Nervous Times

The economy is a mess. I realize this is not news to you but it's scary. All of us are feeling the pinch in different ways.

The election is less than a month away. I try to be an independent thinker and study the candidates and the issues that I care about. I'm still nervous about both teams.

The husband is having surgery tomorrow. I am not worried about the actual surgery; I'm worried that he will be trapped with me for at least three days. We are used to coffee and crosswords in the morning and evenings together. Even when we go on vacation, he plays golf and I go to the beach.

Some years are better than others. We lost the Belle in January and the Captain in March.

I don't need to get on a treadmill; I'm pacing enough to get my workout done.

Well Conditioned

Although I work out, my body could not be defined as well conditioned. Gabby, the maniac dog, is definitely not well conditioned. The husband is concerned about the condition of his golf game.

When I'm in a hurry, I love the shampoo and conditioner in one. Just a simple step and you're done. This morning I was drying my hair and I couldn't figure out why it was so gummy. Apparently it doesn't come very clean if you grab the bottle of conditioner instead of the two-in-one product.

This is not the first time I've made this mistake. I'm going to have to investigate reading glasses for the shower.

But my hair is well conditioned.

Snap Crackle Pop

Workout is an important part of my routine. If I'm being lofty, I'll tell you that I do it for my health. Arthritis runs in my family. I am a prime (Mega prime) candidate for osteoporosis. My workout girls provide comraderie. I would not bother if it were not for them. There's peer support and the laughter helps. The workout is often pure frustration for me. My body won't get in that position. I hear "Snap, crackle pop" while I attempt to find it.

I have these little reflective moments when I try to do a particular exercise or stretch and my body won't go there. As a young girl, I was a dancer. (Ballet -- not Go Go or Pole dancing.) I used to sit on the ground and wrap my legs around my neck. My father would jokingly say, "You are going to be so popular on dates!" My mother would whack him.

As many people have commented, aging is not for wimps. When I'm tempted to complain about my creaks and aches, I remind myself of all the Belle endured. I think about the many pieces of metal in Hangdog's body. (It doesn't completely nullify my frustrations but it helps.)

I will continue to lift my weights and get my heart rate moving. I will attempt to contort my body into positions that it no longer welcomes. But, I will have one eye on the clock and at 7:30 A.M., I will be the first to announce, "I all done."

Alarms

We have a household alarm system. I use it when I am home alone. Otherwise, one of the oldies will set it off and I am the one who has to crawl out of bed and deal with it.

My overly complicated and convoluted car has an alarm system. If I leave the dog in the car with the doors unlocked, I'm afraid someone will steal her. If I lock the car, she always sets off the alarm. I just announce to the crowd in the drug store or the grocery store, "It's mine -- I'll handle it."

Our wake-up alarm is on my bedside table. I set it. I turn it off. I reset it for the husband on my workout days.

I guess alarms are a good thing. They make you feel a little safer. Some alarms are going off in my head right now.

Dog Bites

Recently, thre was a stray dog in my yard. It looked like a Chow mix and was obviously abandoned or lost. When I used my sweet voice, he came to me and I gave him some water. I had dog treats in my pocket-- doesn't everyone? -- so I gave him a couple.

His fur was matted and messy. When I reached in to see if he had any tags, he nipped me. This dog probably matched me in weight. If he had wanted to take off my arm, he would've won that contest. I gave him another treat.

Later, I remembered an open sore on his nose so I called my doctor. I'm thinking Cujo. After instructions of what to watch for, my doctor's nurse assured me that my shots are up to date, rabies are rare, etc. The poor dog was picked up by Animal Control and I'm trying not to hate the people who abandoned him. I'll just take my mind into Sheri's World and assume he had been chipped and was returned to his rightful owners.

The oldies are tolerant of my dog. Well, she is. I want to take them over to my parent's home just so they see how lucky they are. My parents have two dogs and one is a 6lb. maniac that bites everyone in her path. My ankles have never been the same since they've owned this dog. Even my mother, who is one of her primary care givers, is regularly bitten. It's usually when she has the nerve to roll over in bed and invade the trio -- my dad and the two dogs who adore him.

The Workout Girls

Several years ago, I started a little workout group. When the husband realized I was serious, he and my son converted a small room in our basement into a workout room. We have a ballet bar, lots of free weights, bands, a weight bench and other equipment. We have a friend who is also our personal trainer. We make her nuts.

The mother-in-law refers to this group as my coffee klatch. She's partially correct. We do work out regularly but we're much more interested in what's going on in each other's lives, discussing the news and finding any excuse not to work out. We just want the workout part to be over so we can drink coffee and chat.

Even with our constant avoidance, we're all stronger physically and mentally for it. Our trainer occasionally has to become a Nazi with us but she whips us back into the program.

I need cardio and strength. I need to take care of my bones. Most of all, I need my workout girls.