she's just saying...

Flipping out

This is what Henry has been obsessed with lately:

 

Flipping through the air. On a trampoline, off electrical boxes, into the foam pit. I've been driving him to gyms (and paying fees) several times a week so he can do this over and over.

I've been struggling with this. First, that he's going to break his neck or other body part. He just sprained his ankle trying to land and it's been a pain in the butt. Mostly because I have to walk the dog morning AND evening and take out the garbage and bring him tea while he rests on the couch. It's all I do. But I digress...

The other reason I am not wild about flipping is more complicated. I don't understand the point of it. He doesn't want to take gymnastics (too structured) and he's not interested in diving. He hasn't learned to land except a simple back flip from a platform, and that turned into an accident. So where are we going with this?

"I just like to fly through the air!" he says, and I try to be okay with that. Life should really be that simple.

10 things I haven't done in Bend

Top Ten Tuesday and all that...

I moved to Bend sixteen years ago this month. And in that time I've enjoyed much of what Central Oregon has to offer. I've skiied, boarded, snowshoed, rockclimbed, canoed, rafted, backpacked, drunk beer and been to the Monster Truck Rally. But just like those New Yorkers who've never been to the Empire State Building (most of them), there are a few things you'd think I've done that I haven't. (Warning: very local post here with no explanations. Deal with it.)

I have never:

1. Cut down my own Christmas tree
2. Biked on Phil's Trail
3. Floated the river in an inner tube
4. Done Art Walk
5. Been on a Pole Peddle Paddle team
6. Rafted Big Eddy
7. Been in the Christmas Parade (we have done the Pet Parade - evidence below)
8. Eaten at Dandy's Drive-In
9. Skiied the cone
10. Served on jury duty

Mum's the word on that last one. Though I'm a faithful voter, somehow I've escaped the jury rolls so far. (Now I've jinxed myself, of course, and will likely be serving shortly.)

 So I've confessed mine: what are yours?

  Note the patriotic choice of binky

Running through the years

Once upon a time I was a runner. I started when I lived in Boston, with a mix tape on my Walkman that included the Pointer Sisters, when it was still called jogging.

When I lived in New York, I ran along the East River daily with a tall handsome Haitian man named Jean-Michelle. I ran 10K races in Central Park, including the New Year's Eve race that started at midnight and included a station handing out champagne instead of water.

In California, I ran on the beach to the Santa Monica pier every morning, watching for dolphins in the waves and forgetting for a brief time that I lived in a city. 

I'd run in the rain and snow and when on vacation. Running was just a part of my daily life and I didn't think much about it, unlike skiing or scuba diving or sailing which I considered my real activities.

Then when I moved to Bend, I became an aerobics instructor and took my workouts inside to pounding disco music and emitted whoops! at regular intervals. I still trotted the river trail with my border collie occasionally, but really stopped running regularly as I began to enjoy the gym life and its social stimulus. When Henry came along, I hiked the local butte daily with him in a back carrier and Flash pulling us along. I stopped running regularly.

When we adopted Bindi this Jan. 1, I rehauled my entire morning schedule, taking her out in the freezing dark for enough exercise to take the edge off her relentless energy before she went into her kennel for the day. She stays in a big outdoor run now so the morning exercise is not as crucial, but we've stuck to it as it's becoming lighter and warmer. And I bought new trail running shoes.

So I've started running again, though I hesitate to call it that. It's more a walk/run/walk, and I'm working up to my first mile without stopping. I'm trying to resist the pressure I feel to improve push me so much that I don't enjoy it, and not to feel guilty if I keep to the walk part. It's s l o w l y becoming easier and I find I break into a jog more naturally than when I started. Bindi trots along, learning to stay to one side and out of the way. I don't think I'll be entering races again, but it's nice to experience that old feeling, from 30 years ago, when I lace up the shoes and head out the door.

Summer camp, already?

If you could relate to my posts about the hell of summer activity scheduling for Henry, this may be of interest.

"Big News! Bend Park & Recreation District is opening up summer registration for their recreation programs online on March 17^th  for district residents and April 1^st  for those who live outside the district. This is a big change. Normally, programs open in May. So, now you’ll have an extra month to plan what your kids will be doing this summer. Go online and be green on St. Patrick’s Day, March 17^th. To register go to https://register.bendparksandrec.org"

So now the signing-up part isn't so bad, it's just the scheduling and the paying for.

(Yes, I know this is last year's catalog cover - but I had to publish it one more time...)

The Lost Dogs

It must be dog week on this blog. Caution: this post is going to deviate from my usual light-hearted banter, so be warned.

I just finished reading "The Lost Dogs: Michael Vick's Dogs and Their Tales of Rescue and Redemption" by Jim Gorant.

It's a gruesome story, but also heartwarming and hopeful.  Much of the book focuses on the process the dogs went through to be evaluated, socialized and (most) eventually adopted. The dogs' desire to be "good" dogs, the work they did, the trust they gave and the love and joy they found is deeply moving, and highlights the rescue and redemption mentioned in the title.

The gruesome part is what the dogs went through at the Bad Newz Kennels. And who was involved, and how he's now celebrated by everyone from the Humane Society to NFL fans and President Obama. That would be Michael Vick of the Philadelphia Eagles, this season's "Comeback Player of the Year."

A USDA report stated that Vick personally electrocuted, strangled, drowned, and shot dogs. He wanted losing dogs killed rather than given away. He hanged dogs from trees, electrocuted them with jumper cables, held them underwater until they drowned in his swimming pool, and even threw his own family dogs into the fighting pit to be torn to shreds while he laughed.

psychopath
A person afflicted with a personality disorder characterized by a tendency to commit antisocial and sometimes violent acts and a failure to feel guilt for such acts.

Is he a psychopath, and has he reformed? I don't know. Michael Vick didn't stop fighting dogs because he saw the error of his ways. He operated his dogfighting ring for six years and only stopped when he was caught. He denied all involvement and confessed only after others blew the whistle.  His carefully-worded repentent statements certainly sound like the work of his p.r. team.

I would like to believe in second chances. But there's a difference between offering a second chance and a multimillion-dollar NFL contract. And now sportswriters and others are calling his standout playing comeback a redemption. If he never played after jail, would he not be redeemed?  And what does how well you play a game have to do with moral or ethical redemption?

I can't say if he's reformed or been redeemed. I can only look at what he was capable of and go from there. And on the positive side, having someone so high-profile involved in dogfighting and abuse has brought it into the national consciousness, and the results have redeemed pitbulls in some peoples' eyes.

It's complicated. However, this gives me chills:

In an interview with NBC News, Vick said he wants a dog. "I would love to get another dog in the future," Vick said. "If I ever have the opportunity again I will never take it for granted. I miss having a dog right now." What part was taking dogs "for granted?" And what part does he miss? 

OK: let the comments begin! Please know that I'll delete any racist, profane or just plain obnoxious ones. 'Cause it's my blog.

slap-happy summer

Note: I'm leaving this post up until I get some responses! Summer memories, people!

Up in our neck of the woods, spring came slowly and haltingly this year. It's always slower than everywhere else in the country, it seems, but this year was the coldest, wettest I remember. Summer finally showed up about July 5, and it's been truly lovely. Not too hot, until last weekend. And then the mosquitoes hatched.

The entire town is complaining - it's the number one comment on Facebook this week.

From our local news station:

Four Rivers Vector Control officials say the mosquitoes are overwhelming this year.

"This year we found that everything we looked at was hatching out all at once," said Four Rivers District Manager Chad Stubblefield. "In some places we even found 500 mosquitoes to a dip cup full of water."

You know it's bad when the westside Safeway (the big one) is SOLD OUT of mosquito spray. Really. The shelf was empty yesterday. I had to get some weird left-over brand. Hope it works.

On another summer note, it's been hot and even muggy with thunder and lightning. So it feels like a perfect time to play cards. Didn't you play cards in the summer growing up? War, Hearts, Rummy, Crazy Eights, I Doubt It, Uno?

Henry and I have different tastes in card games. I like a strategic game like gin rummy and thought he'd enjoy a simplified version of rummy for kids. He likes something called "SWAP!" which involves a lot of switching colors, swapping hands with the other player and slapping the discard pile.

So, we sit around these evenings, slapping mosquitoes and slapping cards, enjoying our Oregon summer and making memories. What are yours?

the old and the new

When bikes attack

Well, summer has finally arrived here -- it's been two nights since we've had to turn the heat on. The local visitor bureau has determined that cyclists are the niche of choice for its marketing efforts and the streets are jammed with fiercely lycra-clad racers as well as a more casual wheeling crowd. There also seem to be a lot more young adults on little bitty bikes in my neighborhood as well, which was recently explained by my neighbor as being due to a rash of DUI's at the end of the school year. At least they're only behind two wheels now vs. four.

I have a bike. I bike downtown, to the store, to concerts etc. I don't do it a lot, but I can. I've mentioned my deficient cycling skills here previously, which I blame on the geography of my childhood home, growing up at the top of a long, narrow, winding hill with poison ivy in the ditches, ducking out-of-control suburban station wagons driven by moms hopped up on caffeine and late to the PTA meeting.

However, I've gradually realized that something more nefarious is going on.

Bikes don't like me. They sense my fear and it turns them mean.

When I'm around them they tend to jump out and attack my legs, leaving scrapes and bruises even when I haven't tried to ride them.

I'm not exaggerating. This was recently witnessed at the farm stand when a strange bike bit my shin. I had my hand out for it to sniff and everything. I hadn't even made eye contact.

My current bike is a gentle old nag who is pretty kind, though it's been known to throw me at intersections. And when it smells alcohol on my breath (say, after concerts), it likes to buck and rear, then stand by and snicker. I can show you the scars.

Multi-tasking while doing nothing

Our school year was just cut by two days as of immediately, and it just hit me that I need to produce year-end gifts for Henry's wonderful teachers by Tuesday a.m. The great Mr. G. will probably get a giftcard with a personal note. Miss T., who's been Henry's advocate, cheerleader, biggest fan and confidante, needs something extra-special. So of course I picked up the needles and cast on. Goal: finish a market string bag in the next two days.

I picked pattern, yarn and needles already on hand and am knitting furiously while watching the World Cup.  That background whining horn sound during the game is driving me crazy though, so I'm watching the game on mute and listening to the Phillies/Red Sox game on the computer while knitting a lace pattern at the same time. I can't attest to the final result.

(It's a vuvuzela and according to Wikopedia is "associated with permanent noise-induced hearing loss, cited as a possible safety risk when spectators can't hear evacuation announcements, and potentially spreads colds and flu germs on a greater scale than coughing or shouting.") Not the pleasant summer murmur of baseball, for sure. More like an approaching swarm of killer bees.

Anyway, everything's on hold while I finish this project. Parents out there, weigh in on year-end teacher gifts: pro or con?  Suggestions?  Favorites? Discuss, while I knit on.

 

It's not a Wheaties box, yet...

The line for autographs starts at the right.

PS: That's Jen's girl, Chloe, with the Mona Lisa smile in the back.

Guns don't kill people; joysticks kill people.

(I don't think joysticks exist anymore, but you get my drift)

Like any good liberal mom, I always declared that we would never have toy guns in the house, and we haven't so far. Henry has shown no interest in guns. Either that's a personality trait or from a lack of gun-shooting testosterone in the house, but it's been an easy rule to keep.

Of course it's easy to follow when you're talking about replica guns and rifles -- clearly banned. But what about water guns? Nerf guns? It's a slippery slope. And it gets slipperier when you add video games to the mix.

I always loftily decreed that Henry couldn't play shooter games, the ones where you win by killing the most enemies. Clear enough, I thought. But then Henry started testing the definition. OK, no gun games, but what about shooting down evil alien monsters with lasers? Karate games, games where the Hulk drops people off buildings, samurai sword-fighting? And if those are OK, then why aren't shooter games? 

I came up with some lame excuses like sword-fighting is more of an athletic challenge, but we're talking video games, not re-creations in the park. (Bend can't be the only town that has teen boys dressed up in capes playing with fake swords in the park, can it?) Or this reason: shooter games glorify war and killing. Hmmm. Luckily, he's not interested in those games, except for the fact that since they're not allowed, they clearly must be cool.

Does it count as sunny if you have no shadow?

Bend boosters like to quote the statistic that we get 300 days of sunshine here -- it counteracts the Oregon = rain perception people hold. Everyone quotes the same number: 300. Realtors, the Chamber of Commerce, the medical clinic, golf resorts and the local HVAC company all repeat this frequently. (With the notable exception of a surly curmudgeon whose entire blog exists to dispute this number.) I'm not sure how the "300 days" stat was compiled, but I'm just saying we'd better see sunshine non-stop through New Year's if we're going to hit that this year.

Due to the frequent brilliant sunshine there's a interesting phenomenon that occurs in Central Oregon around February and March. By now we're seriously bored with winter and start to believe that sun = spring. People shed the down and fleece and run around in shorts and t-shirts. Myself, I stop wearing jackets to work and start leaving the doors open, until I realize I'm freezing. 35 degrees is 35 degrees whether it's December or May.

(There's a subset of guys who wear shorts year-round here. They tend to be of three kinds: snowboarders, 30-something dads who pretend they're snowboarders, and the UPS guy. The shorts are the long cargo-type, so at least we're spared large flashes of goosebumpy flesh.)

The kids immediately wear tank tops (gals) or take their shirts off (dudes) and hang around the park downtown. By the way, I seem to have turned into the kind of mom who says: "Those children must be freezing!" How did that happen?

Then it turns gray and cold and rainy again and we remember it's only February.

I'm happy to report that I'm in a far better place than I was this time last year, when I wrote this depressing post.  Wow. Good thing I didn't have my biathlon rifle back then.

Where the cool kids hang out. And the geese. On a much nicer day than today.

She can ski, shoot and knit. All at the same time!

Just when I was bemoaning my fall from scuba diver to knitter, here comes a true athlete. Biathlete AND knitter, Magdalena Neuner. She even has her own pattern and yarn line.

Here's her blog banner:

Hmm. Maybe I need to get a rifle.

I can't say it any better

From Forbes.com:

What's ironic is that I am an advertiser on NBC. Granted, I don't buy national airtime for a car brand - it's a museum in the Central Oregon market. But hey, I'm paying them money. And even as an advertiser, this total lack of respect for the viewers really pisses me off. I'm close to pulling my media buy but for the fact that I care about my local franchise and my reps. I've let them know how I feel, but I doubt it's going to get back to 30 Rock.

And yes, we're still watching the Olympic prime-time coverage at home - what choice do we have?

Oh wait: I take that back. I could be watching the Olympics right now (Sat. afternoon): NBC is providing live coverage. Up now:

Men's Hockey

Late round-robin action features the Slovakian men versus Latvia.

necks of steel

Yes, baseball season is over as of last night. I don't need any unattractive gloating from Yankees fans. Especially since they won by spending the most money. But I'm not bitter. I just miss baseball.

So, the biggest mystery in baseball (other than what the "Day-O!" song has to do with it) is what are those thick necklaces that a lot of players, especially pitchers, wear. I shall now reveal all.

Phiten X30 Necklace

"Phiten products work with your body’s energy system, helping to regulate and balance the flow of energy throughout your body. Proper energy balance helps to alleviate discomfort, speed recovery, and counteract fatigue. Athletes find that they tire less easily and recover faster from intense physical activity. Further benefits of Phiten’s exclusive technology are more relaxed muscles leading to less stress and a greater range of motion that can be of great benefit to an athlete or anyone in any walk of life..."

I got to get me one of these! Red Sox version, of course.

Al Gore is a big fat liar

I had to do that thing with today's paper like kidnappers do in ransom photos so those of you outside Central Oregon would believe me.

Autumn is for sissies, I guess.

I'm really looking forward to flag football tonight at 7 pm.

In-de-pen-dance

Giant step yesterday on the 10-year-old front. Henry and his best friend Gavin* biked home from camp by themselves. To those of you without kids: this is a big thing.

Camp gets out at 11:30 am (as usual ignoring working parents' schedules), at which time I'm down at the Museum and don't feel like driving 10 miles back to town to ferry them a half mile home. So after I installed and loaded the new bike carrier, we rehearsed using the bike lock (with eyerolls and sighs) and I left them to find their own way home. They had their helmets, the lock, water bottles, jackets and $20 to get them through a week of junk food at 7-11. Then, of course, they got to stay home without adult supervision til I returned at 5:30.

The first time they stayed alone during the day the house was covered in spilled cereal, sticky ice cream dishes, various unmatched shoes and socks, squirt guns, video game boxes and random plastic legos that hurt like a bitch when you step on them. With the threat of a babysitter looming, they've been working on clean-up and are actually starting to catch on.

I wrestle with bad-mommy guilt over leaving them alone, never mind letting them roam the westside on their bikes. Being in a smaller, safe, family-friendly town helps. But still. I've watched too many "Law and Order" episodes to feel really comfortable. Maybe it's the natural progression toward independence or maybe they'll soon be smoking cigarettes behind the 7-11 (or maybe both). There's no manual for single moms. All we can do is make lists, check in frequently and trust in the goodness of the universe.

*Gavin is staying with us for a few weeks.

I was feeling pretty independent myself, having researched, procured, assembled and mounted the bike carrier on the car. Another episode in the endless series of "Girls Can Do It!"

Confessions of a fangirl

LeBron was spectacular in the 4th quarter last night.

"You never want to disappoint the home crowd. It was win or go home,'' James said. "You have to do everything sometimes.''

I can relate.

But seriously...

It's weird to me that I'm so into watching professional sports. Not just watching, but following. I read Sports Illustrated. I stay up for Sports Center. I even listen to sports talk radio. Really.

Weird because I never played team sports growing up. NEVER, unless I was forced to in gym class. Always last to be picked (btw, how come everyone says they're the last? That's not statistically possible). I always swam, skied and took ballet, but never competed. Physical competition made me anxious. I think it still does; I don't know because I avoid it. It's not about fitness; I was a scuba divemaster and an aerobics instructor. But I won't even play volleyball at a beach picnic.

So why am I glued to the baseball game streaming on the computer, the basketball finals on TV and reading about the football draft? Where could this have come from? I was always the arts & crafts type (still am).

Watching the girls at Henry's meets and games, I'm envious of their unself-consciousness and their team camaraderie. I realize I missed out on an experience that would have been confidence-building and valuable. Maybe that's why I'm drawn to the culture of professional sports. Or maybe this is why:

Dancing fool

I'll have you know I was once really hip. I networked at Area with Jerry Rubin in NYC in the 80's (you had to be there), frequented underground after-hours clubs in LA, danced til 10 am at a gay club in SF, did the rave thing. And I'm not a klutz. I took dance and taught advanced step aerobics for years. Really. I'm cool. However, I suck at Dance Dance Revolution.

First of all, there's clearly something wrong with the program. I step on the right arrow exactly when it shows the right arrow and I always get an "almost" or "boo." And when I dial down to beginner and start to get it right, the whole thing resembles a Frankenstein stomp in slo-mo. When does the "dancing" part come in?

Henry and I tried to double-team it: he took the left and up arrows, I took the right and down. We were pathetic. Meanwhile, on screen, they're gyrating and hip-hopping and krumping the moves. Us, we're just stomping around lamely and clueless and off the (non-existent) beat.

This is obviously a video game for people who have too much time on their hands (aren't they all). However, though I appear to have no funk in my trunk, I'm going to keep trying to crack this code. Anyone know of a Dance Dance tutor?

This is not me.

A lot of testosterone, and not just on the field

Am I becoming an old fogey? (Don't answer, really.) The Superbowl ads, with a few exceptions, struck me as gratuitously violent, demeaning to women and just plain incomprehensible. And I'm in the industry.

Women's clothes got ripped off on the street, they were spied on in the shower, they were verbally abused by flowers, they argued over their enhanced boobs, and Mrs. Potato Head's mouth was thrown over a cliff. Jeez. Of course, random men were hit by bats, snow globes (Henry's all-time favorite spot) and buses, skied into trees and got thrown out of windows. Oh, and a panda koala got repeatedly punched.

A lot of anger out there, folks!

Of course we had the Clydesdales, though they seemed a bit forced. The e-Trade baby came through again with a new friend (though I thought even he was uncharacteristically cranky in the golf spot), and the Dylan/Wil.i.am spot was truly a classic. A lot of imagery there - I need to find that one and watch it again.

The Ed McMahon and MC Hammer spot for Cash4Gold.com was horribly sad.

Meanwhile, I'm transferring my domain name from Go Daddy. They're just stupid.

 

And what the heck???

Get pumped up!

Lots of sports action tonight! The Phillies and Rays resume their battle to the death, and even more exciting, Henry has a flag football game under the lights! Go Rams!

(What were they thinking, scheduling a mid-week end-of-October game at 6:30 at night for third and fourth graders? Just don't be sniffing my travel mug beverage . . . )