Everybody's doing it.

I intentionally avoided posting a September 11 post. So now I'm a day late. :)

Where we were, what we were doing... it will be etched on our memories forever. I'll tell my children about it, in the same way my father has told us times without number where he was when President Kennedy was shot (walking down some stairs at school with the rest of his second-grade class).

So, here are some other moments-- some national, some not-- that are also chisled in stone upon my brain.

Glasgow airport: I was on the computer, and Chad called me into the living room to watch the news. Then I went to send an e-mail to the news station about how to pronounce "Glasgow".

July 7: I was asleep when it happened. One of my coworkers told me when she got to work that there were bombs in London. I was in such a state (to my own surprise as much as theirs) that they took me back to the office to check the news on the internet and let me calm down a bit.

Colombia: We were at a health fair at the Lubbock Civic Centre.

Iraq (the second time): Just finished Wednesday evening services at church.

Columbine: Evening news, one night in Scotland.

The Greenlawn bus accident: Keely's mum called her, then Keely told me. And I had to do my best to be a good friend, because she was obviously hurting. (I'm pretty sure I failed... sorry, Keely.)

Oklahoma City: Evening news, one night in Greenfield. I know it was April, I know I was a junior in high school, but I can't remember the date.

OJ verdict: They pulled out a TV in the hallway during lunch, and I think that's the quietest I ever heard my school be.

WTC 1993: I was at school, I think in biology class.

Iraq (the first time): We were sitting around after dinner-- I think I was reading-- and one of my dad's coworkers called. Then he came into the living room and turned on the news. I remember thinking at the time, I'll remember this moment my whole life.

Lockerbie: I don't actually remember this. Well, I do, but it sloshes around in my memory with the other airplane crashes during my lifetime (except for 9/11, obviously): Pan Am, TWA, ValuJet-- I have a hard time separating them. What I do remember is the 10-year memorial service that I sat and watched, just days before Christmas, my first year in Scotland. And the exhibit that was in the Transport Museum in Glasgow. The bomb that brought that plane down was one the airport officials had been warned to look out for-- too bad we don't learn those lessons until it is much too late.

The Berlin wall: Well, I had to include a happy one, didn't I?

Challenger: Sitting in music class, when I was in second grade, and the principal made the announcement via the tannoy. I don't know why we didn't watch that launch-- we watched every other one-- but since the images from the news that night still give me nightmares 22 years later, I'm glad we didn't see it live. I found it very bothersome when I went to college that many of my textbooks had those same pictures to illustrate various points (there was one in my algebra book, for goodness' sake). One day I asked the girl next to me, "Do you remember that?" as I pointed to the picture. She said, "No," as I had known she would. I had a hard time not saying "Lucky you!" back to her.

Mary Lou Retton: Okay, two happy ones. Maybe I should have put Kerri Strug's vault as well.

Where were you? What were you doing? What moments do you have forever in your mind?

Way to go, Roger.

What a match. Good effort by Andy Murray, but not enough to bring down FedEx.

So, some balance has been restored to my universe-- balance, you may remember, that was temporarily lost after Wimbledon. Thirteen down, two to go for Federer to take his place as the greatest at his sport.

Bjorn Borg says he won't make it. Legions of fans say he will.

I feel so teacher-y.

My mission this week: To get 96 diecut, information affixed, laminated fruit shapes (apples, oranges and grapes) cut out and attached to magnets by Friday night, so I can hand them out at the Fall Brunch at church on Saturday morning.

I have one of the magnet rolls unrolled and laying across the couch, in the hopes that it will "relax" enough to be cut into small pieces and stuck on the back of my fruit. I have the lamination tightly rolled up and off the floor in my bedroom, in the hopes that I won't get my hair all over it. (Yeah. I shed. A lot. And the vacuum doesn't like to pick it up.)

And... I've had to do the poster- and handout- making all on my own this time, because my cohort in crime had a family emergency. Sorry, Ruth... I'm thinking of you.

So, why do I feel like a teacher? Well, who else puts information onto a diecut piece of fruit?

This is amazing.

I'm just mad I didn't get to see it.

Andy Murray defeated Rafael Nadal in four sets, spread out over two days. Wow.

Okay, Rafa is certainly tired, after the year he's had-- not to mention that he played longer than anyone else at the Olympics, then went straight to NYC from Beijing. Still, gotta hand it to Andy; he played brilliantly. At least, for the part I saw (and presumably today as well).

Can I come to your house to watch Murray v. Federer tomorrow?

Oh. My. Word.

I just watched Andy Murray go up two sets to love against Rafael Nadal. You know, the world #1.

I'll stay tuned to see what happens next, but this is amazing. Go, Andy, go-- I would love to see you vs. Federer.

(Sorry, Rafa-- I like you, too, but you're not a Scot.)

Jeez, I'm sore.

Yeah. Tempo run yesterday. Fun.

Actually, it was kind of amusing how often the gym staff walked by... I finally decided that they were waiting for me to collapse. That's the problem with being so pale-- I go red so easily, and then I look like I'm on the verge of passing out.

I was fine, although sweaty.

Post Labour Day Stress Syndrome

Every time we have a three-day weekend, I remember why weekends are usually only two days long.

Not that I'm at all ungrateful... roll on Thanksgiving. (Slowly.)

Sorry, Apple.

Chad is anti-iPod.

Actually, it is just my iPod he doesn't like. And it is not so much the actual iPod, as the times I choose to use it (like, when he is 20 minutes into a 45-minute speech). I've tried telling him that he shouldn't have gotten it for me, then (birthday present), but I have been unsuccessful in convincing him that my inattention is his own fault.

But right this moment, he is glad that I have it, and even encouraged me to put it on. Why? Because he is watching a movie that I a) don't care to see, and b) don't even care to hear.

It seems to me to be an extraordinarily parental move (albeit, not a good parental move) to encourage another member of the household to listen to music instead of what's on TV. I'll remember this next time he moans about what I have on.

Ryan Hall

Yes, I had intended to be done with Olympic blogging. Turns out my last thought wasn't as final as it seemed.

So, Ryan Hall! Why am I a fan? Because he makes running a marathon look easy? Because of the sweet way he talks about his wife? Because he is a blond-headed Californian, and I have one of those, too?

Okay, those are good reasons. (Except that Chad's hair is actually a lot darker than Ryan's.) But here is the convincing reason: Ryan loves Jesus. A lot. So much so that Runner's World magazine made his combination of faith and running their cover story last month.

I remarked to Chad during the Olympic coverage how much I appreciate the athletes who make a point of mentioning their faith during post-event interviews. I don't care if it's trendy, postmodern, a way of scoring points-- who cares? It's not my job to gauge sincerity. (Thank goodness.) False motives or pure, God is given the glory.

The reason I appreciate the faithful athletes (apart from the obvious) is that they almost have to push to thank God. The interviewers aren't going to ask, and when the subject is mentioned, the good newscasters at NBC skate away from it as quickly as possible. No dwelling on any one's faith in the Lord who gave them their talent in the first place; Bob Costas and his cohorts don't get their ratings by giving glory to God.

Which brings me back to Ryan Hall. The only-- and I mean only-- time I heard any commentators, interviewers, etc., mention an athlete's faith was in the middle of the men's marathon, when one of them said, "Ryan Hall is a man of faith," and before I could express my disbelief and delight, he continued: "And right now he probably has faith that the leaders will slow down."

Oh, well, that's probably as good as we'll get. But unless Ryan is a gifted actor, I think we can all be assured that his faith does not lie in himself or in his fellow athletes. He wants to follow Jesus, and that includes his running.

Way to go, Ryan.

What can brown do for me?

Cause me anxiety, apparently.

(Before I begin, let me say that we have a dear friend who works for UPS. And while I have no doubt that he is a valuable employee, not to mention a valuable breadwinner for his family, that will not stop me from poking fun at his employer. He doesn't read my blog, anyway. Ha! Ha!)

Back 18 or so months ago, when I first started running, I was convinced that the UPS mafia was after me. (So much so that I wondered what I had done to get on the bad side of the aforementioned friend.) It didn't matter what street I ran down; before I could turn a corner, there would be a UPS truck coming toward me. At first I thought the driver was working at warp speed, until I realised there were at least two trucks delivering in the neighbourhood. I started to wonder if they got tired of seeing me over and over again.

More recently, the big brown trucks delivering after I leave work seem to be playing how-close-can-we-get-to-the-cyclist-without-hitting-her. Seriously, they are making me nervous. I imagine it is not intentional (Ha! the mafia are after me again), but it freaks me out. Even with my helmet on, I'm pretty sure that I would not come out well in a fight between a UPS truck and my bicycle.

Well, UPS made a delivery to our house on Thursday evening. I knew they were coming, because I had followed the tracking link from the e-receipt of something I had ordered. And the UPS website has some polite fiction at the top about deliveries being made between 9 AM and 7 PM, which meant that by 7:30 I was muttering dire things about how the tightest ship in the shipping business seemed to have sprung a leak or two.

Well, by 8 PM the nice man in the brown uniform had turned up with my tea and chocolates. And I took back all the nasty things I had said. But that won't stop me from asking our pal about why his coworkers want to kill me.

My blogroll is out of control.

I know this. And I try (sometimes!) to pare it down a bit. But, you see, there are so many people on the internet with mildy interesting things to say.

So what happens is this: I follow a link from a blog I already read. I read a few posts and think, "Hey, this is good stuff." So I add the new blog to my blogroll so I will remember to go back there. Then I go back there another day, and now this blog has a link to something she (or he) thinks is good stuff. So I go to that blog, and the cycle repeats itself. Next thing you know, I have a blogroll longer than a list of my real-life friends.

So I've pared down a bit today, but in the best traditions of Susanness, I also added one. And it is good stuff. Go ahead, click the link; you know you want to!

Now for the good stuff...

So, after all my whining and complaining about my not-so-favourite Olympic moments, here are my final (happy) thoughts:



Michael Phelps rocks.


But you already knew that.

Dathan Ritzenhein, Ryan Hall and Brian Sell rock.

Okay, so they took 9th & 10th (and 20 somethingth), and didn't bring home any medals. Who cares? They are still marathoning heroes. Plus, in 2012 the Games are in London. And you know what that means? They have four chances to run the London Marathon between now and then. Plus, let us consider Ryan Hall's marathon history, shall we?: #1. London Marathon. #2. U.S. Olympic Trials. #3. London Marathon. #4. Olympic Marathon. Yeah, I like his chances.

Paula Radcliffe rocks.

But I think I already covered that. All I have to say is, anyone who will continue running and competing-- and winning-- until 6 weeks (I think) before giving birth doesn't need a gold medal to prove she is a world-class athlete. And she has inspired me to think I can do it, too, when the time comes. You're not done yet, Paula-- in London you will be the same age as this year's gold medalist.

Dara Torres rocks.

Speaking of inspiration... Seriously. She's 11 years older than me, and the new face of middle-aged (although just barely) Americans. Talk about the normal barriers not getting in your way.

Oksana Chusovitina rocks.

Speaking of people who compete beyond the "normal" retirement age... this woman won a silver medal. In gymnastics. At age 33. If you haven't heard of her yet, look her up.

Usain Bolt really, really rocks.

What must it be like to train with this guy? How low will he eventually bring the 100m world record?

I could probably go on for a long, long time. But I won't, out of consideration for my faithful reader. Readers. Whichever. Alas, the Olympics are over, and I am having withdrawl... but this, too, shall pass. And if Usain Bolt is pushing it, it will pass really, really quickly.

And it's final..

Diving wins gold.

Not the American divers, although they did put up a valiant effort. Not Matthew Micham of Australia, who was the spoiler for China's would-be sweep. Not even the Chinese themselves.

No, this particular gold is for the irritating commentary, and the diving commentators win it. Last night, I couldn't take any more of Cynthia What's-her-name's voice, so I watched the last two or three rounds on mute. I even turned off the closed captioning, because I was not interested in knowing what she had to say any longer. It wasn't just her voice, although that is grating enough; with her inflections and tones, she should be playing a whiny housewife on a sitcom somewhere. It was also her very slanted opinions (in her eyes, the Chinese could do no wrong-- and everyone else (except Thomas Daley) could do no right) and trips into the "if I were a judge" territory. Perhaps in London they will make you a judge, and give the rest of us a break. NBC, find this woman a different job. And let Jennifer Wilkinson have a go at the commentary.

Silver in the event goes to the entire Track & Field commentary team at NBC. They were so close until last night to having gold, but in the end they couldn't be quite as irritating as Cynthia.

And, rounding out the medals in bronze is Jim Lampley. Now, he was not expected to be a factor in the irritating commentary event, since he was technically the daytime presenter. No matter, though; he overcame that little obstacle to annoy us all on a daily basis and claim the bronze medal. Again, NBC, I hope that before 2010 you can find someone with some skill at delivering a line, not to mention a little bit of charm when addressing the camera; Jim Lampley lacks both. Give us more of Mary Carillo. Or let Meridith, Ann, and Al work through the afternoon hours so we can see more of them (but not Matt Lauer; he is just as annoying as the rest, I'm afraid).

Or, better yet, put my favourite commentator into some overtime: Let Rowdy Gaines do it all. Now there's a man who knows how to deliver interesting, informed commentary. He does deserve a medal.

Golden days, Silver nights

I have so much Olympic blogging in me it's driving me nuts, but when it comes down to it, I'd rather watch an event than blog about it. So here are the highlights:

Michael Johnson jumped up and down and smiled brightly when Usain Bolt broke his 200M world record. Now, there's a man with class, even if he is working for the BBC.

The T&F commentators are running neck-and-neck with the diving commentators for gold medal in "Really irritating commentary". I don't think I can say at this point which will win.

Jeremy Warner: Man, I wanted you to win. Kudos to you for walking away from the reporter though.

Paula Radcliffe, you are my hero. London is calling: 2012 is your year.

It's a shame Katie Hoff's games didn't go better. I was so everlastingly tired of commentators who introduced her time after time as "Katie Hoff, who trains in the same pool as Michael Phelps." Seriously, this woman has had enough success in her own right that she doesn't need to be linked to the Fish Man every five minutes. All I can suppose is that they think Phelps has been peeing in the pool, and that gives her an extra boost of some sort. (Probably to finish her workout quickly and get out!)

Speaking of the Fish Man... Wow. There's just nothing left to be said that hasn't been said by everyone else. He has a really cute dog, too.

So, this seems to be Indiana's year for the Olympics. Thus far, I've counted at least five athletes from Indiana (two gymnasts, three divers), and a few more who train there. I really wanted Haley Ishimatsu to do well, after she and her family moved from Southern California to Indianapolis so she could train with her syncro partner. Talk about sacrifice.

If I see another volleyball game, I will lay on the floor and cry. Isn't there some archery going on we can watch instead? Field hockey?

And to top it all off, I didn't get to see ONE SECOND of Roger Federer playing! Or Rafael Nadal. I did catch about five minutes each of the Williams sisters. Actually, it's part of my plan to watch the gold-medal matches (doubles for Federer, singles for Nadal) eventually, though your guess is as good at mine as to when that will happen.

Okay, coverage resumes in 40 minutes. I had better get a move on.

Oh, Canada

So I'm blogging in the intervals of actual Olympic competition, and thinking longingly of the 2010 Games, which will be held in a closer time zone. British Colombia, I love you.

Anyway, ordinarily I would not dream of mixing my sporting events with blogging, but I am trying to stay awake. I knew this would be the first of my "weekend" of late nights (seriously, it's Wednesday... how can I call this the weekend?), with primetime coverage going to midnight, but this has really been one long evening. And we still have an hour to go. Tomorrow night also goes to midnight, Friday to 1 AM, and I was afraid to look at Saturday.

Bob Costas just informed us that all remaining commercial breaks this evening will be less than 90 seconds. Holy cow. Better ease off on the water.

So, that reminds me of a conversation my supervisor and I had the other day about potential post-Olympic events for the general public:

Marathon sleeping: Those who didn't miss a minute of coverage are expected to do well in this event. (This would not be my event, since my insomnia would have me DQd in short order.)

Syncronised marathon sleeping: For couples/roommates who enjoyed the games together.

Commercial break bathroom steeplechase: Dodging furniture, leaping over laundry, using the loo, then running back to the couch in under 90 seconds. Points are deducted for leaving the door open and for any "wardrobe adjustments" after returning to the television.

TiVo-induced fencing: Spouses/roommates duel over who deleted that event you wanted to watch over and over again.

Standing celebratory high jump: You ought to be good at this one, after all those gold medal moments.

Balance test: After all those cups of coffee, can you still walk in a straight line?

NBCOlympics.com Decathalon: Competitors will look in on their favourite athletes, watch some live video, check the evening's TV listings, send a nasty e-mail to the annoying commentators, and then get back to work before the boss sees what they are doing on company time.

I was tired of the even keel, anyway.

So I've had a week of emotional upheaval.

Said upheaval has been mixed with the normal wackiness that comes from being me, which has brought me a whole new dimension of crazy. I don't even know what to call it.

I thought maybe the crazy was because Chad was gone this week. It could be from over-exposure to Lord of the Rings (I read the books and watched the movies all in the same 10-day period). Perhaps it is due to the inner hype I've been building for the past 6 months in anticipation of the Olympics. (Yeah. I'm that much of a fan.) Or the stress at work. Or an unanticipated reaction to the anniversary of losing Grandpa.

We've wondered in the past, due to my sizable mood swings and seasons of insomnia (yep, I'm having one of those, too), if I might be manic-depressive. Chad brought the question up again in the midst of the Opening Ceremonies Friday night, when in the stretch of those four hours I went from out-and-out crying (at the pictures of parents weeping for their children after the earthquake) to absolute delight at the show being played out, back to teary at the Chinese children singing, then over to all but jumping up and down when Scotland the Brave came on, followed by squeals of joy at seeing Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer come in with their respective countries-- and then I went to bed, to lie awake for an hour or two, since I had a brain overactive with what I had seen and anticipation of my race Saturday morning.

Not that it got much better on Saturday-- I got home from my race and finished reading The War of the Ring during beach volleyball (my least favourite Olympic sport, and we're inundated with it) and I couldn't stop crying. Just couldn't. I've read that book at least a half-a-dozen times before, and never once have I been moved to tears. Then there was the fencing medal ceremony-- good grief, you'd think my dog had died.

So I've decided to embrace the emotional crazy and just go with it. I don't seem to have much of an option otherwise. :) Oh, and in the same vein, I also embraced the Olympic OCD and have polished my fingernails to match the Olympic flag. Go Team USA!!

The World is Watching

Wow. The opening ceremony was pretty cool. I was pretty annoyed by the commentators (as ever... a plague upon your wagging tongue, Matt Lauer) and their continual, often superfluous, chatter, but they did at least give this one useful bit of information: The ceremony was planned/staged/etc. by a successful Chinese filmmaker (yes, I've forgotten his name) and he had a budget that might be described as beyond astronomical. So (Matt said-- about 6 times), this is what happens when you give a creative, world-class artist an unlimited budget. I'm sure he felt it was worth every penny. (Or whatever the local equivalent is in China.)

The part that excites me about the opening ceremonies is the parade of nations, and while I didn't stay up long enough to see the end, I saw most of the countries I was watching for. (I missed Mexico-- either because I was away from the TV or because they came on after I went to bed.) I did see Switzerland, though, and was rewarded for my patience by seeing my good pal Roger Federer carrying his nation's flag. (Okay, he's not my pal. I don't care.)

The other high spot of the parade was found in the medley of music played as the athletes came in-- the second or third song that came up was "Scotland the Brave." (Played by the bagpipes, no less.) Naturally, I went from casual lounging on the couch to sitting bolt upright in about a millisecond-- causing Chad to caution me about hurting myself. Once I worked out that they were playing a selection of music from (seemingly) all over the place, I sat back to enjoy the show.

And hear the song. Like five times. Bless you, unknown Chinese filmmaker.

In case of earthquake.

So I crawled under my desk on Friday afternoon.

I actually had good reason for doing so, although my supervisor insists that I did not. (Like she is one to be pointing fingers; she moaned all Friday long about how she was ready to go home.)

So the doctor calls on Friday afternoon to make sure there were no patients waiting for him, because he had just left the office (again!) without checking first. I assured him that there were not (because at that moment, there weren't), and he hung up, after telling me to let the PAs know that he was out of the building.

I went to the patient area, to find both our PAs, both nurses, and all the clinical aides in with patients. (Or they may have been hiding.) So I thought, "Okay, they are all busy, I'll just let them know the next time they come up front."

I went back to my desk, and back to work, and about 30 minutes later one of the clinical aides came to ask me if the doctor was out of the building. I told him yes, he was at the hospital. Problem: a patient has been waiting 15 minutes to see him. Yikes!

So after a couple of minutes of panic, who waltzes in the door but the doctor himself, having finished his rounds with incredible speed. Immediately he was beset by PAs and clinical aides, all talking at once, capped off by the news that a patient was waiting to see him. He, of course, looks a bit stunned and asks, "Didn't you all know I was gone?" They all said, "No!" at once.

Naturally, this little sideshow all happened right in front of my desk, so the doc turns around to look at me. "They were all in a room when you called!" was all I could think to say, and then they all wandered off en masse, presumably to see patients.

So I turned to my supervisor and said, "I'm just going to hide under my desk." This is not a new threat, by the way; I say it at least once a week, usually at moments like these. "What? You are not!" she said, so I decided this was a good a time as any to show her I was serious... and under the desk I went.

This is where it gets really good... I was giggling at the look on her face, and she said, "No wonder your parents abused you! You are such a brat!" Now it is my turn to be stunned, so I said, "What? Why?" as I crawled back out. "Because you are, hiding under your desk!" (In case anyone was wondering, apparently all one has to do to be a brat is hide under one's desk.)

So I went back to work. And she went back to moaning about how it was time to go home. (Further note: She wasn't being serious. As far as I can tell.)

A year ago today...

A year ago today... I set my phone to "vibrate" for church, then forgot to put it back to ring.
A year ago today... Grandpa got out of bed at the nursing home, insisting that he was "going home".
A year ago today... jokes were told, prayers were spoken, and a family shared time together.
A year ago today... Grandma went to bed a wife, and woke up a widow.

Of all the nights for me to not put my phone by my bed, as I had done every night up until then (and have done every night since). Thank goodness the nursing home staff didn't agree with Grandpa's request (because I am so glad Grandma didn't wake with her husband's cold body beside her). And it turns out, of course, that Grandpa was right; he was going home.

If only I could have been there for that final night (that we didn't know was the final night).

I don't think Grandma will get much sleep tonight, because I'm sure she wishes she had sat up all night a year ago today.

12 Days, 20 Hours

Only two weeks until the Olympics begin! Yes, I am excited at the prospect. Why? Well, for one thing, there is currently nothing on TV worth watching. Okay, there is the Tour de France, but I don't have cable, so I'm stuck with nothing.

For another, it is so nice to have such a diversity of sports available for watching in such a short time. American sports broadcasting-- on network TV, anyway-- is consumed by football, basketball, baseball, and Nascar. You get the occasional soccer or tennis match and special events (National championships in figure skating and gymnastics, for instance), but that's pretty much it. I may only get the highlights of the Games on network TV, but we do the the highlights of a wide variety of stuff. Fencing, for instance. The only time I ever see fencing on TV is during the Games. Not to mention diving, swimming, archery... et cetera. One of the girls at work asked me a couple of weeks ago which Olympic sports I like, and I said without hesitation, "All of them. Except for beach volleyball, and I'm not really wild about weightlifting."

Which is true. I don't watch beach volleyball.

No, I've not gone to that great blogroll in the sky... I've just been unmotivated to post. (Of course, I my have just run out of things to say.)

So, this week I begin training for my first half-marathon. (Yes, me, who as recently as six months ago had NO interest in doing such a thing!) It's easy going at first... running three times a week, and my longest run in the first four weeks is seven miles. After that, things start to pick up... leading (eventually) to long tempo runs, brutal intervals, and long long runs. I can't wait.

Oh, and I'm working my way through a transcription course. I really, really want to be a telecommuter.

Where do you draw the line?

Yes, I am really hoping for comments/discussion on this post. Otherwise, it's just me talking to cyberspace.

So, I mentioned in my Going Green post this article, which gives 10 reasons to be happy about higher petrol (gasoline-- I call it petrol, to distinguish it in my mind from natural gas, which we also have to pay for), and then I read this post, predicting the potential dire consequences of Sen. Obama's proposed solution to high petrol prices. (Please don't use my comments section to comment on his post-- if you want to comment on the post, comment at his blog. Thanks.)

So I read the post, and thought, "I wouldn't drive if petrol were at $10 a gallon." Then I realised, I would probably stop driving before we got to that point. But I am not sure where my line is. So I put it before Chad: "At what price per gallon for petrol do you say to me, 'Honey, we're going to park the car until the price of petrol comes back down.'?"

In the course of the ensuing discussion, I said that I am almost to that point now; in fact, after filling up our tiny car for $40 yesterday, I am now wondering whether we can run all our errands on Thursdays, when I already have to drive anyway. (I can't take the bike to prayer group and still make it to work on time afterwards.) Chad says yes, we can, and I absolutely agree.

So, the final verdict? I think my line is somewhere around $5.50 per gallon. Certainly, we arrive at it by $6.

Where is your line? At what point do you park your car and pursue "alternative" transportation?

I sense a disturbance in the Force...

Seriously? Roger Federer loses Wimbledon? It's like there is something wrong with the universe.

The final was the longest in history, and it was absolutely fantastic. If you missed it, boy did you miss a good one. My sister has informed me on more that one occasion that she is "tired" of Federer v. Nadal matches, but I told her today that if she couldn't find this match exciting, then there is something wrong with her. She is more of a Nadal fan, so she is a lot happier than I with the result.

All credit to Nadal, of course; he has worked hard for this title. And this is shaping up to be a good year for Spain. But I really, really wanted Federer to get 6 straight. And as I told Chad, I am more bummed by this than I thought I would be. Something wrong with the universe, seriously.

Also, I love it that the crowd at the Olympic Track & Field trials were chanting "Come to Oregon!" when Jordan Henesay set a new high school record with her 1500m time.

Going green...

...and saving some, too.

The day we got back from our Indiana trip (25 May) Chad and I had a discussion about how best to motivate ourselves to cut back on our car usage. $4 per gallon for the cheap stuff hit the greater Indianapolis area while we were in town, and while the cheap stuff here in Lubbock has (thus far) stayed under $3.90, it is only a matter of time. Besides, as I told my husband last week, if we must spend our hard-earned money, I'd rather spend it on things we choose to spend it on, not things we've left ourselves no choice about.

So! The Chad-and-Susan Going Green challenge is as follows: For every day that we do not use our car, we pay ourselves $1. The cash goes into a jar until we have enough to take out and do something meaningful/fun/whatever with it. Then, if we manage to go two weeks between fillups, we get a bonus dollar for each day. For instance: we last filled up two Saturdays ago. Last Friday (27 June) marked 14 days from fillup day. So, on Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, we got a bonus dollar.

So for us, this challenge is working well. I don't know how long we will keep it up, or what form it will evolve into as the weeks go by. But so far, our original intent has been upheld: we are using the car a lot less.

An in case you're interested, Time published this article about the positive effects of $4-per-gallon gas. (Yeah, I was skeptical, too. It's a good read, though.)

One Day More

I got up early (technically, late, but who gets up at 5:30 on a Saturday?) this morning so I could run for an hour before watching Venus & Serena Williams play spectacular tennis. If you missed their match, you missed out!

So in the course of the match, one of the commentators mentioned that the Williams sisters rarely complain, and that they don't take a point that they don't earn. Which, of course, adds to the enjoyment of watching them. They aren't prima donas, they don't whine, they don't stir up problems in their press conferences as so many atheletes are prone to do. They are polite and gracious, and hard workers who go out and play great tennis.

Long may they play.

100 Things

So I read this article about this guy who is choosing to whittle his possessions down to 100 things, and then live with only 100 possessions for 1 year. Yikes!

In a small move in the same direction, I went through our apartment to find out just how many things belong to me personally. Answer: far too many. I didn't count some things because they were put away (stuffed animals, winter clothes), and some things because I just couldn't be bothered (CDs, jewelry), and I didn't count my stash of craft supplies because I wasn't sure how to quantify it, and I still got a grand total of 510 things. Of course, without books that total comes down to 321, but that is still a lot.

So, along those same lines, I have a list going in the sidebar of possessions I do not want to live without. I don't know that I'm ready to take such a dramatic plunge as cutting down my stuff by two-thirds, though.

So, I pass along news of the "100 Thing Challenge" to those of you who may not have heard of it yet. Read, be challenged, sneer, act, ignore... it's entirely up to you.

Go, Roger, go!

I'm watching Roger Federer warm up for his semifinal game. Today is the day that will set up the match I will be watching Sunday-- please, please, please, Federer and Nadal, play for us today as you always do, because I am still not tired of watching the two of you play this game so beautifully. (Denise is, though, so if you prefer her feelings to mine, then you can play poorly today.)

We'll be going downtown to see what kind of celebrating is going on there in just a little while, so I won't be watching tennis all day. The jury is still out regarding the fireworks later.

So we missed the parade this morning, because we were in Brownfield volunteering for the running club race today. The race director asked me to read out the winners of the awards (yikes!), and gave me the microphone. What a kind, trusting man. I stood on the tailgate of his pickup because, let's face it, I am probably the shortest member of the running club who is over 18. And possible the shortest over-15. After hearing names (including my own-- how hard is "Susan"?) being mangled at every race since we began, I read through the list to be sure I could pronounce them all (even going so far to ask one of my pals how to say her surname-- I've only ever used her first name). And, of course, the one I overlooked before starting is the one that tripped me up. Badly. In the second race, we had an out-of-towner entered whose name none of us knew, so I tried it a couple of times before giving the awards, the race volunteers came to a consensus as to how it was probably pronounced, and when he collected his medal, I asked, "Did I say your name right?" He said, "Close enough," so I guess it was. :)

I also got to have a nice conversation with another new 30-year-old, and a girl a couple of years older than us, about how competitive the womens' 30-34 age group is. This conversation was sparked because one of them did not collect her usual medal today, and we couldn't believe it.

Scavengers

So Paige recently posted a blog about water-related moments, and included among the trip down memory lane was a picture of Paige, myself, and a guy in my aim class (I think his name was Michael) standing in the fountain at Texas Tech. To be fair, Paige (probably) didn't know that is was me in the picture; I'm sure she thought it was some random aim student. Which, in fact, I was. I commented to tell her that it was me in the picture, and in return, she e-mailed me another photo from the evening. A photo which, by the way, will NOT be appearing on my blog. Ever.

The thing is, I remember that night very, very well. Why it should be so stuck in my memory I don't know, but there it is. Denyce came along to my apartment while I was doing homework, to ask if I had a Polariod camera (I didn't) and to tell me that there was going to be a photo scavenger hunt that evening.

So I tagged along to her apartment, where we discovered there were no Polaroids in aimland. Alas. So we got out the regular cameras, divided into teams, set a time to meet up at the Wal-Mart photo centre, and off we went.

I know for sure I was teamed up with Paige, Denyce, and Michael (and thanks to the photo, I can add Tami and Trent). So in addition to the afore-mentioned hop into the TTU fountain, we took a bunch of other pictures: something to do with a tombstone in the cemetery; a trip to the men's room at a restaurant (while one of the guys who worked there guarded the door for us); a bicycle (or two), perhaps with us riding them; and I distinctly remember climbing into (and back out of) a dumpster. Upon reflection, I really hope the dumpster picture came before the fountain picture.

And, our group lost the contest. It all came down to our final picture, which was something of our choice in Wal-Mart. (Paige also cleared up this one for me; I had it backwards in my memory.) We buried Paige in stuffed animals (which I'm pretty sure we put back again properly), but the judges preferred the other team all posing in flowerpots. So we had to settle for second place.

So, this little trip down memory lane was inspired by a trip to Paige's blog. I wonder what will be next?

Alas, poor June. I knew him well.

So I was looking at my blog archive, and comparing last year's total posts to what I've posted thus far this year... I am waaaaaay behind. Or perhaps I have run out of things to say. :) Not likely, I suppose.

So, June is ended, July has begun. I love June; it is my favourite month of the year by far. I suppose September is second (which is new for me; I used to hate the autumn. It's amazing what the Texas heat will do for you.), and after that... hard to say. May, perhaps? I hate it that June went by so quickly. In fact, this year is flying, as years do. Soon I'll have to start thinking about my reflective, end-of-the year post. I'd better get to work on that.... no way, I don't want the year to go that quickly.

So I am going to enjoy July. I am going to grab each moment before it passes on forever. I am going to go down to the cliche factory and see if I can pick up some new ones.

Sisters Praying, Part 3

I have to say that my prayer life has been, at best, sporatic. That has been the case for my whole life. There are seasons that have been less sporatic than others, but I've never had a regularly-scheduled prayer time that I kept rigidly. I've prayed while cycling, prayed while walking, prayed first thing in the morning, last thing before going to bed, every hour on the hour (that was a good week), etc. The only predictable thing about my prayer life for the last 14 years is how varied it has been.

I hit a new low in April, though, when Sisters Praying has been the only thing that enabled me to say with any truth that I even HAVE a prayer life. I was walking at lunch one day, lost in whatever it was I was thinking about, when I noticed the grass in the park was getting dead and brown. I thought to myself, "I should pray for rain," and the very next thought (unfortunately, I am not making this up) was, "Oh, like that's going to make a difference."

So I knew it was time to bring it to Sisters Praying. And pray we did, and I took my turn in praying that week, although to call my prayer that week half-hearted would be extremely generous.

So, it has gotten better since then. My prayer life is still much more shallow than I would like. I am still completely without consistency. But Sisters Praying is there, the solid block of encouragment that keeps me going when I would rather not.

I wouldn't stop this ministry for anything.

More Wimbledon

So Andy Murray lost to Rafael Nadal.

I guess I wanted it to be this way, because I really want to see more Nadal-Federer action, and the only way that happens is for everyone else, including Murray, to be eliminated. But it is still a wrench to see the only Brit left in the tournament, and a Scot (a Glaswegian!), no less, be knocked out. And really, if he had defeated Nadal, I would have been delighted. Gobsmacked, but delighted.

Next year is your year, Andy. I'll switch my allegiance from Federer to you.

Sisters Praying, Part 2

So, I've shared with you the beginnings of the prayer group... now we turn to what we've done with our 15 months together.

Sharlan bought a journal the first week we met, so we started using it the second week. It just happened that I had the pen at the beginning, so I wrote the date day-month-year (2 July 08), and that's the way we've been writing it ever since.

We've prayed for people who are sick. We've prayed for loved ones. We've prayed for house moves, job changes, doctorate degrees, and ministries. I dare say that South Plains has never been prayed over so well as it has been in the past year. We pray for children & teens, parents & teachers. And sometimes, for complete strangers:

Sharlan stopped into United Supermarket to pick up some fruit on her way to the church building one week. It is possible, at 6 AM, that she was the only shopper in the store. The man stocking the produce department asked, by way of making conversation, "What are you doing out so early?" So Sharlan told him she was on her way to an early-morning prayer group. I don't know if he was impressed, shocked, dumbfounded-- I do know he asked for us to pray for him. I don't remember his name, but pray for him we did, and he is written in our journal page from that week.

Sisters Praying, Part 1

So I'm "in charge" (if you can call it that) of the women's prayer group at South Plains that meets at 6:30 AM on Thursday mornings. The reason I'm in charge is that I am the one who sends out the weekly reminder e-mail, and I go to the women's ministry meetings to report about how the group is going.

We've been meeting since the week after spring break last year; I can't remember the date, but we have it written down somewhere. It was a bit of a fluke that the group got started at all, so I'm going to share the story.

The adult Bible class we were in at the time had a men's prayer group that met on Friday mornings at 7. There were anywhere from 2-6 men who got together, and I said to one of them that I thought that was a great idea, and I wished we had a women's group. He said, "So start one!" While I was explaining to him that me starting things has historically not worked out so well, Kathy spoke up and said, "We'll do it!" So I finished off my lame excuses with, "Okay, I guess we'll do it."

That was the week before spring break. The week of spring break, Kathy went out of town (along with a bunch of other people), so we waited to start the week after. I sent out an e-mail announcing such to our Bible class, but the church's webservant, who manages the e-mail groups, thought it was for everyone and sent it out to every Bible class. Suddenly, I had a flood of e-mails in my inbox asking when & where we would be meeting (since our Bible class already knew where we were meeting, I hadn't included that information in the e-mail), and I was in hot water with the church office for not reserving the room ahead of time like I was supposed to.

Anyway, we got the kinks worked out, and the prayer group has now been meeting for a year and three months. And we got our name (Sisters Praying) from an innocent remark made to me by a woman who isn't able to join us on Thursday mornings, but who had sent along a prayer request: "I am so thankful to have my sisters praying about (the situation)." So the next week, I changed the title of the e-mail to "Sisters Praying", the week after that, it had mysteriously changed in the bulletin, and it's been that way for about 6 months now.

Stay tuned for Part 2 tomorrow.

Race Day Recap

Yes, I know you just got a race day recap, but I'm trying to catch up.

So, I ran my first 10K on 14th June. I had to think about it carefully, but it really is true; I've run a 15K, a 12K, and three 5Ks, but this was the first 10K.

I've been following the training schedule provided by the Smart Coach on Runner's World, and I was feeling pretty discouraged in the couple of weeks leading up to the race. I felt like my long runs were getting slower, my speedwork was not getting me anywhere, and that I was more tired than energised after a week's worth of running. So I went into the race not expecting much.

Boy, was I wrong! For one thing, the trial and error of the last couple of months of races have given me a more or less infallable list of songs that really give me a boost on race day. The best, by far, is "Salt and Light" by Best Friends, with "Wonderwall" by Oasis in second, followed by "Do You Hear the People Sing?" and "One Day More", both from the Les Miserables soundtrack. There are plenty of others as well, but those are certainly my top four. And yes, I realise that it is an odd mix. I don't know why these work so well, but something in my brain likes them when my legs and lungs would prefer to take a break.

Back to the race... nothing much eventful happened for the first five miles. I just kept going, focused on not running out of steam, but also using the runners ahead of me to keep my pace up (which worked marvellously well in May's race). I tried to picture myself reeling them in, one by one, which worked-- I passed eight people before the race was over. And a tractor.

Since I mentioned it, let me tell you about the tractor... some unfortunate farmer was trying to get some work done, and was probably surprised to see 100ish people running down a road which, I'm guessing, he normally has to himself. I was trying to reel in Unsuspecting Runner # 5, when a tractor swung off a side road and planted itself between me and said runner. (Yeah, I was still a ways back.) My first thought was, There's a tractor in my way! But then common sense overtook me, and I remembered he could only drive as fast as the runner ahead of me was going anyway, so instead of trying to catch the runner, I focused on catching the tractor. And I did, right before I caught #5. It was my first race against a tractor (and I'm from Indiana, so that's saying something).

Runner #6 is the one who motivated me the most. I think I mentioned in the blog about April's race how much I hate passing people toward the end of the race, because I am so non-competitive when it comes to running. As slow as I am, I really have no other option, because if I were competitive, I'd be upset all the time. Anyway, I passed a man and woman just before the 5-mile mark, and I heard her say (over my iPod, by the way), "Look at her! I hope she's not in my age group!" Normally I would laugh this off, especially since I knew she was younger than me and therefore we are not, in fact, in the same age group, but the tone she said it in made it pretty clear she was about 20% joking and 80% serious. So I thought to myself, "Oh, I am so going to beat you."

So I reeled in #8 on my way to the finish line, and I heard the spectators calling #6's name, so I knew she was close behind me and had also passed #8... and she pushed me all the way to the end. I didn't know I had that much left in the tank, but when I saw my time at the finish, I almost forgot about her as I sped up again, because I was even faster running 6.2 in June than I was running 6 in May. I crossed the line just ahead of my opponent (about three seconds, I think), then went to sit down before I passed out. Chad came and found me (with banana in hand, thank goodness) and convinced me that this was not a time for sitting. And he was right, of course. I told him, "She really wanted to beat me to the finish," and he said, "Yeah, I could see that." So it wasn't just my imagination.

And I brought home a second-place medal. Chad also brought home his first medal; a third-place finish in the two mile. It was a great race.

Saturday: The Party

So I woke up Saturday morning, all ready to run. Yes, even on a party day, I still had a seven-mile training run to do. I drove out to my parents' house, to run around their block. I had been looking forward to conquering that block for two months, and I am happy to say I did it. I had one of those moments of wishing I had taken advantage of long, straight, lightly-travelled county roads while I lived on one. But in junior high & high school, it never occurred to me to run outside of track season. And once I stopped running track, I only ran very occasionally. So there you go.

Anyway! Dad & Mum had to go to Shelbyville to get some links removed from her watch, so I went with them. On the way, we stopped at The Gathering Grounds so I could get a cup of tea (I hadn't had one yet) and say good-bye to the people there, because we spent a ton of time in that place that week. Chad and Billy went to The Gathering Grounds for breakfast. Denise went to Party City to get another tablecloth. Grandma stayed home to make punch (and, it turned out, the queso, because I hadn't melted the cheese yet).

So the party itself went smoothly. Billy had a nasty headache, so he went off to lie down in the auditorium for a while (causing everyone to think he had left). I had a very amusing conversation with Aunt Glenda, Gertrude & Amanda. Dad and Aunt Vicki tore down the balloons to pummel each other with them (thus proving true Denise's prediction that the kids would tear the balloons down). Chad led the singing of "Happy Birthday", after I dripped wax all over the place lighting the candles. And the '60s music delighted me, if no one else.

After the party, we had an evening of chitchat, card playing, movie-watching, and finally, packing and a bit of sleeping. My kind and faithful brother came to pick us up at 4 AM on Sunday morning to take us to the airport. Flying on Sunday was a new experience for me; I kept forgetting what day it was. But I was very glad the next day was Memorial Day, so I could rest.

Friday

Nearly made Grandma crazy. Decided to let her make punch. Got some last-minute things at Wal-Mart. Decorated the church building. (I had to stand on the tables, which worried Grandma to no end. About the tables, I think, not my safety.) Checked out '60s music from the library.

Friday evening pretty much warrants its own post. We had decided we wanted the younger crowd (Chad & I, Billy, Denise, and Amanda) to go out to dinner and have fun without the benefit of any middle-aged people around. So we went to Applebee's, which we are very fond of.

Now my sister has been a teetotaler for the last four years. The rest of us have all had a drink (or few) since turning 21, but Denise has been holding out on us. Until that fateful night. She tried my strawberry daquari and Billy's Bud Light (and I'm surprised the taste of that didn't completely put her off alcohol forever), before ordering a banana daquari (and getting carded in the process. Heehee!). Amanda took a picture of all of our drinks. I was afraid she'd be bored, hanging out with a bunch of people 10+ years older than herself, but I think we kept her pretty well amused.

So, after we finished dinner, we went out to Opal's house to collect Mum's cake. Denise managed to get her hand stuck in the handle on the seat back in front of her, then fell off her seat altogether (while wearing a seatbelt, mind you) when Chad swerved. I would say that this is the result of the alcohol in her system, except she acts like that all the time. Amanda also got pictures of both those events.

Then we went back to Grandma's house and played Uno, until Aunt Glenda came along to get Amanda home safely. Well, it was after 11, and she is still a new driver.

I guess my TV will just gather dust for a month.

So, that's it. Well done Spain, you certainly deserve to be the European Champions.

One more week of Wimbledon. Tomorrow, all the players I am keeping an eye on (Federer, Williams, Nadal, Murray, and Williams) will be playing, so I suppose I should grow an extra pair of eyes. My ideal finish next weekend would be Williams v. Williams on Saturday, and Federer v. Nadal on Sunday. Two great days of tennis. Of course, I want Nadal to defeat (but not too badly) Andy Murray to get there. In other words, Andy, please win tomorrow.

And after Wimbledon is over... nothing. Well, one more weekend of televised Olympic trials, but other than that, I have nothing to watch until 08.08.08.

I suppose it might be healthy to be away from the telly for a month.

Monday-Thursday

Yeah, I don't remember. Went to the gym with Grandma again. Went to Applebee's to celebrate Mum's proper birthday (Tuesday). Dad got in a huff, so we just ignored him. Went to Party City, went to Gordon's, went to church. Caused Grandma stress.

Sunday

Went to church. Had a potluck. Went to Circle Centre to find Mum a new outfit. Horrified Grandma at the stuff we were picking out. Terrified Denise on the glass elevator. Had to leave to get back to Greenfield in time for evening church. Took issue with some of the things said in Bible class.

Prayers Urgently Needed

I think everyone who comes on here knows, or has heard of, Billy & Belinda Moore. I copied this note from their daugher Amanda & son-in-law Jacob off of Belinda's blog. Please lift them up in prayer.


From Jacob and Amanda

Hello to all,

First of all we would like to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your prayers for Noah. He is a strong, little boy and is in good spirits. His test has come back positive for Tay-Sachs, and we will be keeping you posted on news as we know it. Here is a web-site that we have been looking at and would like to share with you if you have desire to look at it. http://www.ntsad.org/ We are still praying for Noah's healing and continue to ask that you join with us in this prayer. Please share this letter with others.

Thank you,
The Henderson's


Jacob & Amanda were among my aim classmates, then small group-mates after I moved back (and the first few months that Chad & I were married). They have been faithfully serving the Lord in Mexico for several years now.

Saturday

(Yeah, I fell behind in my recaps. Sorry.)

So I woke up at 2 AM to phone Dawn and wish her a happy wedding day, only to get Karen (Dawn's sister) instead, who told me she wouldn't be waking Dawn up until 8. I puzzled over this for a few minutes before I finally remembered that Indiana is 5 hours behind Glasgow, not 6. So I turned on the TV, woke up Grandma (oops), and finally phoned Glasgow at just past 3. After a nice conversation with Dawn, I went back to bed.

So when I woke up for real, I came out of bed at a run (almost literally) to get ready for our race. Oatmeal and orange juice were first on the agenda, followed by putting on my warm-weather outfit, going outside, coming back in, putting on the cool-weather outfit, going outside, then coming in and compromising on the cool-weather trousers and both shirts. This turned out to be a good idea later on.

I wasn't running with the iPod, because I didn't know how serious the organisers were about the no-headphones rule (because it is a USATF rule, race organisers are obligated to say it, but thus far most races aren't enforcing it. Thank goodness.). So I had all my running songs on the iPod to get me into pregame in the car. We loaded up in the van, then had to stop at the first grocery store so the family could load up on doughnuts.

We had to take a detour around the racecourse, so we didn't go quite the same direction on Saturday as we did Friday. We pulled up to a light to go to the parking area in time to see a huge pack of runners taking off, and after I started to come down from my panic attack I realised it was the half-marathon start, not the 5K.

So, we got parked, Chad and I set out to walk to the start line, and the family headed for a shuttle bus. This was the family's first race to witness, and I think they had fun with it. We had to stand in the start area for ages before taking off, because the last of the half pack had to clear our course before we could start. However, that was plenty of time for me to decide that it was too warm for my long-sleeved shirt, so I took it off and gave it to Mum. (She hasn't gotten to hold my stuff for a while, so I'm sure she was happy about that. ) I had worn that particular shirt with the idea that it wouldn't be a great loss if I had to take it off and leave it on the side of the road somewhere.

So, the course was hilly, but really nice; people were standing in front of their houses cheering us on the entire way. I had my splits written on my hand, but all the clocks were ticking away the half-marathon time, and I hadn't seen our time as we crossed the start line, so I wrote on my hand for nothing. However, I did manage to keep track of our time between miles, since I had nothing better to do than mental arithmetic while running.

There were lots & lots of kids on this race. I really was delighted to see that, because I think running is a great sport for kids. If nothing else, it is something that can be continued for one's entire life, long after high school letter jackets are shoved to the back of the closet and the only football game you can get is vs. the rest of the family at Thanksgiving. We passed a couple of girls right before the end of mile 2, and one of them was asking, "When is the second mile going to be over?" I giggled and told her, "Really soon," and they both looked surprised (I don't think it occurred to them that someone might be listening), and then the girl who had asked smiled and said, "Thanks!"

So, one mile later, we were crossing the bridge and I could see the crowd at the finish line. I knew by the clock that we had run mile three in around 10 minutes (which was my goal), and then as I rounded the corner, the clock at the finish said 30:18. No kidding. That alone was enough for me to dig really, really deep and sprint the last .1 as if my life depended on it. I shouted to Chad (before running out of breath), "Look at the time!" but he didn't understand me. Just before I crossed the finish line, I heard Dad yelling my name, so I waved.

We got through the finish chute, returned our timing chips, collected our medals, water, and bananas, and met up with the family on the other side. Chad took advantage of the free massage booth, while I headed straight to the results tent. On the way, Dad told me he didn't know my time because the clock had stopped at 30:18. I stopped walking and asked, "Are you serious?" He said yes, so I told him that it was the sight of that time that helped me pour on the speed at the end.

So, here are our official results from our first "big" race:

Chad: 31:44, 24th in his age group, 279th out of 614 men, and 443rd overall.
Susan: 31:47, 18th in my age group, 168th out of 1027 women, and 448th overall. There were 1641 finishers in the race.

After the race, Grandma wanted Denny's, so that's where we went.

Saturday, Part 2

So after such a glorious race, we were all set to go to my second favourite place on earth; which is, of course, Spring Mill Bible Camp. Grandma's side trip to Denny's put us an hour behind when we should have been heading out, but alas, that happens sometimes.

The trip from Indianapolis to Mitchell is quite a nice one, with plenty of trees and hills to look at. Some things (businesses and whatnot) along the way haven't changed a bit since the first time we went down there 19 years ago. (Wow, when I put it that way it sounds like a long time.) When we arrived, we had missed pretty much everything, although the camp was still open, so I took my husband on the grand tour.

We went through the boys' side, so we could show him Billy's first cabin (possibly his favourite, although I can't be sure about that). In the course of this little walk Denise told us it was her first time over there. Well, her first time was probably the aforementioned first trip 19 years ago, but I can't imagine she remembers that. But during camp sessions, boys and girls keep to their own sides and are not allowed to venture into enemy territory. Denise, being a well-behaved camper, kept this rule impeccably (Billy did too, actually). But their older sister was, um, less well-behaved. So I've actually been to the boys' side a few times.

The path through the boys' cabins comes out on the ballfield, so I showed Chad the site of the softball-to-the-head incident, and we discussed how freaked out Denise was when she saw me being led to the infirmary with an icepack on my head. She claims not to remember that, either.

So after all that, we strolled around the paths at the back of the campgrounds. We looked for my rock, and Billy and Denise and I all agreed that it was certainly gone. This rock was where I used to go when we had "alone" time (meant to be used for Bible reading, praying, reflecting, whatever), and it became well-known among those who spent two or more weeks at camp every summer to look for me there if ever I couldn't be found. I wanted to show Chad where it was, but it was not to be.

On the way home, we stopped at KFC (yuck), and then when we got back to Greenfield we went to the new custard place (yum). Dad took us home via the scenic route, so we could see some new stuff that's gone up in the 10 years or so since I last drove around Central Indiana.

Thursday & Friday

We went to the gym with Grandma. We went to the doctor with Mum. We went to Hamilton Southeastern High School with Denise & Dad for our packet pickup (Dad only went because he was convinced we would never find the way there). We introduced the family to the use of ground turkey, instead of ground beef.

Chad wanted to buy bananas, but they were all green. I wanted to eat spaghetti, but we didn't have any.

Recap of the trip: Wednesday

That would be Wednesday the 14th, for those of you keeping score.

Woke up late (3:30 am instead of 3). Delayed in Houston. Delayed in Chicago. Billy (brother) went the wrong way coming out of the airport. Weather in Indiana: Cold and rainy.

All that, and we still managed to get to Grandma's house in time for the HUGE supper she cooked for us.

Punctuated

So we're back in Lubbock, and I just clicked through my blogroll to see what everyone is up to (quite a lot, it seems). An'd I could not help but not'ice that there was qui'te an e'xcess of a'pos'tro'phes all o'er (that one is correct) the int'ernet.

However, I would like to give credit to Andrea, who commented on her countdown clock's (that one is also correct) odd use of the apostrophe as well. For the rest of you, I'm (correct!) sure you can find solace in the fact that you are not alone.

High speed Blogging

So I'm blogging from a brand-new coffee shop in Greenfield, Indiana. And I would really love to regale you with details from the trip, but we have to go to Circle Centre Mall, and that's a bit of a drive from here. And it's raining.

I'm not blogging at 225 mph, but with the Indy 500 two days away, I kind of wish that I could. Maybe I'll try that with my sister's car later.

Where did all these strange accents come from?

(By way of apology in advance: I can't seem to do anything with the formatting when I put photos on here.)

So we've just returned from our sixth Bible Bowl banquet.

(Yes, I did stop to count those on my fingers; if you are curious, our BB years have been: Matthew (2003), Life of Moses (2004), Luke (2005), Joshua, Judges, and Ruth (2006), Acts (2007-- we weren't actually involved this particular year, except that I went to a couple of competitions, we got t-shirts, and went to the banquet), and finally, 1 Samuel in 2008.)

This is a much-anticipated event every spring, if only because it means that the madness is at an end for eight months. But it is also a fun time to get together and act silly, and eat. And act silly.

I was thoroughly delighted that Randy, in the course of trying to use half-a-dozen accents in the space of 30 seconds, stopped to say, "That was a Scottish accent!" Glad that I could be such a good influence on those around me. Yes, my work here is done.

Pictures from the event:

Proud Bible bowl mothers (and sister). It's okay that their kids are teachers, right?

More proud parents (and sister).
















Charlie and Randy, trying to remember which accent they used last.














Tricia and Rebecca.




And the lovely Toni, enjoying the show (and possibly thanking her stars that she is not in it this time around).












Yeah, so I'm like the Bible bowl paparazzi now. I think I got a shot of everyone at least once.

Sorry, but running is the only interesting thing I do.

So it was a 6-mile race today, and I went into it with two goals: 1. Maintain an 11-minute pace, and 2. Finish before the first 11-miler (the longer distance available at this race). I am happy to say I met both of those goals, and am now looking forward to next Saturday's 5K.

Chad is still trying to take care of an injured leg, so he ran slower than me. At one point he had caught up to me and asked me to slow down. What I thought was, "Are you kidding? This is a RACE!" But I didn't have that kind of breath. So I told him to stop trying to catch me and just go at his own pace, which worked out well for both of us.

And again, I loaded up the iPod with songs that I knew would inspire me to run fast, and it worked so very well. I included in the mix two songs from Les Miserables, so in addition to conquering the hill, I also felt I could conquer France. I'll be running without the iPod next weekend, so we'll see how well I can keep the music running through my head.

There was a woman ahead of me who I was keeping pace with for most of the race, but I caught up to her with less than a mile to go. Then I started debating with myself, "Should I go ahead and pass her? Should I wait?" I finally went for it, knowing that she would kick it up a notch and pass me, but that her speeding up would push me to do it, too. Which is exactly what happened; she finished one second ahead of me. It worked out perfectly. (Plus, she got to cross the finish line ahead of someone who is 20 years younger than she is.)

New hair, again

Okay, this picture wasn't taken on my birthday, but it is close enough. People at church didn't recognise me this morning, so I'd say my work here is done.

Thirty!

Yes, the fateful day has come and gone. And along with it, all my excuses for being goofy, acting a bit silly, and making questionable decisions.

Believe it or not, I have reached an age at which a certain standard of maturity is expected (not to mention wisdom and sensibility). To which I just have to say: Dang!

Actually, I am really happy about turning 30. My parents, on the other hand, have gone into mourning at the thought of being old enough to have a 30-year-old. Hee!

In accordance with time-honoured tradition (meaning, this is what I did for my 21st birthday, too), Chad and I went to Friday's. We haven't been to Friday's since we were dating (and probably won't go again until I turn 40), and I gotta tell ya, I think they have remodeled in the intervening time, cause it looked a bit different than I remember. Or perhaps I'm just remembering a different restaurant.

Pictures from my 21st and 30th birthdays will be forthcoming as soon as I can find them.

Also, my pal Dawn sent me a very cute bear, which delighted me to no end.

I'd have been surprised if he were preaching.

So at the beginning of church yesterday, I went to the powerpoint "area" to greet Sharlan and Ruth, as I normally do. I don't think I ever ended up greeting either of them, because there were so many people there to say hello to, including Charlie. So while I was standing about chitchatting, I noticed that Charlie was getting armed with a microphone, and I asked him, "Are you leading singing this morning?" (Just call me Captain Obvious.)

Now, I'm sure I've mentioned Charlie and Toni before (we spent Thanksgiving with them). They are among my favourite people on the entire planet. If I can be like Toni when (if) I grow up, I will consider my life's goals achieved. They are such amazing people, and if you haven't met them yet, that is so very sad for you.

In "real life", Charlie is the Lubbock Christian School band director. As such, songleading is not really much of a stretch for him. And since he is good at it, and he obviously enjoys it (either that, or he missed his true calling in life and should be an actor), it makes the whole song service that much more enjoyable for me. Generally speaking, I am not fussy about who is leading the singing; South Plains has a couple dozen songleaders, and I pretty much like them all equally well. But Charlie is a friend as well as being very musically talented, so if I ever get so bored as to rank the songleaders in order of preference, he'll be pretty near the top.

What is also nice is Charlie and Toni are front-row people, and since Chad and I are also front-row people, we sort of sat together yesterday morning. (They were at one end of the row, we were at the other; I didn't say we are flexible front-row people.)

Enough, already.

The general election is just over six months away (November 4 is freedom day), but since this presidential election cycle started the day after the 2004 general election, and really started to pick up steam after the midterms in 2006, I just don't think November 4th can come soon enough. Come on, people. Let's just get this over. I've always considered myself to be patriotic, but once this rigmarole is all finished with, I think I may move to Mexico. At least there I won't be able to understand when an election is even happening.

Whose job was it to bring the milk?

So I went to a women's retreat on Friday.

It wasn't so much a retreat, really, since it was just an event that lasted from 6-10 PM and then we all went home. But that's what it was called.

Anyway! I'm generally opposed to women's events at church, because they tend to range from "a bit tedious" to "mind-crushingly dull", with strong hits of "girly", "frilly" and "emotionally taxing". I don't know why women's events have to be this way, and it is for this reason that I make every effort available to me to make sure my own women's event does not dissolve into cheap psychotherapy with lashings of tears and the decimation of several hundred boxes of Kleenex.

But this one wasn't one of those. For starters, we had four different speakers. Each of them was a woman who goes to South Plains (in other words, someone we already know). Not a one of them is known for her cheesy-ness, dullness, or crying fits. They were all excellent speakers, who made their points very well and then left the rest of us to talk about it. It was really, really good.

Of course, no evening with me would be complete without me really annoying as many people as possible; this time, I managed to do it anonymously. I made the suggestion several weeks ago that we do something about mixing everyone up, so that we didn't all end up sitting with the same people we sit with every time we have an event (you know, like Sunday morning worship service). The organisers took this suggestion to heart, and colour-coded the tables and nametags. This caused several women (grown women, mind you) to cause quite a stir when they arrived to discover they would be expected to sit a whole ten feet from their best friends for an entire four hours. Somehow, the woman in charge managed to convince them all to act their ages and make nice with people they already know anyway. (It is a bit disconcerting how many grown-up teenagers we have kicking around.) At the end, she (the woman in charge) explained that it was at the request of "some of the younger women" that we were all jumbled up in this way, but she didn't give away that it was me, so my secret identity is safe for now.

No boxes of Kleenex were harmed in the staging of this retreat. But I did have a cup of tea that wasn't very good.

Where's my shirt?

You know, for all the people who have been harassing me to post more often, there has been curiously little activity in my comments. I suppose I haven't written much worth commenting about.

So, this is the final installment in my three-part series about my aim t-shirt. Previously on Life Of My Shirt, I mentioned that my aim t-shirt became a workout t-shirt in April of 2002, which it remains to this day. I've noticed at recent aim events that aim is now producing LOTS of workout shirts. They come in every colour imaginable, in various styles; you can get them in sign, in Greek, and in old aim logos. They might start to rival Nike and Reebok one of these days for their production of workout shirts.

Seriously, there seems to be no lack of things we can put aim logos on. Bible covers. Mugs (I have one of those; it sits on a shelf and I've never used it). There are probably some hat-and-scarf sets out there somewhere (or they are in the works). Backpacks. I wonder if they have a "newlywed" line yet whereby the young couple, in lieu of monogrammed towels and tablecloths, can have the aim logo put on them instead. You know that would be an instant hit.

I don't think this is a bad idea, although I've reached a point in my life where I would not use anything aim-logoed in my day-to-day life, apart from the infamous shirt. In fact, I distinctly remember, as a young aim student, suggesting to the aim secretary that we should put the aim logo on more things (specifically, I was talking about getting an aim watch).

I: Aim should make like, watches and stuff with our logo on it. We could put it on more things than just shirts and stationery.
Amy: Who would buy it?
I: Aim students, aim parents, ex-aimers, future aimers.
Amy: I don't think so, Susan.

For the record: Boy, was I right. (Sorry, Amy.)

I could still do with an aim watch.

Missing in Action

So there is an episode of NCIS, previously mentioned, in which McGee wears an MIT t-shirt. During the filming of said episode, Sean Murray noticed in the mirror that his shirt spelled "Tim", which is his character's first name. Apparently, Sean Murray was quite excited about this.

I had a similar experience the first time I wore my brand-new AIM t-shirt; in the mirror, "AIM" spells "MIA", which, for the acronym-impaired, stands for missing in action. At the time, I laughed hysterically at how appropriate it was. And there has been nothing in the intervening 12 years to change my mind about that.

(For more of the exciting story of my AIM t-shirt, continue reading.)

It's the shirt

I have owned three AIM t-shirts; two of them were given to me as a student (one in each year). I never wore either of them after I left Lubbock, and I gave them both away long before I graduated from aim.

I got the third one my first weekend as an aim (can't be bothered capitalising every time) assistant. We were talking about the aim students' first day, Jason mentioned that we would all need to wear our aim t-shirts. Which prompted this conversation:

I: I don't have an aim t-shirt.
Aim Assistants (AAs): General gasp of shock.
Jason: What happened to your t-shirt?
I: I gave it away. Both of them, actually.
AAs: Repeat gasp of shock.
Benjy or Scott (don't remember which one, but it was certainly one of them): You gave it away?
I: Yeah.
B or S: Why?
I: My whole team did. We all gave them to people who were important to us.
AAs: Giving me a blank stare.
I: Look, I can tie my aim certificate around my neck if you want, because that's the only thing I own that says "Aim."
Jason (probably feels the conversation is straying from the purpose at hand): Okay, I'll get you another t-shirt Saturday morning.
I: Thanks.

And, the conversation only got better on Saturday:

Jason: Which size do you need?
I: Medium.
Jason: Are you sure?
I: Yeaaaah. (Adding a couple of syllables to the word, in a way that I hope indicates "Let's not have a conversation about what size I am, okay?")
Jason (gets it): Okay.

I still have the debated t-shirt; the day after my second aim class left for the field, it became a workout shirt. And as a result, the t-shirt has been a feature at two (at least) West Texas Running Club races. And it still fits just as well as it did eight years ago.

It's a tough job, but...

So at work the other day, I was clearing out the "new" visits.

These are visits that we have in our system, waiting for charges to be put into them so they can then be billed to the insurance/patient/both. We get some that hang around for a while, though, because a patient didn't come in but wasn't removed from the schedule, or because I didn't know there was already a visit in place and created a new one when I billed the visit, or because I missed the visit altogether when billing out the charges for a particuar day. Whatever the reason, there are always visits hanging around that I have to go back and check on from time to time.

The first time I did the clearing-out, my supervisor explained it to me like this: "This is a job... (pause)."
I: That no one else wants to do?
She: No. Well, yes. But I was going to say it's something we have to do from time to time.
I: But no one wants to do it, so it hasn't been done in a while.
She: Right. I think there are a lot in there.


She was right; on that first venture, there were tons, some dating back a few years. But it didn't take me long to clear them out, and I've done it once a month ever since. My successor in this job had better appreciate that.


But really, I don't know why no one wanted to do it. It's fun for me. I get to look things up, figure things out, and wonder what on earth I thought I was doing on that particular day. I've never understood, not since that first time, why this is a job no one wants to do.

This is the price I pay for being anal.

First Place

Here's the short version: We ran a 15 K yesterday (9.32 miles), our longest race distance to date, and I came home with a first-place medal. (Yes, I was the only one in my age group.)

So this race was actually a lot of fun. We've been training on hills for a few weeks specifically in preparation for this race, and it certainly paid off. The first hill tired me out, but then it was pretty early on-- not even mile 2-- and my legs weren't quite up to speed yet. There were two hills in the final two miles. I've spent the last couple of weeks dreading those two hills, but you know what? They weren't hard at all. All that needless worrying. :)

Long version (can't say you weren't warned):
So anyway, I must give full credit to my faithful iPod, which is what got me through the race and into a very satisfactory 11:11 pace (for a 1:44:06 finish). I stayed up later than I should have done on Friday night, getting all my favourite songs in order at the top of my playlist, because I knew I would need them. Unfortunately for Chad, this meant his race was punctuated with my saying, "I love this song!" every few minutes. (There's nothing stopping him from getting his own iPod to tune me out.) This also meant that I got up later than I probably should have done before the race, so I ended up eating a bowl of oatmeal only 30 minutes before race time. But, I learned the (unfortunately) hard way last month that skipping breakfast on race day is a bad, bad idea. Actually, apart from a short-lived side stitch, the oatmeal didn't bother me too much, so I was pretty happy about that.

So, here's the 15 K playlist:

Ready to Run (I'm not actually that wild about this song, but it seemed apt)
Wonderwall (I would not dare run a race without this song; it pulls me through long training runs, and gives me a boost in every race.)
Salt and Light (LCU's Best Friends version from a few years ago)
What if I Stumble (also seemed apt)
Super Trouper (gotta have my Abba)
Waterloo (ditto; also apt)
Driftwood (I just like this one)
There She Goes (made me smile around mile 5)
I Am Persuaded (Robin Mark makes everything easier)
Phoenix from the Flames (I'm really not sure why I put this one on, but it helped)

I actually had a lot more in the queue, but these got me from mile 2 to mile 6, and then I was ready to listen to my feet hit the pavement for a mile or two. Chad dropped off from my pace at about 7.5 miles, so I was running solo. That close to the finish, I needed some extra motivation (especially since I was looking at the afore-mentioned hills), so I put the earbuds back in, and started over with Wonderwall. Just before mile 8, I caught up with the woman who had been ahead of us the entire race. This is one of many reasons I could never be a serious competitive runner; I feel really bad passing someone who has been ahead of me for most of the race. It's like I feel they deserve to finish better than me because they've had a faster race overall. The fact that I've done it to several different people in just about every race we've run (all except for the one when I finished dead last) doesn't stop the pangs of guilt from coming over me every time. :)

Anyway! Waterloo started playing when I was a block from the finish, so the aptly-placed song became even more so. Coming in so late, there was a huge crowd at the finish line to cheer me in; the combination of the cheers, the song, a glimpse of my time, and the sight of a camera pointing at me for my finish-line photo was enough for me to smile as I crossed the line. (That doesn't guarantee a good picture; the last time I smiled for the camera, I just looked like I was in pain. Which I was.) Chad came in a minute later, chasing (and passing-- he doesn't have any guilt) the woman I had already passed, sprinting to the finish to the cheers of the assembled runners. It really was a brilliant finish-- and then he got some water and sat down, and didn't move again for about 10 minutes.

I have to admit I was gobsmacked when they called my name for a medal; I didn't look at the posted results to try to guess my place like I usually do, because I was busy getting water and an orange before the awards. I didn't feel like passing out this time around like I did last month; I felt really good at the end of the race. I still feel really good actually, even though I am ridiculously sore.

Yeah, okay, this is getting long enough for three posts. Hope you haven't fallen asleep reading it. If you made it this far, you deserve a medal; but you can't have mine!

I love McGeek!

So we've been watching a lot of NCIS lately.

Chad likes to do this to me: he'll bombard me with excessive amounts of a TV show (past winners: The West Wing, Stargate, Scrubs, CSI) and then act all surprised when I get addicted. So this time, in advance, I'd like to tell the world that it is CHAD'S fault that I am now completely booked up on Tuesday nights at 7 for the next few weeks.

So, if you don't watch the show, that's just sad for you. If you do, you understand the title of my post. I would like, at this time, to clarify that I do not have a celebrity crush on Sean Murray. I do, however, love me some McGee. I moan when he is wrong (quite often) and cheer when he is right. I offer him my sympathy when Gibbs hits him on the head. (I celebrate when Gibbs hits DiNozzo.) I wish he'd stop carrying a torch for Abby, who is clearly not interested. I love that his MIT t-shirt spells "TIM" in the mirror. If McGee were a real-life person, I'd invite him over for dinner and try to set him up with my sister. So I suppose it's as well that he is not.

I like all the other characters, too. I love Ziva's idiom difficulties (because lots of things drive me up the hall). Tony the walking Blockbuster keeps me guessing as to what on earth he's talking about (being the non-movie buff that I am). Abby is just delightful-- I am thinking about trying black lipstick & nail polish myself. I would happily listen to Ducky ramble on about whatever he likes. Palmer (aka McGee Jr.) is just too cute to be believed. Jenny... okay, Jenny I'm not as into as everyone else. And let's not forget the late lamented Kate. And finally, Gibbs himself... I'm glad I don't work for him, but it's lots of fun to watch him boss other people around. And the more often he smacks Tony on the head, the happier it makes me. Although I still say his mother hated him already: who would name her child Leroy Jethro?

New Mess

So I've been AWOL again (or UA, if you prefer, although I still haven't worked out what that stands for), with our packing and moving frenzy. We are now in the new apartment, with all of our stuff, although getting it all into order is proving problematic thus far. We gave away a TON of stuff before this move (a desk, a couch & chair, five bags to goodwill), and we still have far more things than two people could possibly need. Plus, some friends who moved before we did gave us some furniture. So we have no lack of places to put things, just an overabundance of things.

Anyway! So to go with my nice laptop, we now have wireless internet (comes free with the apartment). I have to say, it is pretty cool. I am certainly enjoying it thus far.

Unfortunately, I have nothing of much interest to share. Which is another reason that I haven't blogged recently-- I mean, who wants to hear all the details of packing and moving?

We have a race in two weeks, though. Always a crowd favourite. In the meantime, Chad and I are cycling to church this morning, so I'd better go wake him up.

Waiting

It's after 10 and I'm tired (woke up that way, then cycled to work and ran 4 miles this evening), and I would really like to go to bed. But I am waiting for the dishwasher to stop running, because I will never fall asleep while it is still going. And for the reason why that should bother me... keep reading.

Chad left for Mexico on Saturday morning, and as soon as I got back from the airport I started packing things up for our move in two weeks. And I needed a place to put the packed boxes, so I decided on... our bedroom! I moved out the mattress (we were planning to do this anyway) to the living room, hauled out the rest of the furniture, hoovered, and then moved in all the boxes I'd packed up. Now, the entire apartment looks like a poorly-organised jumble sale.

So, with the mattress in the living room, I have to wait for noisy appliances to stop going if I intend to sleep at all. And even the quiet ones are a problem... last night, the crock pot lid kept doing that little bounce thing that is no problem during the day, but is murder at night for the light sleeper. The night before that, the wind chime on the porch was frantically waving in the wind (it has since been taken down and packed).

What has been gratifying from this whole Chad-free experience is the knowledge that I cannot easily sleep on my own now. When we first married, I spent about 3 sleepless months, followed by 3 difficult-sleeping months, followed by an undefined period of mostly sleeping but getting annoyed every time Chad woke me up. And now, I have a chance to sleep by myself, in my own bed, for a week... and it's been rough. Now I feel like an old married woman!

Does anyone want to come help me pack?

Tagged, again.

I'm sure these are not repeats of the last time I was tagged. (The reason I'm so sure is that I just read it when I hunted up the link.) The rules for this one are: 10 things about yourself, followed by 10 new tagees.

1. I was named after a Hostess cake! Not really (at least, I HOPE not really), but my dad wanted to call me Suzi-Q, hence the name Susan. One that was extremely out of style by the time I was born, I might add; most of the Susans I know are over 50. Anyway, I'm still not wild about Suzi-Q, although I do like Su (stolen from the Narnia books). There aren't many people that call me that, but I do hear it. Just don't spell it with an "e".

2. That was like 3 in 1, right? So I'm now down to about 7, instead of 10?

3. When (if) I grow up, I would like to earn a master's degree, and perhaps a doctorate, in linguistics. I really want to get a handle on half-a-dozen (or so) languages, and work as an interpreter, possibly for the government. Doesn't have to be ours, I'll work for the British government if they want me to.

4. The above-mentioned dream might be out of my reach, because my brain cannot process more than one accent at a time. Therefore, if you are American and you are talking to me, and a Scottish person walks in the room, expect to be tuned out. Sorry, I just can't do it.

5. Did I mention I love Scotland? Its people, its scenery, its customs, its long hours of summer daylight, and sometimes even the weather and the food. But mostly its people.

6. I have never lived in a blue state. Well, I've only lived it two states, so it's not been that hard. This primary election cycle, we Texans are finding out what it must be like to live in a swing state. It's nice to not be ignored.

7. Bible bowl is fun, but should be taken in small doses. :) Except that there is no such thing as small-dose Bible bowl, although we are closer to it this year than we have ever been. The cast of Bible bowl changes so quickly; there are a lot of people I still think of as "Bible bowl people" or "Bible bowl kids" who haven't been for four or five years. But it is still a good motivator to get the kids to study the Bible.

8. I run for fun. I used to think people who did that were a. masochistic b. insane or c. stupid. Now I know that while "b" is certainly part of the equation, and "c" probably finds its way in from time to time, "a" is not. So that's a bit of a relief. My running is slow and strange, and I've been told ever since my freshman year of high school that I run like a duck (people used to quack behind me in P.E., and my husband has taken to doing the same thing).

9. Speaking of waterfowl, I have had to run for my life from geese in the park. They tried to bite me, but missed and only got a beakful of scrub bottoms. I thought about fighting back, but decided I would never be able to convince animal control that the geese started it. So I ran, and the geese forgot that they have wings and can, therefore, move faster than me.

10. I'm going to be 30 in two months. My birthday falls on a Saturday, and for my birthday I'm getting my hair cut & coloured, and I'm going shopping. For a dress. My goal is to walk into church the day after my 30th birthday and not be recognised. Heh heh heh.

I'm not tagging anyone. If you want to play, consider yourself tagged.