except ambition. My husband was due home at 6:30 or thereabouts. I had a three day weekend ahead of me. Wasn’t it acceptable to make my blog post and futz around on Facebook or watch World’s Dumbest for Friday night? NO! It was NOT!

I told myself, I’ll just get started. I’ll do the railing. That would be the pain in the buttest part anyways. Won’t Steven be pleased to come home and find me hard at work, not sitting on the couch enjoying my Thirsty Owl Chardonnay (from a New York State winery)?

Of course nothing is ever easy with me. I have that quality. First I had to search for clothes I didn’t care if they got stain on them. I had already worn the Hummel’s t-shirt (purchased at a church rummage sale) to scrub the deck and had not washed it yet. It was definitely shorts weather. I grabbed a pair of bicycle shorts that I like to run in. I could run in stained shorts (nothing could make me look worse running than I already do). At last I found a t-shirt. Some slip-on sneakers my sister Diane gave me some 20 years ago that have never been particularly comfortable. I was ready.

I should have bought one of those little hooky things you open paint cans with. I managed with the edge of an old pair of scissors. I carried the can and brush to the far side of the deck and began staining. The top of the railing was no problem, but the edges were a little tricky. Leaning over to get the far edge, I was sure to hit the top I had just stained. The spindles (are they called spindles? Uprights? I’m sure you know what I mean) were sons of bitches. I quickly realized I could not conveniently get the far side of those. I would do all I could standing on the deck and worry about the other side subsequently.

Slowly I worked my way around. Stand, crouch, sit. Move the can of stain. Go back and get that spot I missed. I started to feel pretty ill used. Where was my husband, who ought to be helping me? (At work, earning money to pay for my stain and accessories.) Where were my family and friends? (Staining their own decks, which I did NOT help with.) I knew I was being unreasonable. Anyways, I would be proud of myself when I was done. In about a hundred years.

Then I went to pull the can after me instead of picking me up and the bastard spilled! At least I didn’t knock it right over, but that comforting thought did not occur to me till later. The best thing I could think of to do was to take my brush and spread the spilled stain around as quickly as I could. Well, I meant to stain that part of the deck anyways. I was just getting a jump on tomorrow’s chore.

I was nearly all the way around the railing by the time Steven came home. I had been working maybe an hour and a half (typically for me, I had failed to note what time I started). He immediately asked was there another paint brush. So much for me grumbling about him not helping! But I thought it would be a better idea for us both to enjoy what was left of the evening and leave the rest for the bright, ambitious morning. For one thing, Steven had to work. For another, I had a blog post to make and I was hungry.

Saturday morning after a long but satisfying run and an invigorating shower, I assessed the shade that covered the deck. Ruth at Aubuchon had cautioned me not to work in the bright, sunny heat of the day. I thought it looked good. It was a little after eight. Steven had gotten out the six foot stepladder for me, so I started on the outside of the railing.

And realized that was the biggest pain in the butt of all! I couldn’t get in the corners. I kept missing places. I had to keep brushing away cobwebs that had grown there since I had scrubbed. Eventually Steven suggested a smaller paint brush and even found me one. That worked better. I was still on the railing when he left for work, but working with determination.

I thought the deck part of the deck would be the easy part. I had a roller, with extender attachment, so I would not have to bend over or be on my hands and knees. Rollers were fast. This might even be fun.

Of course it was not. The roller did not put the stain on smoothly. Ruth had warned me I would have to brush over it after I rolled, and I still had my big brush that had been so poorly adapted for the outside of the railing. It looked better after I brushed it. Unfortunately, I only had one extender attachment. I could roll in a semi-comfortable position, then had to bend over in a distinctly un-back-friendly posture to brush. Oh dear!

At last I took the extender off the roller, put it on the brush (which had a place for it; I think I mentioned in my last post the brush’s package had said it was the Best), and continued to stain with sweeping movements. It really was not going too badly. Not too swiftly, but not too badly.

As I went along, I couldn’t help noticing that it was not looking wonderful. There were large spots on the deck from where my container garden had leaked, and the stain did not obliterate them as I had hoped. I guess that’s from the woodgrain-showing-through quality I thought would look so nice. It just goes to show, we can’t always think of everything.

Then I noticed how the sun was moving. It was pursuing me. And it was not pursuing me like a movie villain, giving up after I managed to stay one step ahead of it. It was relentless. I checked where it was coming from in relation to what was blocking it and changed my tactics. I stained where the sun was now and started working my way back to the shadier shade. Oh, I just had to finish! I could not leave till late afternoon when the shade returned.

Closer and closer to the end I got. I was well into the shade; the sun would never catch me now. Only my own fatigue and frustration could do me in. I encouraged myself with promises of beer and bragging rights. I made it.

In all honesty I have to say, the deck looks less awful than it did before I stained it. And I enjoyed the beer I subsequently rewarded myself with. I would like a beer now. This has been a long damn blog post. If you’ve stuck with me, thank you. I’ll have more deck doings in future posts.