I don't know about you...

...but I'm just not all that turned on by religion.

Aw sh!t.

May 12, 1937 - June 22, 2008

Yes, I did make that mess.

No, I am not ashamed.

Looks like it's still too soon to leave Montana out of his crate while we're away at work. Live and learn.

Bob-bob-bobbin' along.

It takes so little to fascinate me. Every day I have been taking a peek or two at the robin's nest in our spruce tree. I don't know much about robins, but this particular mama robin has chosen to construct her nest only about five feet off the ground. I've let my curiosity get the better of me a few times and have tried to take a peek while mama robin was roosting, thus scaring her away, but to my enormous relief she always returns. First there was one blue egg. Then there were three. Then four. And then... these.

So-ugly-they're-cute little fluffballs

Play ball! (If you dare.)

You know that awful dream where you're trying really hard to run but you feel like you're tethered to a Mack truck? As I recently discovered, that's what running is like for me, but in real life.

At risk of having to default, the Noogles softball team was in desperate need of a second female player for their game two Wednesdays ago. They were so desperate that they accepted my reluctant offer to play. What were they thinking? At any rate, they accepted. Now, I really didn't expect to have to run, since I was going to be placed at home plate as the catcher (not a strategically important role in three-pitch softball), and the only other reason to run would be if I managed to hit the ball when I was at bat. That wasn't a likely scenario.

Not having thrown or caught a ball or swung a bat in, oh, twenty years or more, I thought I could use a little practice. Okay, a lot of practice, but since I only came up with the idea ten minutes before game time, a little would have to do. Following Scott's pointers, I managed to jam my right index finger on my third try at catching. If you've ever jammed your finger, you'll be cringing right now. A jammed finger happens when an idiot like me allows the ball to hit a straight finger head-on. It really freakin' hurts. My finger turned red and swelled up and stung like a sonofabitch. I'd like to blame my jammed finger for the fact that I threw like a girl for the entire game, but that would be disingenuous.

Here's the weird part. When I was at bat, sure, I swung like I was holding a sledgehammer and I missed the ball most of the time, but occasionally I connected. And some of those times, I made it to first base. A few times, with the help of decent batters, I actually made it home. And hey, I even had an RBI!

But the running, my friends, the running. It wasn't pretty. It made me wonder how I managed to participate (however briefly) in marathon training several years ago. I guess the difference is that the training was also many pounds ago. I wanted to get on base, I really did, so it wasn't for lack of desire that I struggled so much. No matter how hard I tried to sprint, I felt like more like an elephant trying to escape quicksand.

And yet...

In the bottom of the final inning I crossed that plate, with two other runners right on my heels, and when the last player reached the plate we won by one run! That felt good. It felt really, really good. For about three minutes. Then I felt my body.

And I wanted to die.

I spent about four days wanting to die, in fact. Four days during which my jammed finger turned blue, then purple, then almost black, then back to just about normal, except for discolouration beneath the nail. Four days during which my thighs felt twice as fat as they actually are, my back cried out for rest, and my feet cursed me for my foolishness. Four days during which Scott just shook his head whenever he looked at my colour-changing finger or saw me limping around, groaning and creaking. Then, a couple of days later, I turned 35. I may not be the oldest person in the Noogle group, but I'm officially retiring. It's time for me to return my borrowed glove and to put on a leisure suit, because from now on it's all about mall-walking and tai chi for me. Minus the tai chi. That's too strenuous.

No quarter

I wish I could digitally capture the facial expression that Scott has whenever I do something stupid. It is a combination of amusement, disbelief and pity. Whether his pity is for me or for himself I do not know. He gave me just such a look recently when we went grocery shopping.

We used to shop at a hoity-toity market with free-range shopping carts. When our pets put us in the poor house, however, we began shopping at the local no-frills grocery store (which is named, fittingly, No Frills). Unlike the chi-chi market, No Frills has instituted a loss-prevention program for its shopping carts. The carts are chained together in drafty shelters in the store parking lot. To release a cart from the chain-gang, one must insert a quarter into a coin slot affixed to the handle.

During the shopping trip in question, when I fished around for a quarter, I found one with a design that I had not seen before. It featured a tall ship, its sails stretched by strong winds, and the dates 1604-2004. Curious, I asked Scott what happened in 1604. He didn't know, either.

We did our grocery shopping, loaded our items in the car and I returned the cart to the shelter. When I locked the cart to the next one in line and withdrew a quarter, I was amazed to see that the coin had the exact same design as the one I had used as a deposit. I excitedly ran back to the car and showed the quarter to Scott, telling him about the unbelievable coincidence. That's when he gave me The Look.

Listen, I'm not mechanically minded. How was I supposed to know that the quarter I put in is always the same one I get back? I don't think about these things. Obviously.

Go, Indy!

Eventually I will go see the new Indiana Jones movie. For now, however, I am enjoying this.

Hawaii vacation DOs and DON'Ts

When vacationing in beautiful Hawaii, DO:

-leave the cruise ship from time to time, as there is far more to do than goof around with the murals on the walls

-splurge on a fruity beverage or twelve

-stop to admire the rainbows

-attend a luau

-go barefoot on at least one beach

-watch the sunrise from the Haleakala crater

-expect to be awed

DON'T:

-panic and flail your limbs when snorkeling with dolphins in their natural habitat (apparently a pod of 150 dolphins will avoid a small group of humans when one of those humans is thrashing about)

-fall down and cut your knee when attempting to get back on the boat between snorkeling attempts, since a) you look foolish and b) saltwater stings

-get tonsillitis (drugs ain't cheap on a cruise ship)

-fall asleep with a cough drop in your mouth, since the drool stain will remain on your pillowcase all week

Learn from my mistake

This is my yard.

This is my yard on dogs.

I loves me my Sitemeter

It's stats time again, boys and girls!

By far the most common search terms bringing people to my blog in recent weeks have had to do with dogs' broken toes. My posts about Ferris probably discouraged a lot of owners from seeking veterinary attention for their pets. One reader, from Slough, UK, googled "Putting a rabbit's leg in sling." Good luck, friend.

A web-surfer from the Navy Network Information Center in Pensacola, Florida, searched for "Kiss me" "Steven Wright." Don't ask, don't tell.

I am not flattered that an individual from Whiteland, Indiana, was directed to my blog after searching "frequent yawning boredom."

Thanks to my post about cutting and donating my hair, someone from Los Angeles, California, found my blog after googling "chop off top of hair leave rest long." That's called a mullet, buddy. Don't do it.

I chuckled when I saw that someone in Cincinnati, Ohio, searched for "dribblestop."

Last but not least, someone from Rome, Italy, googled "lacrosse I'm not afraid of you." Way to go, signore. No need to fear Canada's national summer sport.