Our canoe flipping over is the one wrong thing that didn’t happen…but it did happen to Grant and Ky. (And our cookies were in their boat! Man!)
Things that went wrong on my recent trip to the Russian River:
1. We saw a sheep on the loose on Hwy. 12. This isn’t necessarily something that went wrong so much as out-of-the ordinary and a bit alarming. Yet, it fueled some good ‘Mary lost her little lamb’ jokes—the best one was when Grant called 911 to report it he described the lamb as having fleece as white as snow. heh heh heh
2. We were late by about an hour. (But, honestly, when you’re dealing with a group of 18, someone has to be late, right?)
3. We mistakenly ran into tree branches, got hung up on some rocks, and I almost lost my life to an enormous spiderweb.
4. I had a wardrobe malfunction with my bathing-suit top while trying to take my sandals off to go swimming. It’s quite possible I gave a show—or 3, as the top ‘popped’ more than once due to a faulty closure—to my friends. But if they saw my breasticles, they were kind enough not to say anything other than “keep your clothes on!”
5. We actually ran into a duck. How that happens, I still can’t figure out. All I know is I felt a thump and saw an angry duck quacking and skittering away.
6. After a long day of rowing, and knowing full-well that I would be sore, today I’m feeling that I pulled a muscle in my leg. Not my arms—my leg!
I have to admit, that list makes me smile and giggle. It really was a great day.
Another fine example of how absolutely cool and inspirational my friends are:
Sasha makes these compilation CDs and distributes them to the deserving masses. I’m not quite sure of the criteria for belonging to this special group, but I’m so thrilled that I’ve been lucky enough to be included and received two of them now.
The latest CD is titled ‘Summer’s Too Hot for Love.’ And the level of thoughtfulness and dedication is apparent in the production.
I’ll share some of the liner notes that I find particularly clever and relevant. The playlist is arranged in the order of how love usually progresses. These are the sections:
I. Introduction: Intuition
IV. Adoration + Devotion
V. Trepidation + Disintegration
VI. Conclusion without Resolution
VII. Alleviation + Restoration
VIII. Epilogue: Revitalization
and, of course, the music is all goo-ood.
There are a few words that my dad pronounces differently than most folks. The funniest one is ‘chimbly.’ In case you can’t figure it out, that would be ‘chimney’ to you and me. But my late grampa (my dad’s father-in-law, a Cornell alumnus) put a stop to that pronunciation right away. At least, that’s how the family story goes.
The next amusing twist—and probably my favorite—Dad puts on a word is ‘museum,’ pronounced ‘muh-ZEE-um.’ (It even makes me giggle as I’m typing it out).
My heart leapt for joy one day when Dad and I visited the High Museum of Art and joined one of the docent toursâ€”our docent was from somewhere in New England, and her accent kept delighting me with ‘myoo-ZEEM.’ But then the whole coincidence within a coincidence, within another coincidence made my head spin a little bit—but in such a good way!
I’ve decided that I’m now collecting new ways to pronounce ‘museum.’ And I collected a new one last night! My friend Sasha was telling a story about using a museum catalog as material to construct an envelope, and more than once—thrice, if I’m not mistaken—he said ‘myoo-ZAY-um.’ Gold. Struck.
I am often baffled when I’m downtown and I see women walking along in heels as if they are wearing pillows on their feet. And you know that they do it day-in, day-out. They have to be crying on the inside like I am when I wear heels, right?
Case in point: I normally only wear heels when I know for sure that I will mostly be standing still or sitting—definitely not walking city blocks. But a few weeks ago, I dusted off some of my heels when the girls and I played dress-up to go have drinks at Top of the Mark. I was in pain by the time I walked one block—up Nob Hill, of course. But I surely did look cute!
The question I pose is this: Is it so wrong of me to find myself a little jealous of a woman I saw today, in a wheelchair, wearing some fierce patent-leather, high-heeled boots? She gets to wear ANY shoes she wants—regardless of comfort and ease of maneuverability in the city, no less! It really does feel a little politically incorrect…but what the hell. You GO, girl! (Yeah, I wrote it).
These are a quick and dirty sample of some shoes I would almost kill for, just to be able to wear them.
It’s true. I’m a suppressed shoe lover. And by suppressed I mean that I adore shoes. I am just not able to foster that love due to the painful truth that I simply can’t wear some shoes gracefully or comfortably and, sadly, a general lack of justifiable funds.
So, the next time you see me in my ‘sensible’ shoes, know that, on the inside, I’m wearing those delicious snake-skin peep-toes.
Update: Seen on Twitter: “I’d like to take these shoes, dig a grave with their five-inch heels and toss them in. And then spit on the mound of dirt.” by Dooce, 7/14/08