I Also Failed Crayons

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Gentle Reader,

So I mentioned on the FB the other day that I am re-taking an Old Testament class that I enrolled in last year (or year before?) and didn’t exactly finish.  (I think the fact that I can’t remember when the class actually WAS is fairly reflective of why it is that I didn’t, you know, complete the course.)  Anyway, since all of my worldly goods except my Apple products are in long-term storage (since I am supposed to be in Russia right now…), now that I have re-enrolled in the class, I have had to get new books for it (it’s a four-year study, so I can reuse them, it’s not a total loss…), including a new Bible.  Which is nice because my trusty “Catholic Study Bible” came out with a second edition in between last time I bought it and now.

And so I know there are some people who paid a lot of attention in Sunday School, and got a lot out of it as kids.  I salute you if that was your jam.  It was not mine, and so therefore I missed out on the song about the books of the Bible in order.  (At least, I’m guessing there was a song?  Probably a fun craft, too.  We’ve established my level of attention.)  So even as an adult, one who has taken religion classes, plural, and enjoys them, I still need the handy stick-on tabbies to have any hope of finding the book that I am looking for when I go to look for something in my Bible.  Because just opening it randomly, I have no clue if Tobit is before or after Joshua.  Plus, there are all those teeny tiny books in the Old Testament that drive me crazy.  Anyway, so whenever I get a new Bible I have to take time out and play with stickers.  Like I did yesterday.  See if you can spot my error, here:

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I don’t know HOW I managed, but somehow, I managed to fail…AT STICKERS.

So now I have no idea what I’m going to do to try to tweeze John out of Luke, but I really do need to figure something out.  Surely I’m not the only person who has had this problem, right?  Please, humor me and tell me so.

Anyway, it’s been a rough week what with being SMOKED by Mrs. Hip Replacement 2014 in class, and now being flunked out of Remedial Stickers 101.

And now I have to go to the grocery store to procure food to eat, as apparently last night’s TV dinner was sub-par.

Goodnight,

Wordie

Sweatin’ With the Elderly

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Gentle Reader,

Today I want to discuss something near and dear to my heart.

 

Exercise.

 

 

Ha!  Hahahahaha!  Ha!

Okay, so it’s not near and dear to me, but my heart does need it (because apparently I hit the genetic jackpot and inherited heart disease from my Daddy’s side of the fam, and high blood pressure and stroke from Mama’s side) so I’m doing it.

Mama and I both realized at about the same time that life is short, and exercise will help us feel good for our short turn around this planet.  And since at least one of us has a pretty strong aversion to The Nature, walking around the neighborhood was out of the question.  So we began looking for a solution and we found our little local gym.  And I verified that they have water aerobics (one of us has a pretty strong aversion to sweat, too…) which I like because it’s intense without punishing your knees.  When I belonged to this gym,  they had lots of different options for water classes-deep water running, high intensity stuff–taken by people my age, or the stereotypical low-impact class taken by those whose replacement joints outnumber their natural joints.  So that’s kind of what I was anticipating when I got to the gym for the first class.  I’d put on a float-y belt and spend an hour running and emerge exhausted and take a dip in the hot tub as a little treat after the freezing pool water.

Nope.

For starters, this facility, and really the town in general, is geared toward the retired set.  I bring down the average age in the class by a good three decades.  These ladies DO THEIR HAIR and put on makeup to come to class.  It is beyond precious and I love it.  If one of them would don a bathing cap, well I just don’t know that I could stand the adorable.

In news that shocks nobody, I can usually manage to get my suit on correctly and throw on some yoga pants for the walk between car and pool, have most of my hair corralled into a bun, and have brushed my teeth, all while sliding into class at the last possible second leaving me to hurry into the pool in one swift motion.  The freezing cold pool.  So my under-the-breath swear words usually get a good warmup while we’re stretching and getting ready to start the real portion of the class.

I’m pretty sure the ladies think I’m some kind of feral Aboriginal woman based on these factors alone.

And during the first class, I remember thinking, “This is like, 3 feet of water here.  I’m soooo too advanced for this class.  Maybe I should check and see if there is ANY other water class.”

This was right before we moved over to the side of the pool and did some kind of core torture thing that, I kid you not, EVERY SINGLE LADY could do but me.  They cheered me on and gave me helpful tips and modifications on the exercise.

Proud, PROUD moment, Gentle Reader.  You have not been humbled until you’ve been smoked by a lady with none of her original knees or hips.  I’m sure this is another opportunity for spiritual refinement or something.

Anyway, all that to say that we actually went to the gym four times last week, and this week we’re shooting for five.  I find I do better with a class because I get distracted easily.  Last week, for instance, on a non-class day, I got onto the treadmill.  And the television attached to it wasn’t working, which was dangerous because that allowed me to think instead of flip channels.  Approximately five minutes into my program, I began to make a mental list of what I needed to get done that day.  Six minutes in, I started thinking about the “Empty Mansions” book that I am presently reading and how I really wished I had this time to be able to read.  So I naturally tried to figure out a way to prop the book so I could walk while reading without injuring myself or others.  At approximately eight minutes in, I began contemplating lunch.  And here’s where the irony gets rich.  Wanting nothing more than to get off of the treadmill, I promised myself a french bread pizza if I made it the entire 30 minutes on there.  A beacon of health and healthy eating, I am.  So from that point on, I stared intently at the timer to make sure that the thing didn’t try to run long on me.

I’m pretty sure I am missing the point entirely with exercise, but like I said, I doubt that I will ever ENJOY exercise.  Mostly because the other things I love aren’t really compatible with it.  I mean, have you ever tried half an hour on the treadmill the morning after a bottle of wine?  It’s really a gift that keeps on giving.  But this exercise newbie is going to give this a whirl.  In the meantime, since the television situation is hit-or-miss, I need some suggestions for good workout music for the iPod.  My current list (judge me not) includes mucho Cyndi Lauper, Pet Shop Boys, and “One Night In Bangkok”.  I need some more to add to the rotation, thoughts?

Goodnight,

Wordie