Fire Good

It's been getting a little chilly at night round here, so we put a fire pit on the patio last night and sparked it up. What a nice way to spend an evening. Of course, this morning we stink like ass, or would that be ash? Either way, it's not good, but I consider it a small price to pay for total relaxation. I've been toying with the idea of spending the Christmas holidays by myself. We've been offered a chance to head to a big tourist town, and everyone wants to do all the touristy things, but for the most part I hate that kind of crap. I would be perfectly happy going to New York and NOT seeing the Empire State Building, going to D.C. and NOT going to the Washington monument, or going to Seattle and skipping the Space Needle. I'd be happy to find a nice bookstore or museum of medical oddities and spend the day there, but I can see how other people might not dig that, and besides, I don't want to be a drag on everyone's good time. Honestly, I've been spending so much time taking care of everyone else lately, I'd just like a week where I didn't have to worry about anyone else but myself. The dog, too, I guess, and maybe the hamster, but seriously, that's it. The fucking fish can fend for themselves. What's that, Mailman? Forgot to pack your belt? Well, it sucks to be you, doesn't it? Slim's feeling his oats and ragging on you? Well, deliver the smackdown on him yourself, baby, because I'm going offline. I'll spend the week in my jammies and watch movies where the women wear Empire waists (Hello, Emma Thompson!). Yeah, this could work out nicely.

Passing The Torch Or Kicking My Ass?

Slim and I went out for our first real hike in ages. Sure we do our walking almost every day, but this was a real hike, with packs and trails with names like Mountain Goat and Lookout Point. I'm not ashamed to say it kicked my ass. That wasn't a surprise, what was surprising was how Slim never complained about how hard it was. He plugged along, stopping every once in a while to wait for me, and encouraged me on some of the steeper climbs. Clearly, the student has become the master. I wonder if he's planning some sort of coup? As our relationship changes, I find my relationship with my own father changing. Changing for the better, for the most part. Conversations that wouldn't have been possible just a few years ago are now commonplace. Still, one of the hardest things for me to figure out is how to help him without treating him as if he's helpless. I remember when my husband died, for some reason I took every offer of help as proof that people believed I was incompetent, incapable of handling anything by myself. I know now that they all meant well, but at the time I couldn't see it any other way, and it made me furious. So, I'm trying real hard to help where it's necessary. Dust bunnies aren't going to kill my dad, and so what if the ironing is piling up on the board. Having the stitches in his eye pop out because he's doing heavy lifting, now that's a problem, so I'll do the gardening until the doctor gives him the go ahead. We just have to find some kind of balance.

In other news, the Mailman isn't dying, at least not right this minute. He's got high cholesterol, that's what the doctor wanted to talk to him about (Thanks for scaring the shit out of me, Nurse Diesel). If that thing on his arm, which has almost disappeared, is still there in another month he's going to have it biopsied. I'm not crazy that the doctor immediately prescribed meds for the cholesterol, instead of having him adjust his diet, but it certainly has made the Mailman think twice about what he eats. Gone is the nightly bowl of ice cream, gone are the all butter chocolate chip cookies and a Nutra-grain Bars for lunch (But honey, it says "nutrition" in the title, they can't be bad!). The doctor wanted him to get more exercise, can you believe it? He said work doesn't count. Since when is walking five miles and lifting thirty pound boxes all day long not considered exercise? Anyway, as a result, we're eating oatmeal like it's going out of style, popping fish oil tabs, and trying to find some sort of balance with our diets. Balance, there's that damn word again. Oh, the joys of middle age.

Week's End

I know I'm a little behind the times, but I'd been waiting until Slim was a little older to see this movie. It was definitely worth the wait. Briefly, the plot involves a young girl who tries to escape the brutality of the post Spanish Civil War period and her sadistic stepfather by entering a fantasy world, a world in which she may or may not be a long lost princess. A word to the wise, if your idea of a princess is some ditz who spends her time singing to cartoon birds while waiting for a man to rescue her, go check out the Disney vault. There's bound to be a few million copies of Cinderella over there in the corner, right next to Walt's frozen head. Pan's Labyrinth was directed by Guillermo del Toro, and it's lush, dark, and full of suspense. We here at Casa de Kirby give it a big thumbs up.

Next on the agenda, what the hell's up with Canadian coyotes? Speaking as someone who often hikes alone, I hope our scraggly local coyotes don't start getting any ideas. It's bad enough I have to worry about mountain lions, I don't want to have to be on the lookout for Wil E. Coyote, too.

I sent the Mailman to the doctor the other day, there was some weird shit on his arm and besides, he hadn't had a physical in a few years. The thing on his arm was this freckle or a mole that ballooned up overnight like a tick. Weird, right? Of course, my immediate thought was skin cancer, but he said it was a blood blister (and the doctor agreed with him). "When did you pinch your arm?" I asked. He said he couldn't remember. How someone can pinch the most tender part of their arm hard enough to get a blood blister and not remember it doesn't make sense, but what ever. The day after the Mailman's doctor visit, we get a message from his office. He's at work, so I called back and talked to the nurse. She said, "Mr. Mailman has to make an appointment to see the doctor about his blood work." Since my husband gets so few days off during the week, and for some strange reason doesn't want to spend them getting his ass poked by a man in a white coat, I asked her, "The doctor wanted to see him in a month to take another look at that fucking tick on his arm, can it wait until then?" She wouldn't tell me what the results were, but she did say, rather excitedly, "Oh no, the doctor needs to see him right away!" Which, of course, I took to mean "your husband's got some incurable blood disease and is dying as we speak hurryupandgethisasstothedoctorrightnowyoustupidbitch!" Nurse Death has some mad freaking phone skills, let me tell you. So, after an afternoon spent imagining every possible worst case scenario, I finally calmed the fuck down and thought everything through logically. Knowing the Mailman like I do, the doctor probably told him to stop at the front desk on his way out to make a follow up appointment. The Mailman, on the other hand, probably ran out of the office as fast as his little KY stained legs could carry him, forgetting all about his follow up. Hell, even on a good day you tell him one thing, and he hears something else entirely. Even so, I'm going to have him call the doctor back and see if he can get the results by phone before his next appointment. With a vivid imagination like mine, a week is too long to wait.

The Part I Hate

Is there anything harder than trying to teach someone how to write? I don't think so. Here's how it works, Slim hands me a grimy little piece of paper, and I resist the urge to slash at it with my little red pencil until it looks like a Maxi Pad. So I read it, make a list of questions and corrections, and then hand the whole mess back to him. This goes on for several days, until the essay begins to take shape. I suggest words, phrases, and what have you... people who get paid to do this for a living call it modeling, and then I begin to wonder if he was even born with a brain at all. Just where does modeling end and "writing the fucking thing for him" begin? It's an ugly process. Of course, I think back to some of the stuff I wrote when I was his age, it was just as bad, and to make it worse, I never had the advantage of a good editor. Did you have a writing teacher who made a difference? What was their approach, their advice?

I Want My Own Pond!!

You have to check out what's going on over at Cowgirl's country Life. This cowgirl makes her own shrimp. And when I say makes her own shrimp, I don't mean she cooks them up in a little butter and olive oil. She raises her own shrimp!! Who knew this was even possible? I don't have a stock pond, but I wonder if Slim's aquarium would do?

Tuck And Roll Fail

Alejandra Guzman must be one remorseful woman right about now. She went down to Mexico to get some body work done, only to find out later that the clinic's plastic surgeon isn't really a doctor. Now she's got an infected ass. Hmmmm, I wonder if they stuffed her seat with horseshit? On the plus side, she didn't wake up in a bathtub full of ice with a note pinned to her shirt telling her to get to a hospital ASAP, and she brought home the cutest little hairless dog she found wandering in the street.

You Might Could Use This Tip One Day

According to Grandpa, don't pull off the side of the road in Yellowstone to take a leak unless you want a dozen other tourists pulling off the side of the road with you. People will snap a photo of anything.

Birds I Think I Saw...And Zombies, Always Zombies

I went for a little hike the other day, and I think I saw a Western Kingbird. The dark line across the eye was pretty prominent, and this photo I found looks like the bird I saw, so that's my story and I'm sticking to it. We were out running the dog when we saw it. Poor dog, she hadn't been out in a while and I could tell she was a bit out of shape (the dog, not me, ya bunch of smartasses). Instead of charging through the brush and hopping between patches of cactus trying to flush birds, she was content to trot down the trail and sniff the occasional horse turd. Of course, no good deed goes unpunished, and I found out Slim now needs a new pair of hiking boots. This growth spurt is getting ridiculous, soon to be ridiculously expensive. I hate buying cheap shoes, especially cheap hiking shoes. Time to bite the bullet and get him geared up, though, now that the good hiking weather has returned. Oh hey, if you're so inclined, go check out Zombieland. The boys went to go see it yesterday, and they loved it. The special bonus surprise? Bill Murray has a great part in the movie. So there you have it, a recap of our completely mundane weekend. Thanks for bearing with me.