There are things we have to do in life that we love doing for no real reason. No one else recognizes these task as having any more inherent joy than the other million tasks we are capable of. But for some reason, certain mundane and trivial things are delightful to one person. But just as there are tasks we LOVE doing, there are also those we like/don’t mind, those we “just do” (hopefully without noticing too much), those we don’t like doing, and those we abhor and refuse to do.
One thing I LOVE doing is replacing the garbage bag. Sadly the preceding task is not one I love. When I was in college and I would see a roommate bundling up the trash and heading out the door, I would race to get the new bag (isn’t pulling them off the roll fun!?) and situate it in the garbage can (waving it through the air is fun too! Also, having a fresh empty trash can. It's all so wonderful!). My roommates probably thought that I was just being Helpful Heidi, pitching in with them for the sanitation of the whole group—doing them a favor for doing us a favor. Really though, I guess I was actually stealing their opportunity for this joy. I realized this one time when I was doing the not fun job of taking out the trash and came back in to find one of them doing my fun job of replacing the bag. It was to be my reward/consolation for taking out the trash, and here they were getting to do it instead of me! I told them that I had wanted to do it. Of course, they thought they were doing me a favor, so I explained that I just love doing it SO MUCH. After that, when anyone would take out the trash, they’d notify me so that I could put the new bag in. They’d holler out, and I’d come running upstairs. If you lived with me, you could possibly go your whole life without ever putting in a new garbage bag.
One thing I abhor is grating cheese. I just can’t do it. This might be hereditary. Whenever we would have any meal with grated cheese (tacos, enchiladas, shepherds’ pie, etc.) and I would ask what I could do to help, my mom would assign me to grate the cheese. What???? I hate grating cheese. I’ve always hated it. How could she ask me—again! She knows I hate it. I would explain, “Mom. We’re having TACOS. There must be 20 jobs to do—chop tomatoes, chop lettuce, open a can of refried beans, cook the meat, set the table, round up salsa/sour cream—any of which I’m willing to do. Why must you always say ‘Grate the cheese’? It’s me, Lyndsey. I’ve always hated this one, and there are so many other ways to help.” Maybe she hated it too... This could explain why it always was the first thing to come to mind when she was offered help, and it could explain why I hate it too. B is the cheese grater in the family now. He knows that’s his “part” in the meal. The rest of the planning, preparing, and table setting is up to me. But when I call him for his part, he quickly comes and does it—then goes back to what he was doing. He has participated in the dinner preparation and probably thinks he's getting off easy since it is just one thing and over so quickly.
I only mention these things because I am excited to have identified a new task I LOVE. I love refilling the staples in the stapler. I don’t love refilling anything else—soap dispenser, tape dispenser, TP roller, salt shaker, etc.—they are all things I “just do.” But the stapler—I love refilling that. I can’t really explain why except that part of it is my sheer amazement that I’ve used a whole row of staples. It seems like so many when you put them in. It feels like an accomplishment. Plus, the whole contraption is so…mechanical. Finally, you never really know when it’s going to happen, so it’s always a surprise! Sure, they leave that window so you can see if you’re almost out. But who monitors that thing? There ARE a lot of staples inside, so there’s no point checking after each staple. Besides, if you changed it then, the new complete row would not fit and you would have to break it up. All of these reasons are still not enough to explain why I really love reloading the stapler. It’s just one of those things I really like doing, for no justifiable reason.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Next Up...DAAAAAAVID NAAAAAAY!!!
I ordered our office’s season Braves tickets a year ago (four tickets to each game). Really, my only involvement was in securing these tickets, but it has meant that I am the “contact person” at my office and the Braves send me emails all the time letting me know about things that are going on for “season ticket holders.” That’s me. A season ticket holder. Once the tickets arrived, I sorted them and handed them over to the Marketing Department so that they could hand them out to clients, coworkers, etc. Since receiving the tickets last year I have been deleting the promotional stuff the Braves email and mail me…until I got an invitation to Season Ticket Holder Playday! Free ballpark food and free Braves hats! (Ok, so everything was free—just their way of saying “thank you” to us die hard Braves fans.) Tours of the locker room/physical therapy rooms, etc. Shag balls in the outfield and use the batting cages and bullpen under the field. Plus, one lucky person in each group could sign up to bat at home plate. What a fun day. I planned to go and take B. Plus, it was the weekend my parents visited, so they would have to come along too. I RSVP’d and signed the four of us up to “play” with my dad batting at 11:00am. And of course, I didn’t tell him! Here are some impressions from the day:
1. Once we got to the stadium (no, dad didn’t even know we were going to the stadium, just that I had a surprise) and saw people batting and playing catch in the outfield, I told my dad that he was going to bat. How did he take it? The way he takes everything. In other words, I have no idea if he was happy, sad, nervous, or anything else. He made his way to the dugout at the appropriate time and got all set with a batting helmet. I have a great picture of him walking from the dugout to home plate—head down, shoulders slumped—looking like he ALREADY struck out. (http://picasaweb.google.com/lyndseyandbrett/BravesPlayday#) But everything went great! He hit his first several pitches—good hits! Only missed a couple. “Yay, Dad!” I think he was pleased.
2. I joked with him about his dejected walk to home plate and he explained that he was really looking down because he had just stepped onto the grass. This is very believable as the grass on the field is the grass they will have in heaven. It is the most amazing grass I’ve ever walked on/touched. I can’t even describe how perfect the field is. The park employs 30 people to work on the grass. They rip it all out when the season is over (which is why we got to play on it all day—they’re just going to throw it away) and plant new grass in the spring. And, get this: they mow it TWICE a day! 3/4 of an inch. It really feels just like a carpet. So fun for the four of us to play catch in the outfield!
3. The tour of the locker room, kitchen, hang-out area, physical therapy wing was great because it allows you to better picture what it’s like being a professional baseball player. Sure, it’s just a kitchen [etc.], but now I know what’s underneath the stadium. I know when the players arrive and where they wait. I wonder if THEY knew that we would all walk through their locker room (which does not look like the traditional locker room (no LOCKERS, no tile floor, no benches, no showers). More like open wooden cubicles in a carpeted circle (so no one gets that big corner cubicle). The players don’t bother cleaning out their area at the end of the season, so their spaces were just as they left them—hanging jock straps and all.
4. For $25k you can sit in the padded recliner-esque chairs right behind home plate all season. The first two or three rows directly behind the plate (which happen to be much closer to the batter than the pitcher is). You can eat/drink in the fancy-schmancy lounge right underneath you. What do you eat? Anything you want. You name it—they cook it.
5. Mom, Dad, and B all tried their luck in the batting cages under the field. I sat out for my back’s sake. I was especially glad Mom gave it a whirl—and even stuck with it when the guy came out to hand pitch it (that darn machine IS too fast). At the conclusion of our batting, B said, “Well, we’ve established that your dad is the only one of us who can hit.” (Now, Mom and B did hit SOME, just not many or well.)
6. B tried one of the cages where you throw the ball as fast as you can, hoping to get 30mph. We saw a teenage kid throwing nearly 90mph. Pretty amazing. B surprised himself getting 50mph.
7. The weather was gorgeous and the park really is beautiful. It was so nice after a morning of baseball to sit in the sun eating hotdogs and drinking coke.
I really enjoy baseball. Truly, I can’t think of a better way to spend a beautiful day than at a ball game with a good friend. I don’t watch baseball on TV and I don’t follow any players or teams. But if I get the chance to attend a pro game (or a college game—I really love college games) I will enjoy myself. Although I had tickets to four Braves games this season (three courtesy of work) THREE of the games got rained out! I felt kind of bad because the staff at the playday were thanking us profusely for our support and for being such loyal fans, when really I don’t care about the Braves (I just like baseball). They were asking people Braves trivia (or even just to name their favorite player) for prizes, and we thought it was pretty funny because between the four of us we wouldn’t be able to name a single player on the team if we had been asked. In that way we kind of felt like imposters! Anyway, it was a fun day.
1. Once we got to the stadium (no, dad didn’t even know we were going to the stadium, just that I had a surprise) and saw people batting and playing catch in the outfield, I told my dad that he was going to bat. How did he take it? The way he takes everything. In other words, I have no idea if he was happy, sad, nervous, or anything else. He made his way to the dugout at the appropriate time and got all set with a batting helmet. I have a great picture of him walking from the dugout to home plate—head down, shoulders slumped—looking like he ALREADY struck out. (http://picasaweb.google.com/lyndseyandbrett/BravesPlayday#) But everything went great! He hit his first several pitches—good hits! Only missed a couple. “Yay, Dad!” I think he was pleased.
2. I joked with him about his dejected walk to home plate and he explained that he was really looking down because he had just stepped onto the grass. This is very believable as the grass on the field is the grass they will have in heaven. It is the most amazing grass I’ve ever walked on/touched. I can’t even describe how perfect the field is. The park employs 30 people to work on the grass. They rip it all out when the season is over (which is why we got to play on it all day—they’re just going to throw it away) and plant new grass in the spring. And, get this: they mow it TWICE a day! 3/4 of an inch. It really feels just like a carpet. So fun for the four of us to play catch in the outfield!
3. The tour of the locker room, kitchen, hang-out area, physical therapy wing was great because it allows you to better picture what it’s like being a professional baseball player. Sure, it’s just a kitchen [etc.], but now I know what’s underneath the stadium. I know when the players arrive and where they wait. I wonder if THEY knew that we would all walk through their locker room (which does not look like the traditional locker room (no LOCKERS, no tile floor, no benches, no showers). More like open wooden cubicles in a carpeted circle (so no one gets that big corner cubicle). The players don’t bother cleaning out their area at the end of the season, so their spaces were just as they left them—hanging jock straps and all.
4. For $25k you can sit in the padded recliner-esque chairs right behind home plate all season. The first two or three rows directly behind the plate (which happen to be much closer to the batter than the pitcher is). You can eat/drink in the fancy-schmancy lounge right underneath you. What do you eat? Anything you want. You name it—they cook it.
5. Mom, Dad, and B all tried their luck in the batting cages under the field. I sat out for my back’s sake. I was especially glad Mom gave it a whirl—and even stuck with it when the guy came out to hand pitch it (that darn machine IS too fast). At the conclusion of our batting, B said, “Well, we’ve established that your dad is the only one of us who can hit.” (Now, Mom and B did hit SOME, just not many or well.)
6. B tried one of the cages where you throw the ball as fast as you can, hoping to get 30mph. We saw a teenage kid throwing nearly 90mph. Pretty amazing. B surprised himself getting 50mph.
7. The weather was gorgeous and the park really is beautiful. It was so nice after a morning of baseball to sit in the sun eating hotdogs and drinking coke.
I really enjoy baseball. Truly, I can’t think of a better way to spend a beautiful day than at a ball game with a good friend. I don’t watch baseball on TV and I don’t follow any players or teams. But if I get the chance to attend a pro game (or a college game—I really love college games) I will enjoy myself. Although I had tickets to four Braves games this season (three courtesy of work) THREE of the games got rained out! I felt kind of bad because the staff at the playday were thanking us profusely for our support and for being such loyal fans, when really I don’t care about the Braves (I just like baseball). They were asking people Braves trivia (or even just to name their favorite player) for prizes, and we thought it was pretty funny because between the four of us we wouldn’t be able to name a single player on the team if we had been asked. In that way we kind of felt like imposters! Anyway, it was a fun day.
Monday, December 15, 2008
I will gladly share with you the grand prize.
Saturday night was our company’s holiday party. My second holiday party with this company [sigh]. They really do throw a nice party. Like last year, I made the place cards with everyone’s name and entrée choice, which I enjoy because it gives me a heads up on who’s coming (and what their spouses/dates are named). The evening begins with a cocktail hour, followed by a 5 course meal. Dress is semi-formal (some people wear tuxes, but not many). [I had not shopped for a dress for the event (although I did last year). I’m guessing I am the only person who began their search for the perfect holiday party outfit in the evening of the big night by saying, “Step One: Locate the Halloween box.”] There are dancing and casino games (with fake money) for several hours. Throughout the night there are raffle prizes given away, and at the end of the evening you cash in all your chips for more raffle tickets for the big prizes.
I don’t need an hour for cocktails, so this year we arrived at the end of the hour (everyone else is already there and crowded around the bar). I was DETERMINED to win something in the raffle this year and so we bee-lined to one of the Black Jack tables as soon as dinner ended. See, each person gets one raffle ticket upon arrival which is thrown in the spinny bird-cage thing. Everyone’s odds of winning the small prizes given away throughout most of the evening are the same. It’s at the end, when they close down the gaming tables and we cash in that the odds change dramatically. Each person is given $25,000 fake money at the beginning of the night and will receive one raffle ticket per $10,000 at the end of the night. B and I bet VERY low and we lose often, so it’s slow going. In fact, it was SO slow going that I even decided I had better DANCE when the DJ said everyone who danced to the next song would receive $10,000. Anything for more money. What a vice gambling is.
I really wanted to win something, ANYTHING (except the gourmet coffee maker). A $25 gift certificate to On the Border? A Wii? A flat-screen TV? All fine. We had increased our money by the end, but not enough to make our odds of winning a prize “good.” Thankfully, the HR lady who was in charge of the party slipped us a stack of $5,000s which allowed us to buy more than twice the number of tickets we had earned. Our odds were probably “good,” though not as good as some. I was so excited! I always want to win and I always think it’s going to be me. We did not win any restaurant certificates or any Visa $50/$100 gift cards. We did not win either of the GPS things or the George Forman grill. We did not win the coffee maker (whew!) or the iPod. But then, [glory!] we DID win! And what did we win? No, not the flat screen TV or the Wii. We won a two-night stay at the hotel next to the office! HA HA HA HA! See, my JOB is booking people at that hotel. The sales manager there and I are tight. We talk/email several times a week. Now I get to call and tell him I won the weekend get away…the weekend get-a-block-away. A vacation to my hometown. In fact, why a vacation? I may stay there at night and walk next door to work during the day. Apparently the person who won this prize last year never used it and it expired (it expires in March, so we have to book quick!). That will not happen to us.
We will be staying in one of the fancy suites (with living room, kitchen, bedroom, shower for 8, jetted tub). Plus, this hotel has a chef that makes hot breakfast (omelets and waffles) to your liking each morning and serves fresh cookies every night. And they have a couple limos and a couple SUVs in which they will drive you anywhere within a three mile radius (which means they could almost pick us up from home at the beginning of our sojourn and take us home at the end, as we live 4 miles from the hotel). We do plan to joyride in the limo—to dinner, to a movie theater, to the subway station. It’s a funny present, but it will be fun! I’m most excited about the tub; second most about the omelets. Everything else is a tie. That’s how to wow me: a hot tub or a hot breakfast. Love those things.
I don’t need an hour for cocktails, so this year we arrived at the end of the hour (everyone else is already there and crowded around the bar). I was DETERMINED to win something in the raffle this year and so we bee-lined to one of the Black Jack tables as soon as dinner ended. See, each person gets one raffle ticket upon arrival which is thrown in the spinny bird-cage thing. Everyone’s odds of winning the small prizes given away throughout most of the evening are the same. It’s at the end, when they close down the gaming tables and we cash in that the odds change dramatically. Each person is given $25,000 fake money at the beginning of the night and will receive one raffle ticket per $10,000 at the end of the night. B and I bet VERY low and we lose often, so it’s slow going. In fact, it was SO slow going that I even decided I had better DANCE when the DJ said everyone who danced to the next song would receive $10,000. Anything for more money. What a vice gambling is.
I really wanted to win something, ANYTHING (except the gourmet coffee maker). A $25 gift certificate to On the Border? A Wii? A flat-screen TV? All fine. We had increased our money by the end, but not enough to make our odds of winning a prize “good.” Thankfully, the HR lady who was in charge of the party slipped us a stack of $5,000s which allowed us to buy more than twice the number of tickets we had earned. Our odds were probably “good,” though not as good as some. I was so excited! I always want to win and I always think it’s going to be me. We did not win any restaurant certificates or any Visa $50/$100 gift cards. We did not win either of the GPS things or the George Forman grill. We did not win the coffee maker (whew!) or the iPod. But then, [glory!] we DID win! And what did we win? No, not the flat screen TV or the Wii. We won a two-night stay at the hotel next to the office! HA HA HA HA! See, my JOB is booking people at that hotel. The sales manager there and I are tight. We talk/email several times a week. Now I get to call and tell him I won the weekend get away…the weekend get-a-block-away. A vacation to my hometown. In fact, why a vacation? I may stay there at night and walk next door to work during the day. Apparently the person who won this prize last year never used it and it expired (it expires in March, so we have to book quick!). That will not happen to us.
We will be staying in one of the fancy suites (with living room, kitchen, bedroom, shower for 8, jetted tub). Plus, this hotel has a chef that makes hot breakfast (omelets and waffles) to your liking each morning and serves fresh cookies every night. And they have a couple limos and a couple SUVs in which they will drive you anywhere within a three mile radius (which means they could almost pick us up from home at the beginning of our sojourn and take us home at the end, as we live 4 miles from the hotel). We do plan to joyride in the limo—to dinner, to a movie theater, to the subway station. It’s a funny present, but it will be fun! I’m most excited about the tub; second most about the omelets. Everything else is a tie. That’s how to wow me: a hot tub or a hot breakfast. Love those things.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Welcome to Cooking!
Last Thanksgiving my sister came to visit. It was delightful and the food turned out fabulous, which no one had expected but everyone had hoped (and she and I had SLAVED for). I guess, we did know all the sides would turn out. It was just the turkey. We’d never made one. But, miraculously, it looked just like the pictures—better than lots of the pictures, actually. Nothing to be afraid of. Why do people cook turkeys so seldom, I wondered? So, I purchased another turkey and made it a few weeks later—it did not look good at all. I made some mistakes with the bag the second time around, so I guess we got lucky to have everything go perfectly with the first one. But now, after having a bad [looking] experience, I am better able to guarantee good turkeys in the future.
This year, we contemplated going to Cleveland or Washington DC for the holiday. But, we couldn’t really afford to fly, and a drive of 11-12 hours (either destination—NOT including Thanksgiving traffic craziness) was just too much. No one wanted to come visit us, so it looked like a quiet Thanksgiving for two, which was for the best, since B had LOTS of homework/studying to do and I just wanted to relax. Then one of our friends, who goes to school with B, invited us to his family’s Thanksgiving. Excellent. 40 people = more and better food than we would have had. Plus, it was in Atlanta, so we could go for the afternoon and then have the rest of the vacation to study/relax.
I planned to make my family’s traditional cranberry salad. I purchased enough ingredients for a double batch—just in case. However, since this is a side, and not one they were expecting, I figured a single batch would probably be enough. When I woke up Thanksgiving morning to begin making the salad (it takes two steps—four hours apart), B was on his run. A cookbook was suspiciously laid on the counter turned to a page showing tasty desserts. When B returned, he announced that he intended to make a certain LOVELY baked marble cheesecake. Oy! In two years B has never cooked something from a recipe. He does cook dinner on occasion: frozen soy burgers, quesadillas, soup in a can, or nachos—all of which I love and he cooks superbly. But he had never tried a dessert (not even cookies from refrigerated dough—why cook it?) or a recipe, so I was concerned. His signature dinners are all…improved. I didn’t think improv or experimentation would be successful here. But I was just excited that he was trying a recipe (think what doors this could open!) so I rounded up the things he needed. “What’s a springform pan? Do we have one?” Why, yes, yes we do. Here’s how it operates. “Oh, it says finely chopped walnuts—that’s ok, I’m sure the crust will be fine without them.” No worries, we HAVE finely chopped walnuts. “I need some chocolate. Do we have any chocolate chips?” We have Ghirardelli’s semi-sweet, milk, and white. Which would you like? Other than rounding up ingredients, I had absolutely no part in this project, but B worked on it all morning.
Finally, when it was in the oven, I pulled out my cranberry salad that had been chilling in the fridge so that I could make/add the final ingredients. B was worried. Will that be enough? There’s going to be lots of people. Of course, I had worried the same thing, but a few years ago I had made a double batch and had leftovers for weeks. Plus, this will be one of a dozen dishes—and this one is not the turkey or the potatoes. Still B’s concern worried me enough to cause me to throw the ingredients for the second batch together… Cranberry salad to feed the whole family.
Here’s how everything was received:
B’s cheesecake was complimented by all! It looked awesome coming out of the oven and even better when we took the springform pan off! His was the only dessert that hadn’t been purchased! Side note: It took him nearly the entire day to remember that it’s a “cheesecake.” He kept forgetting. “What’s the name of the thing I made? Cheese pie?” He plans to make it again over the next vacation. Of course, this time he has some experiments he’d like to perform. I change things in recipes all the time, but I don’t do it in a scientific manner—make several at once to try them against each other and against the “control”.
My cranberry salad is frozen in two containers in our freezer. Yes, a double batch was too much. Again. I think more would have been eaten if the family handn’t had their own beloved and similar salad. It was raspberry. Mine was better. But they were anticipating the raspberry one, so more of it was eaten. I should have made one.
Over the break we also rented a couple movies, one for B and one for me. I sat and worked on my new "project" (the one that has taken over my life since finishing Luigi's dresser) during B's movie. I sat and worked on my new project during my movie too. B watched them both. I guess he can't watch and work on things and I can't not. Oh yeah, and one more thing we did: We actually went to Walmart for its 5AM Black Friday opening. I've never done something like this before because I believe that the morning after Thanksgiving is for sleeping in and making waffles...and I hate busy crowds...and my Christmas shopping is usually done by June. Our alarm went off at 4:31, we drove over and got in line, the doors opened and we split up (the faster to find our one item), we grabbed it and checked out. We were back in bed 40 minutes later.
This year, we contemplated going to Cleveland or Washington DC for the holiday. But, we couldn’t really afford to fly, and a drive of 11-12 hours (either destination—NOT including Thanksgiving traffic craziness) was just too much. No one wanted to come visit us, so it looked like a quiet Thanksgiving for two, which was for the best, since B had LOTS of homework/studying to do and I just wanted to relax. Then one of our friends, who goes to school with B, invited us to his family’s Thanksgiving. Excellent. 40 people = more and better food than we would have had. Plus, it was in Atlanta, so we could go for the afternoon and then have the rest of the vacation to study/relax.
I planned to make my family’s traditional cranberry salad. I purchased enough ingredients for a double batch—just in case. However, since this is a side, and not one they were expecting, I figured a single batch would probably be enough. When I woke up Thanksgiving morning to begin making the salad (it takes two steps—four hours apart), B was on his run. A cookbook was suspiciously laid on the counter turned to a page showing tasty desserts. When B returned, he announced that he intended to make a certain LOVELY baked marble cheesecake. Oy! In two years B has never cooked something from a recipe. He does cook dinner on occasion: frozen soy burgers, quesadillas, soup in a can, or nachos—all of which I love and he cooks superbly. But he had never tried a dessert (not even cookies from refrigerated dough—why cook it?) or a recipe, so I was concerned. His signature dinners are all…improved. I didn’t think improv or experimentation would be successful here. But I was just excited that he was trying a recipe (think what doors this could open!) so I rounded up the things he needed. “What’s a springform pan? Do we have one?” Why, yes, yes we do. Here’s how it operates. “Oh, it says finely chopped walnuts—that’s ok, I’m sure the crust will be fine without them.” No worries, we HAVE finely chopped walnuts. “I need some chocolate. Do we have any chocolate chips?” We have Ghirardelli’s semi-sweet, milk, and white. Which would you like? Other than rounding up ingredients, I had absolutely no part in this project, but B worked on it all morning.
Finally, when it was in the oven, I pulled out my cranberry salad that had been chilling in the fridge so that I could make/add the final ingredients. B was worried. Will that be enough? There’s going to be lots of people. Of course, I had worried the same thing, but a few years ago I had made a double batch and had leftovers for weeks. Plus, this will be one of a dozen dishes—and this one is not the turkey or the potatoes. Still B’s concern worried me enough to cause me to throw the ingredients for the second batch together… Cranberry salad to feed the whole family.
Here’s how everything was received:
B’s cheesecake was complimented by all! It looked awesome coming out of the oven and even better when we took the springform pan off! His was the only dessert that hadn’t been purchased! Side note: It took him nearly the entire day to remember that it’s a “cheesecake.” He kept forgetting. “What’s the name of the thing I made? Cheese pie?” He plans to make it again over the next vacation. Of course, this time he has some experiments he’d like to perform. I change things in recipes all the time, but I don’t do it in a scientific manner—make several at once to try them against each other and against the “control”.
My cranberry salad is frozen in two containers in our freezer. Yes, a double batch was too much. Again. I think more would have been eaten if the family handn’t had their own beloved and similar salad. It was raspberry. Mine was better. But they were anticipating the raspberry one, so more of it was eaten. I should have made one.
Over the break we also rented a couple movies, one for B and one for me. I sat and worked on my new "project" (the one that has taken over my life since finishing Luigi's dresser) during B's movie. I sat and worked on my new project during my movie too. B watched them both. I guess he can't watch and work on things and I can't not. Oh yeah, and one more thing we did: We actually went to Walmart for its 5AM Black Friday opening. I've never done something like this before because I believe that the morning after Thanksgiving is for sleeping in and making waffles...and I hate busy crowds...and my Christmas shopping is usually done by June. Our alarm went off at 4:31, we drove over and got in line, the doors opened and we split up (the faster to find our one item), we grabbed it and checked out. We were back in bed 40 minutes later.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
I would, would you?
The last weekend in August, we went rafting with some friends. Sure, it was fun, because rafting has always been, according to my experience. However, the river was decidedly less dangerous [seeming (?)] than the rivers “out west.” First of all, it was super shallow. True, there is a drought going on, but it didn’t look as though the water was any lower than normal, probably due to the fact that a dam lets out a constant amount. But really, the river is only a river because of its width. It is quite shallow—creek-like. Don’t let the photos fool you. They take those at the best places. http://picasaweb.google.com/lyndseyandbrett/Rafting#
Looking at the pictures today I am reminded of the days when my back would let me do anything. Those days will come again. I am simply in a bad spell, one which will last until I can go several successive weeks without injuring my back. And that is why I have begun saying “no” to activities I might otherwise do. I believe the pain started at the beginning of October. It began without an identifiable incident and simply got worse as the weeks went by. Every step was painful. Then, I was presented with a zip-line opportunity. Having lived so long in pain, I guess I decided “why not?” I mean, I’ve got to live—back pain or no back pain! And I zip-lined. That might have been ok if I had simply hung there. But no. I had to use the opportunity to do the splits (in every direction) and attempt to push my legs behind me like I was flying. I kicked my legs like I was Tinkerbell, lighting the nightly firework show at Disneyland. I knew before I got to the end that I had done something very wrong. I almost couldn’t walk to the car. That was the low point. I spent the evening lying on the air mattress icing my back while watching a movie. I did that for a few evenings. Did I mention my parents were visiting? (By the way, only Mom and I zip lined. Repeatedly. Each. I guess I get it from her.) I just kept thinking, “What was I thinking? I broke my back being Tinkerbell on a zip line?” But, I’m not surprised I did. As I consider the activity in hindsight, I only hear Lina Lamont singing “…and if the girl were I, would you? would you? And would you dare to say, ‘Let’s do the same as they,’ I would, would you?” [Man I love that song—no matter which of the three people sings it.]
Two good things came from the experience: 1. I stopped all activities that would hurt my back. Just days after the incident we had the opportunity to bat in the Braves’ batting cages and pitch in the bullpen, etc. (subject of a future post). I went, but I passed on the activities. Very sad. Also, I’ve been refusing to rock climb with Brett, and he finally realized that I’m going to be refusing for so long that he went with someone else, which I had been encouraging him to do. 2. The back miraculously improved by figurative leaps and bounds just days after the Tinkerbell incident. I do not credit the improvement to my avoidance of potentially injuring activities (although those certainly could have made things worse if I had participated) but rather to the incident itself. I believe it twisted things back into shape. Sure, it didn’t feel like it at the time, but I have no other way to explain why I hurt BAD for several weeks with no cause, during which time no amount of good behavior or rest or ice/heat/massage had the slightest improving effect. Days after the incident I felt better than I had before the incident. The last week or two I’ve only had occasional shooting pain during the day. It’s great! I totally feel like I’m on the mend. Just can’t shake it.
But I’m not about to jeopardize my good back—not yet. Just another month or two. I’m trying out a pilates class this coming Monday. If I like it, I’ll sign up in January. Core strength might prevent future back problems. I visited a doc (finally) as soon as things started looking up. He provided me with some new ideas as to causes for my troubles (nothing conclusive) but no real treatment or cure. Just time. Time is working, thank heavens. I was really hurting for a while. And even though they are totally unrelated, I like to attribute a trip to the doctor as the fix! It makes the $180 his 15 minutes cost seem explainable, though not justifyable.
It is now the end of the year and with that visit I have finally hit my deductible. At least that is what I think the insurance statements are communicating. It’s been a slow and expensive process getting there, even though the deductible itself is not very much at all. Although I believe I have as good of insurance as they make in this country, I have been very disappointed to see how they are able to tell me things don’t apply. Basic things.
It is now the end of the year and with that visit I have finally hit my deductible. At least that is what I think the insurance statements are communicating. It’s been a slow and expensive process getting there, even though the deductible itself is not very much at all. Although I believe I have as good of insurance as they make in this country, I have been very disappointed to see how they are able to tell me things don’t apply. Basic things.
In light of my “deductible reached” status, I am very tempted to schedule some sort of appointment this month, just to see what happens now. But I’m afraid to, after seeing the crazy bills that have come for completely regular appointments and procedures—ones that I have often cleared with the insurance BEFORE I go. So, they pay for my flu shot? Great. But not entirely for the additional two charges associated with poking my arm (once). Three charges, totally nearly $100 for the "covered" $36 shot... Ok...
In July I called the insurance company to find out if an OB/GYN was a specialist. Yes, I’ll admit it, if the OB/GYN was considered a “specialist,” I would have equated that with “astronomically expensive” and simply skipped this year's yearly exam. They asked me why I was going and I told them--just a routine thing people do to feel "healthy" about themselves and to avoid the guilt that comes when you don't do it. Great news! They informed me that my insurance covers yearly “well-woman-exams.” So, I never found out if the OB/GYN is technically a specialist, but it didn't matter anymore. This was even better, right? Not when I got the bill and found out that although they covered the doctor fee (after my co-pay, of course) they don’t cover any lab work. Huh? Women, why else go in for a yearly exam than to get a pap smear? That’s the whole point for going (and frankly, I don’t feel like it's so necessary that I would be willing to pay for the lab work myself—at least not yearly). I mean, really. It’s just a little frustrating when you have insurance that will give you a low deductible, claim to cover everything, has all sorts of nice sounding percentage breakdowns once the deductible is reached but ends up pushing so much of the ridiculous costs from the doctor onto you. You never know what all the doctor will think of charging you for, and you certainly never know which of those the insurance will feel like paying, so having insurance doesn’t make me feel like I should ever go to the doctor. I live in fear. It's such a crap shoot. I might get a bill for $400. Or $20. I have no idea. I guess neither does the insurance company, since they haven’t seen the doctor’s crazy drummed up charges.
Today is not the day I should be complaining though. I just went to the dentist for the third time in the last 18 months—for free. Totally free. No co-pays even—for any of the visits. Just walk in, hand them your insurance card, and you get their service. I almost WANTED a cavity today, since apparently they cover fillings 100% as well with no co-pays. No luck though. I never knew dental insurance existed. At least not in a real-world way. I thought it was just an “idea” that a few companies/people tried—but not anyone normal or anyone taken seriously. Like pet insurance. Maybe it will catch on, maybe it won’t. Well, it’s been the purest (as in least adulterated) benefit of this job.
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