Remember the old saying "You can never go home again?" Well, that's been more than a memory to me recently; it bordered on fact this morning for several minutes (bottom photo), in a manner eerily similar to my inability to escape home several weeks ago (photo above).
Although it's not neighborly of me to complain about my tax dollars at work on the 31-home block of neighborhood in which I reside, it's obvious to me that I have an amazing gift of timing on my arrivals and departures therefrom.
Much as I would love to have everyone I know imagining that the life of a chronically unemployed person on the cusp of senior citizenship is nothing but one long vacation playing in the sunshine, I couldn't begin to sustain that illusion. Way too much work!
This morning was a true Monday for me, the likes of which inspire those working folk to overwhelm the internet with memes. My morning featured moments where I clearly heard Karen Carpenter singing "Rainy Days and Mondays" without my ever turning on a music player.
Taking Stu for his follow up visit with his wonderful orthopedic surgeon was our first agenda item this morning. Stu being Stu, we had the first appointment promptly at 8, arriving about 10 minutes before the doctor's staff. We got a coveted handicapped parking spot, and an A-Plus bill of health from the good doc, Stu still being Stu.
On the other end of the marital bond, I knew I was having one of those HFC mornings (Hurtin' Fer Certain) hours before we even stepped out our front door. By the time we left St. Luke's facility, merely opening the door to Mother Nature prompted icepick-like pain in my left knee and a not-so-saintly religious uttering from my mouth.
It only got more Monday and more Down from there. We threaded the needle back into our own driveway and garage and got the patient and his impatient wife home without incident.
It wasn't until I got ready to leave for my deep water class at about 9:20 that the proverbial skies opened up. First, a small red pickup truck, carrying a full load in its bed and obviously having much better brakes than my vintage car, came roaring around the single-lane corner aiming at slow-moving me. Little Red stopped short of insurance-claim hell, but my heart rate thereafter would have allowed me to skip exercise class.
I made it the rest of the way to the class without incident, circling the parking lot to find the best non-handicapped spot. My typical rationale is that I need the exercise anyway, and I'm not "legally" recognized as handicapped, temporary placard notwithstanding, unless post-surgery hubby is present.
After locking my clothing away, I took my warm shower with soap and wrestled into my inexpensive and now very wet swimsuit without ripping it. So far, so good, I thought.
The first 40 minutes of class were great, as always. Teacher instructing, ladies talking and laughing, noodles and foam barbells bobbing joyfully.
And then some eagle-eyed young life guard spotted a lightning strike from our many-windowed viewing area atop a hill. Oh, darn it.
This particular recreation facility is new enough to still be hyper-cautious about its patrons. Shortly after this indoor pool was opened a little over a year ago, a lightning strike caused the pool pump to stop functioning, and all inside the pool were evacuated immediately.
Either before or after the above occurrence -- and I honestly don't know which -- a rule was established something like Thou Shalt Not Allow Humans In Pool Under Slightest Possibility of Lightning. Everybody Out! Stat! (I was muttering something like "Electrocution. Bring it on!")
The two sweet young lifeguards did their best to humor us oldies by a lengthy debate over enforcement of said rule. I simply said "I move at only one speed, and this is it" so all would understand my personal lengthy departure process.
Our instructor -- who truly is the female retired equivalent of some Marvel comic hero -- suggested that we should do jumping jacks or at least some stretching on the pool deck with her to finish out the class time.
Some of us laughed at her. Others dashed inside to grab showers, chuckling at our teacher's compulsive nature when it comes to exercise. I mean, ya can't argue to the face of a thin, muscular woman who you realize could bench press some of us without blinking.
I didn't want to wait for a shower to free up, so I toweled, unlocked, unsuited, and donned clothing and a raincoat, with some "see ya Wednesday" cheer coming from my mouth. I only live about 10 minutes away in a world without detours -- my current fantasy.
A mere 10 minutes later, seeing the scene below at the end of my street, I opted to go circle other neighboring blocks, knowing it wasn't going to clear quickly. Been here, done this, don't need another stinkin' t-shirt.
Neighboring blocks were amazingly hard to circle given subdivision-wide lane closures, so I drove cautiously, went the wrong way once, and then stopped to retrieve my phone from the trunk of my car. Must post photos to share suffering!
Upon my re-arrival, mine became the second car in a parked line of three signaling onto my block just before I took the photo below. If it weren't raining, perhaps my neighbors and I, residing in three of those 31 homes, could have had a nice chat. (The one in front of me lives three doors before me; the one behind me lives somewhere beyond me.)
So let's recap. It's a Rainy Day *and* a Monday, and many things are down or semi-functional, myself included at this point.
The Fakebook Rainbow Unicorn says: Here's hoping for some nice May flowers in a year where the April showers began early in March!
This crabby old lady says: If you're going to live in this town, you'd better get used to changing weather. Our only local predictability is changeability. And BTW...never trust a meteorologist!
