Keeping A Low Profile

Love the practice or hate it, I'm down to counting sleeps until the big day.  I was doing a little googling, trying to find the origin of counting sleeps but all that kept coming up was stuff about counting sheep.  Although I did happen onto one parental web site that had a long, long thread by people getting really pissed off with the whole notion of adults using the concept of counting sleeps.  Surely there are more important things in life to get pissed off about. How about war?  Genocide?  Ebola outbreaks?  No, for these folks it was the childless, immature act of using the number of sleeps to calculate the time until an event.  But if you really think about it, counting the number of times you will sleep before something happens is the most accurate way to do it.  If you count days, do you count the day you leave, or the day you're on when you start?  See what I'm saying...there are a couple of grey areas.  Counting sleeps is precise.  Except, I suppose, if you're an insomniac and can't sleep. Then you're really screwed on all counts and you're probably just going to be tired and bitchy by the time the big day arrives anyway.

All this to say -- THIRTEEN MORE SLEEPS!

And because I'm getting down to it, I've decided it's time to start keeping a low profile.  You know, so I don't do anything stupid that will prevent me from even starting out on this adventure.  For example...

The other day I was on the downhill portion of a hike with the kid and a rare for these parts thunder and lightning storm hit.  "Do you die if you get hit by lightning?" she wanted to know.  "Depends."  Good succinct answer, mom. "Probably mess you up for while," she surmised.  "Yeah, a good long while." Happy to report we made it down without getting hit by lightning.  I was more concerned with turning an ankle on the steeper, loose gravel portions. 'Cause that would be my luck.

Then there was that foray into the garden to pick some ripe tomatoes.  The fence around the garden is only knee high so it's an easy step up and over. Coming back out you have to step over and then down as the garden is raised.  And apparently flip flops are not appropriate footwear for this type of activity.  I caught the toe of one foot on the fence and did a twisting slow motion face plant to the ground.  My first thought was, "please don't let me have wrecked my flip flops."  Hey, I have my priorities -- they were the $80 pair of Vionics that I bought for the Camino after all.  My second thought was, "please don't let me have broken my toes."  Third, "or wrecked my back." Thankfully, nothing that a little ice for the swelling and bruising didn't cure. But close...oh, so close.

Until I walked full tilt face first into a cupboard door.  I've nearly done it a million times -- it's an upper cupboard door in the kitchen that is right beside the doorway into the hall.  If the cupboard door is open, it blocks part of the doorway.  I had taken something out of the cupboard and was going to put it right back so left the door open.  Then I got distracted and decided I needed something in another room and walked -- wham -- face first into it.  After staggering about until I regained my bearings I felt around to make sure that my glasses were intact and that they hadn't permanently embedded themselves into my face.  Lucky on both counts.

But by now I'm thinking my luck bank could be running low.  No more hikes for me, just incline treadmill workouts in the safety of my basement.  And I'm retiring the flip flops in favour of supportive, secure running shoes when doing all other things.  I'm looking both way before I cross the street, always on the green.  I no longer run with scissors or drink expired milk.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go put the finishing touches on my tin foil hat.


Book Review:  That Night is the story of two people imprisoned for a murder they claim they did not commit.  The narrative is very fluid going back and forth from the present when they are released to the events leading up to the murder and their time in jail.  Chevy Stevens nicely captures the nasty bullying milieu of teenage girls.  Probably the best of the four novels she's written.  But I wasn't overly jazzed by the ending.  Oh well.