November 16, 2007

Rotten, stinkin' cold & rambling

yeah.

I doomed myself.

I spoke evilly about the wonders of modern medicine only to wake up feeling like my head weighed roughly 235 pounds and my ears filled with sloshing sounds as if I had suddenly put out to sea during a moment of sleepwalking.

An enemy agent caught my complacency and sent for the reinforcements that held an invasion that would have made the infantry at Normandy Beach proud. . . except for the niggling little fact that the ENEMY took the beachhead, or in this case, MY head.

What is it about having a cold that makes everything seem just a bit too shrill? Sounds are more piercing and everything is just on the edge of annoying. And all of that is before we get to the real annoyances of daily living that make me wonder what was so great about leaving the hunter-gatherer time of our existence where NO ONE was concerned about having a shirt pressed before leaving for work!

Cave men, as it turns out, didn't think about pressing their mastodon skins for a night out with the missus. Fast facts garnered in the Smithsonian also indicate that they didn't really consider bathing and grooming essentials either.

Now, while I am perfectly willing to abandon ALL ironing for the good of all mankind, I TOTALLY draw the line on the bathing and grooming gig. After spending a great deal of time trying to encourage a child that a bath was a GOOD idea if they planned on living inside the house and seeing that battle become aimed in a different direction as he grew older (namely the 'get OUT of the bathroom now because OTHER PEOPLE NEED HOT WATER, TOO!' skirmish), I cannot begin to imagine just how funky fresh the cave was after a cold spell in the primitive winter of their discontent.

My father sagely pointed out that when everyone in your circle of friends smells like woodsmoke and cream of chipped antelope, no one really notices if you are a bit tangy. At that point I had to excuse myself and gag in another room, but the point was certainly made.

I have to wonder who the bright little bulb was who decided that a spritz of something floral or fruity was better than the smell of 'Fireplace in a Cave'. Did she think to herself 'hmmm, ooh aah goobah boo bah' (which translates to mean 'this smells so much sexier than antelope haunch')?

Or did the cold and flu season finally pass and they had an epiphany of sorts when they could finally breathe again?

We may never know.

But one thing is certain. While the way to a man's heart may have a pathway through his stomach, baby had better have a little sumpin' sumpin' on the back burner when the mastodon mixed grill is all gone. While our cavemen may bathe more, dress better and certainly smell nicer than the cavemen of yore, they are still susceptible to the olfactory attention grabbing skill of a female who can use her wiles judiciously added to a spritz of something more floral than firewood.

Well, I guess that's all for the moment. My headache is settling back in and I think it's just about time for another serving of that delightful cough and cold elixir that makes me wonder just how much alcohol is in that little dosage cup. . .and why on earth it has to taste so NASTY?

Aaaaah - chooo!

November 15, 2007

Vaccinations

Some words SHOULD be four lettered.

The title to this episode is one of them. Vaccinations are both our friend and a painful little enemy.

Flu season compels us to at least consider the possibility of rolling up our sleeve, dropping our trousers or flaring our nostrils to receive the life saving medicine that is available for $15 at a drugstore near you. Shots hurt, but the spray thingy up the nose can strangle you.

Either way, someone is likely to be assessing the readiness of your life insurance policy - just in case the vaccine doesn't keep you from the banana peel on the edge of your grave.

It amazes me that we don't ever quite get the latest mutation included. And despite the discomfort of any of the above procedures, we all sniffle our way through the fall and winter hoping to prevent ourselves from becoming a statistic.

One must consider that with every passing day, germs and the creeping crud around us is adapting. Yes, people. ADAPTING.

Borg-like in their little collective of filth and poison, the germs enter our systems as gently as a baby sucking on Gerbers. Then, like a punch drunk parasite on Percoset, they CHANGE. This is not good.

There are so many ways to infiltrate our body systems. Eyes - check. Ears - check. Nostrils - runway #1 at your service. Mouth - red carpet to the body. Pun totally intended.

So, in this season of trying to keep healthy and well, try to keep warm, drink plenty of fluids and stay out of drafts. And please, if you must sneeze, do so in another direction. I haven't had my flu shot yet.

November 13, 2007

Tango, Rumba, Cha, cha, cha

While I totally missed out on the opportunity to dance with Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly, I did get in a few steps with some reasonably good dancers in college.

Dancing is such an expressive form of sensual communication. There is nothing so romantic as a perfectly crafted Viennese Waltz nor is there anything quite as compelling as a well performed Cha Cha.

There is something harmonious in the visual chemistry of lines and movement that flow seamlessly from one set to the next.

Sadly, unless the "Grace Fairy" shows up sometime soon, I am now and forever will be the girl who has more than two left feet and less finesse than a bull moose in the showroom for Royal Doulton.

I wanted to be lithe and lively on my feet, but generally I spent time treading carefully on the toes of longsuffering gentlemen who recognized that dancing was not my forte but were nice enough to take me out on the floor for my conversational skills instead. ("Gee, that girl moves like an elephant on the march, but she can sure hold up her end of a conversation and then some!)

After being totally enmeshed in the weekly offerings of 'Dancing With the Stars", I must admit that secretly I'd LOVE to get some dancing lessons in. Preferably with my husband. But he rolls his eyes in that specific way that speaks volumes about how much he would prefer torture by waterboarding or a week in prison to taking a few lessons with good old Arthur Murray.

The appeal isn't just being able to do more than shuffle around the floor in a circle. Without exception, these celebrities have gushed about how much weight they have lost and the delightful muscle tone they have gained as they have learned to perform a passable Paso Doble or a fast moving Quickstep.

Uncultured Philistine that I am, I confess that I secretly hear the high pitched falsetto voices of the Bee Gees in my head singing "J -J-J- Jive Talkin'" everytime they announce that someone will be dancing the jive with their professional choreographer. And yes, I TOTALLY realize they aren't related, but that's just how my mind works.

Then when the couples face the dreaded night of elimination, and we see the strained smiles from people who are totally poised in their respective fields of endeavor away from the Capezio's and Spandex, I can feel a drop or two of perspiration gathering on my own forehead as we breathlessly await 'the cut'.

More cruel than anything, the masquerade of 'it's no big deal that we have been eliminated' just kills me. There are only a couple of people I haven't felt too bad to see depart. The rest of them deserved to stay and keep dancing.

But then, that is not what this competition is all about. It's about taking someone out of their comfort zone and teaching them to be more than the name and the face that we usually see. It's about making someone who is already at the top of their game and their fame become far better through the sweat equity of the dance.

I have truly enjoyed seeing the show this season and I wish we would find more good things to show on television. Things that can bring so much happiness to the voters must be doing something right.

Now, if you will excuse me, I must find my dancing shoes. There has to be at least one move from basic ballroom class that I can remember.

November 12, 2007

Rice Krispy Treats

It's time to break forth into singing and let the rejoicing begin! After an arduous and protracted day spent over a hot stove in the kitchen, I have made toffee bit and cocoa rice krispie treats!
(no, really, applause isn't necessary - although it IS gratifying after all I have gone through to make these treats!)

Okay, okay. I'll wipe off the water I flicked onto my face and quit posturing. But either way, you want half a pan of these little goodies for yourself, and you know it.

After carefully getting them set, I packaged them up for our soon to be far flung missionary. Those little home vacuum sealing machines are so much fun! Since his presents have to leave American soil before he actually does in order to make it to Germany in time, we are on a deadline here. Chop, chop!

I only have the contributions of one more set of family members to get together in the boxes and then we ship it all away into the arms of the air freight folks who will see it safely overseas. We repose our trust in the kind people to make sure my boy has a Merry Christmas.

If only beaming technology were possible. . .

Oh well. Patience is a virtue I have yet to acquire, although I am working on it.