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(Not an April fools post)

In 8 hours I've already seen 3 posts on Facebook supporting OKCupid's boycott of Mozilla Firefox due to Mozilla's selection of a new anti-gay CEO.  Based on their own evidence, OKCupid is in the wrong.

Their stated reason is that the CEO spent money supporting California's Prop 8.  OK, fine.  He's an ass.

Did Mozilla spend money supporting Prop 8?  OKCupid didn't mention it.  I have no idea.

OK, so OKCupid thinks it's OK to boycott a company because of an employee's passionately held beliefs.  So, if ONE employee of, oh say, my employer is anti-gay, should everyone boycott Cornell University?  Umm.... that doesn't sound right, does it?

OK, well, maybe Mozilla shouldn't have hired this guy as CEO.  Ya, ya, that's it!   He's a bad person.  Mozilla shouldn't have hired this man due to his religious belief..... oh... err...   Discriminatory hiring is kinda like illegal, isn't it... ummm.....  Maybe I actually have to stop and THINK about this. 

If OKCupid had documented spending by Mozilla in support of Prop 8, I'd be fully behind the boycott.  They didn't.  They attacked an individual's private beliefs and spending choices.  Do we really want employers dictating personal choices?

If we, the flamin' liberals, are so anxious to keep the government out of our pants, shouldn't we also be supporting the notion that businesses don't dictate the personal choices of employees  *cough*Hobby Lobby*cough*?

Be careful of the bandwagons you jump on.  They're not all headed down the good red road.
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Over the last few days,since the incident at Newtown, I've seen tempers flaring on social media.  Friends are unfriending each other, cranky posts are shooting back and forth.  Infographics defending both sides are scrolling by about as fast as I can read them.  This tragedy has triggered a national dialog, long overdue.

I'd say our country is swinging more and more toward the liberal side lately.  As these tragedies mount up, the voting populace will most likely come down on the side of gun control.  If not inspired by this tragedy, then by the next, or the next, or the next.

I'm seeing a similarity, here, which is making me want to post this.  The similarity is to the recent presidential election.  In my opinion, the republicans brought a rubber chicken to a shooting match because their party was so wrapped up in Tea Party and Fox News rhetoric that they sorta stopped paying attention to actually making coherent arguments, based on truth.  The voting public noticed.

As I watch the pro-gun stuff scrolling by on my facebook feed, I see the same sort of thing happening.  They're not addressing the problem.  They're throwing up their "Cold dead fingers" rhetoric, and 2nd amendment arguments, rather actually acknowledging there is a problem, or offering a solution.  Just today, I saw about 4 links to articles from angry pro-gun people that basically said "Gun control doesn't work."  OK, fine.  What does?

So, let's break this down.

Problem to be solved:
  1) 10,000+ innocent American citizens are killed due to gun volience and accidents each year, WAY in excess of other developed nations. 
       This number must be reduced to be on par with other developed nations.

  1) Pro-gun people wish to continue owning guns. 



OK, pro-gun friends.  Let's hear it.  I've got a few ideas, but they're really not important.  If we're to have a "national dialog", then both parties have to be thinking.  I don't see the pro-gun side doing that.  I see the pro-gun side being angry and defensive, recycling old arguments that seem weaker every time one of these things happen.

In a movie that many of us enjoyed, Yoda reminded Luke to remember the lesson in the cave.  The one about keeping emotions and check and maintaining reason.   Yoda was right.

Pro-gun folks, if you won't set aside emotion, and acknowledge this problem and work toward a reasoned answer, the Liberall solution will cut you down.

Remeber the cave.

Think about the problem.  Suggest a solution that'll work.
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It's amazing how an entire story can unfold in three seconds, as you walk to dinner.
Dear Guy-Walking-In-Front-Of-Me,

I'm writing to ask you something very important.  Are you freaking blind?!?

Didn't you notice, when that gorgeous girl approached from the other direction, how her eyes lit up at the sight of you?  Didn't you see how her face burst into a smile, like a beam of sunshine on a cloudy day?  Didn't you hear the excitement in her voice when she called to you?  Didn't you see how she stepped slightly aside, inviting you to come speak to her?  Didn't you notice the slight flush to her cheeks?  Couldn't you perceive just how much she wanted to talk to you?

I'm old enough to be her father, but I did, with just one passing glance!  It made me smile, as I saw young romance unfolding before me.  I thought "What a lucky guy he is!"

But then, barely looking her way, you just said "Oh, hey!" and walked right past.

I was stunned.

Disappointed-WomanI do know for certain that you didn't see the smile fall from her face, or note how her whole body slumped as if deflated.  As I passed her, just steps behind you, her eyes were already downcast, looking at the sidewalk.  She looked so sad!  Jesus.  I wanted to stop and give her a consoling hug, but I didn't know her at all.

Dude, I sincerely hope you are in a committed relationship, or gay, because if you couldn't see what my old eyes saw so plainly, you need to tear up your Man Card.  Right now.

Old guy walking behind you

Current Mood: shocked shocked
Current Music: B.B. King, "Let Me Love You"

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So, it happened again.  It happens a few times every semester.  I had an "observer" peek into my kickbox class.

The setup is familiar, though this time it involved Zumba moves.  I was in the middle of my more complicated kickboxing choreography when the music changed.  I've stuck a very fast Merengue Zumba song in the middle of my play list.  Without prelude or explanation, we suddenly transition from kickboxing to Zumba!

The class is shuffling side to side, wiggling hips and having fun.  The song is blisteringly fast.  I queue a little through the first few rounds, and then rely on hand signals.  We're flying back and forth doing Salsas, V-steps, double-steps, and of course the "Booty".

At a particular point in the music, I scream "Booty" and we all turn to the side, thrust one arm in the air, and pump the other to the side, and well... shake our booties.  Big time.  8 counts later, we clap, hop, turn, and shake 'em the other way.  Then we transition into lunges, and the dance continues.

Surprise_Surprise_Gotcha_071015100325963_wideweb__300x375,1So, of course, it had to to be in the Booty that I looked up in the window to see The Observer.  Me, the middle-aged hippy-looking instructor with the ponytail and 30 participants are wiggling our butts vigorously toward the mirror as he peeked in the window wondering what my Kickbox class is all about.

It suffices to say that I don't expect him to be coming to class any time soon. lol

I swear to god, no one ever looks in the window when we're punching, kicking and being badass.  It's always when we're goofing around!

This isn't exactly my choreography.  Mine is more vigorous, but you can see an example of The Booty at 0:50

Current Mood: amused amused
Current Music: Amarfis "El Pollo"

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So, my 50th Birthday is about 13 months away.  Being the goal oriented creature that I am, I've been thinking about my fitness plans for 50 for some time.  Since one way to help you remain accountable to your goals is to share them, here we go.  These are my "5 for 50 Fitness Goals". 

1) 50 Chin-ups.  I started the program last week.  100 pushups took me 5 months, and I started from 40 consecutive.  I honestly don't know if I'll make 50 chin-ups.  I can do precisely 0 unassisted at the moment.  I love a challenge!

2) 100 Pushups (clean).  I can do 100 consecutive, but they're not pretty.  The goal here is to slow them down, and keep my form.

3) 15% Body Fat.  That's not super-lean for a guy, but I think it's just fine for an old codger.  This will be the toughie for me, though.  I haven't done a check lately, but I'm assuming my lean body mass is still in the 150-160 pound range.  That puts me at a goal weight of 172-184.  Yowza!  20 more pounds to lose, minimum. 

4) Fun Run in 55.  This is the 4.5 mile run up and down the Treman Park Gorge trail.  I've never been a fast runner.  My personal best for this was about 48 minutes, many years ago, with much younger knees.

5) Five certifications, all current.  This is really about aerobics.  I want to keep my Group Fitness and Spinning certifications current, and  add Zumba, Kickboxing and Personal Training.  I've got my Zumba and AFAA Kickbox Certification classes scheduled already.

So there it is.  I'll try to post monthlyish status updates on my 5 for 50.

Current Mood: determined
Current Music: Bachman Turner Overdrive, "Taking Care of Business"

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They were new to my class, and I recognized the look.  Disdain.

5 minutes before class.   They saw me.   Both of them. That look.  "That OLD guy is teaching this class?!?"  I smiled at them and led the participants into the room.

Just about to start.  They set up next to each other, a few rows back.  As I declared tonight's music was "Old School" they rolled their eyes.  They both had iPods.  I saw them look at each other.  A moment later, they were putting in their earbuds.  "I don't want to hear that crap."

5 minutes in.  I'm nearly done coaching the new folks, reviewing form and safety.  I glance in their direction.  They're fussing with their iPods and looking annoyed.  "He has nothing to teach me."

10 minutes in.  We're doing a drill.  One of them has half a smile on her face.  One earbud is dangling out, so she can hear me cuing the changes.  "What's this?"

20 minutes in.  Intensity is rising.  I'm using my drill sergeant voice.  We've been out of the saddle for 3 minutes, and pedaling hard.  I see the look I've been waiting for.  Shock.  "What the hell?"

30 minutes in.  Their earbuds are dangling, forgotten.  Their bodies pink and blotchy from exertion.  Sweat is pouring out of my body and dripping on my bike.  I drape a towel over the handlebars to staunch the flow.  They look at me, at each other, and their expression changes again.  Concern.  "Could he be working harder than me?"  Their look changes again.  Determination.  They hunch over their bikes, pedaling harder.

40 minutes in.  We've finished a tough climb.  While still recovering, I immediately call for quick legs and light resistance.  I notice them pedaling slowly.  Glancing their way, I bark "This is mental, not physical.  MOVE THOSE LEGS!  QUICK! QUICK! QUICK"  Their eyes grow big as saucers.  "He busted us slacking off!"  The look changes to sheepish embarrassment, and they begin pedaling faster.  A few moments later, one of them can't help but bob her head to the music, grinning.  In spite of herself, she's enjoying the music.

45 minutes in.  Jumps on a hill.  Blasting "Dance and Shout".  I'm barking the transitions from seated to standing.  Sweat is flying.  Huffing and puffing.  They're grinning, grooving to the music.  They lean over their bikes, again, pedaling their asses off.

50 minutes in.  Cooling down.  Stretching.  Buckets of sweat under my bike.  They're pink and sweaty.  They glance at each other.  Their eyes say "Holy shit.  That's not what I expected."

55 minutes in.  Bikes being packed away.  One of them walks by.  "Thanks Mike, that was awesome!"  She's grinning like a drunken idiot.  Endorphins. 

As they walk out together, I notice them glance one last time in my direction.  The look is different, now. 


I used to dread that look of disdain from a new participant.  I feared that I couldn't meet their expectations.

I don't anymore.  Now, it's a call to arms.  I see that look and I'm energized.   That look means that I need to pull out the stops.  I need to show heart, guts, determination, and fortitude.  That look challenges me to prove them wrong, and in doing so, it makes me stronger.  It brings out the best in me.

I welcome the look.  Bring it!

Tags: ,
Current Mood: rejuvenated rejuvenated
Current Music: Shaggy, "Dance and Shout"

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I had about 70 minutes before attending Core Barre, a group fitness class I had been meaning to try for months.  I packed up in the office, and decided I felt like having a quick bite of Vietnamese food for dinner.  Due to my low blood sugar, I can't work out on an empty stomach.  I briefly considered calling ahead to order, but realized I couldn't remember the name or menu number of my favorite dish.  Seeing that it was 4:35, I decided it was likely to be quiet at the restaurant, and the service would be speedy.  I drove over.

I entered Vietnam Restaurant to see that "Joe" (his American name - they're all from Thailand) wasn't working at the moment.  One of the women who normally works in the kitchen had an apron on, and came out into the restaurant to greet me.  I noticed that the place was empty.

"Where you wife?" she asked, looking concerned.

I was a little surprised.  Joe always waits on us when Jules and I dine together, there, about once a week.  I wasn't aware that the kitchen folks paid much attention.

"Oh, she didn't come in with me today.  I'm on my own."

"Oh. OK," she began.  We were still standing in the middle of the restaurant.  I was starting to unzip my coat.  "You want numba 25, wit extra sauce and die coke?" she asked.

"Um, yea!  That's it!  I thought of calling ahead, but I couldn't remember my order.  Joe always just gets it for me."

She laughed, though I'm not perfectly sure she understood what I said.  She noticed me looking at the tables.

"You want sit here?" she asked, pointing. 
"Sure, that'll be great."

I was greatly amused that she knew my order by heart, even though she had never waited on me before.  I sat down, and pulled out my smartphone.   I opened up Facebook and related the incident.  I had no sooner pushed "post" when she arrived with my food!  I swear it was under 2 minutes!

"Here you go." she said.
"Wow, that was fast!"

She smiled, and went back to the counter. 

I ate my dinner, rather quickly, since I wanted to get to the gym.  I finished up, and pushed the plate away.  It was nummy, as always!

"You all done?  Want check?"
"Yes, please."

She pulled the check from her pad, and set it on the table.  She looked down at my plate, and frowned.  I hadn't eaten the pickled vegetables that they give with the pork and rice.

"You no eat pickows!" she exclaimed.  "You no like?  They good!... 'a swee 'a sowah!"
"Oh, I don't really care for pickles."
"They gooooood!  'a swee 'a sowah!" she exclaimed, again.  She looked perplexed that I wouldn't devour sweet and sour pickles!
"Well, I usually give them to my Wife.  She loves them." I said.
"Ooh.." She nodded.  "You want I wrap up foe ha?"

I was surprised and pleased.  I hadn't thought to take them home for Jules.

"That would be really nice.  She'd like that!"
"OK!", she replied, beaming a smile.  She scooped up my plate and hustled to the counter.

I followed a moment later, with my check and some money.  As I arrived, she was scooping the pickles into a small to-go plastic cup.

"She like, huh?" she re-confirmed..
"Yes, she loves them.  She'll appreciate it."
"OK!  I give ha extra!"

She opened up the big pot of pickles behind the counter, and scooped more into the cup, filling it to the brim.

I left the restaurant with a big smile on my face, and a gift for Jules in my hand.   The two ladies working the restaurant were standing by the register, as I took one final glance over my shoulder.  Their hands were folded in front of them.  They bowed slightly, and said good night.  I nodded in return, and said "Good night!" with a wave.
There are four restaurants, side by side in Collegetown,  "Little Thai House", "Asian Noodle House", "Vietnam Restaurant" and "Hai Hong Chinese restaurant".  They're all owned by the same Thai family.  On a given day, you might see the family members working in any one of them.   I've probably been fed by them 2-3 times per week for the last 20 years.  Their food is good, prices fair, and portions generous. 

When I look at them, and I think of my own immigrant grandparents.  They're making their way, working hard, raising their children (I often see Joe's son in the store).  They're doing their best to live the American Dream.  I've noticed some of their little mannerisms, like holding cash with both hands, and holding it out with their head bowed when they make change.  I do my best to show that respect in return.  When I pay my bill, I now always hold my cash with two hands, and bow my head as I hand it to them. 

I guess they notice when a customer shows them a little courtesy and treats them like human beings.  Even the ones peeking out from the kitchen.

Current Mood: chipper chipper

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The roofing work is progressing, slowly.  I took a 4 day weekend over the 4th to work on it.  I got the back side finished, and the dormer re-roofed, though I had to replace some rotted roofing and soffets.  This weekend, I worked on caulking and painting.  I just need to do the finish coat on the trim now, and cover up the primer.  The roof looks like crap, already, because I've had to walk on it so much to work on the dormer.  It's also got a lot of debris on it from the dormer project.  Had I been thinking, I would have done the dormer first.  Ahh well.  Live and learn.

I also managed to get the trim work done on the lawn - Jules had cut it on Monday, and I just didn't make the time to come off the roof and do the trim until Saturday.  This evening, Jules and I also trimmed the forsythia in front a little, and cut a few branches off the evergreen in front.  It will need more serious trimming as I begin to work on the roof in front.  It's overhanging the roof badly, and causing the roof to retain moisture and grow surface mold.  

Friday, I stopped by Ithaca Scooter to check in some signage for the Rally next weekend.  I got back on my scooter to discover the rear tire was flat.  Doh!  Fortunately, I had gotten my spare mounted on the bike a few weeks ago, so I had it ready to go.  I swapped tires and drove it home.  I had purchased new whitewalls a few weeks back.  I was creeping up on 3000 miles on the old tires, and conventional wisdom is that 3000 is the limit.  Well, I checked.  The back tire blew at 2960.   Damn good conventional wisdom! lol.   I decided to mount both whitewalls right away.  I'm glad I did.  When I checked the front tire, it was thin-thin-thin.  It was gonna blow real soon, I'm sure.  That could have been unpleasant!   Anyway, the bike is looking smart and classic with the whitewalls on it.  I even washed it for this picture.  It'll look nice for the Rally next weekend.

Meanwhile, the mechanical adventures never cease.  I discovered the root cause of my problems getting it to start when hot.  The flywheel had slipped a little, throwing off the ignition timing.  I fixed that earlier in the week.   It was running really sweet after that, so on Friday night (on my way to the scooter place) I opened it up on a few hills, and really wound out the engine a little.  I felt an odd lurching and realized, finally, what it was.  My clutch is slipping.  It's the only thing that I did NOT rebuild when I re-did the bike.  Well, fortunately, the rebuild isn't difficult.  I ordered up the parts for it on Saturday.

Also, I'm trying to get the moped sorted out for Jules.  She'd love to have it on the road for Grassroots.  I don't know if I can make it, but I'm giving it a shot.  I finally got the engine un-seized on Friday night, after some gratuitous violence with an iron stake and a 10 pound block of steel.  I did some research, and ordered up a new cylinder kit for it this evening.  While I'm waiting for that to come in, I'll try to spend some evenings getting the gas tank online, and the other mechanicals on the bike in order.  The tires are holding air, and the gearing and brakes seem OK.  The throttle is sticking like hell.  I ordered a new cable on spec.  I have to tear into the handlebars and see what the problem is.   It's been a fun little project.  The moped is infinitely simpler than the scooter.  Still, it would be more fun if it wasn't a rush.  On the other hand, sometimes it's good to have a deadline!

Current Mood: cheerful cheerful
Current Music: Britney Spears, "(Drop Dead) Beautiful"

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I spent three hours on the roof yesterday.  It felt like thirty. 

I recall doing the front side of the house 20 years ago.  I tossed bundles of shingles on my shoulder and trundled up the ladder.  Ya, they were heavy, but it was just annoying, not impossible.  I recall hanging onto safety ropes with my teeth, while propping singles with one knee, and hammering away.  I remember hanging upside down, with my toes over the peak, as I nailed in shingles.  I recall going up first thing in the morning, and working 'till dark.  I was tired, and needed some ibuprofen, but hell, it was a productive day!

I remember those things all in the "How the hell did I DO that?!?" sense of the word "remember".

I was working yesterday, putting rows of shingles across the back of the house.  These were shingles that Jules and I got up there by breaking open the packages, and passing up the ladder a little at a time, because I don't think my back would allow me to take a whole bundle up any more.   As the sweat ran down my face and arms in rivers, I recalled that I it was hotter the last time I did this. I don't recall the shingles burning my skin they way they did this time.

I'm using roof jacks and platforms this time, because I no longer have the strength in my arms and legs to support myself on the steep roof, holding onto safety ropes the whole time.   As I neared the peak, I was well above the platforms, and sitting with my legs bunched under me, to keep from sliding.  I kept one hand on the rope, or the peak.  I was shocked at how the effort of holding myself from sliding was beating up my body.  I was in pain, as my knees, hips, and back were not happy with my contortionist efforts to stay balanced.

I was frustrated with my slow progress, and the huge effort of it all.  I was about to take a precarious shuffle sideways, when I noticed that I was about to step across my safety rope, and could have slipped on it.  I caught myself mumbling "Slow down.  Better done in August, than half-done in traction."   Where is this voice coming from?  Who was that?!?  That's not my style!

I continued to work, musing about the sweat running down my forehead, and the fact that my shirt and pants were sweat clean through..  I always sweat profusely when I do physical things.  I flashed on a memory or two of working on a project around the house with Dad.  I know where my sweat glands come from!  As I lined up another row of shingles, and noted it was just right, I smiled and before I even realized it, I muttered "Perfek!", just the way Dad would have done.

My Dad and I were totally different people.  He had an 8th grade education, whereas I went to college.  He worked blue collar jobs all his life, and I'm a computer jockey.  He was quietly religious, but deeply faithful.  I'm quietly spiritual, but have no faith whatsoever.   We were not close, but yet somehow, we could spend an hour in each other's presence with barely a word said, and part feeling a deep sense of satisfaction.

Oddly, as I get older, I find my hands drawn to wrench, screwdriver and hammer.  I'm finding pleasure, where I never expected it - like in the alignment of a neat row of shingles, and the aches of an honest day's work.  

Three hours after I began, I climbed down the ladder, frustrated that my body was no longer up to the tasks of a twenty year old.  My blood sugar was bottomed out.  I was dehydrated, and my back was telling me it would be a long night.   Still, I smiled as I realized that with age comes wisdom.  I hadn't taken as many risks this time, and came down the ladder safely, and able to continue the job another day.   I think I know the source of that voice in my head.  We never spoke much when he was alive.  We never had much to say.  But then, like now, I think of him every day.  As I get older, I think we weren't so different after all. 

I miss you Dad.

Current Mood: contemplative contemplative

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SqueakSqueak is surely the most vocal of the kitties who've shared our lives.  Yuki was part Siamese, and was prone to talk a bit, but Squeak is our "Verbal Girl".  I don't know if it's particular to her breed, or whether it's just her.   She has a huge variety of vocalizations, as well as a wonderful exasperated "huff".

So, Squeak had been waking me up at about 5:30am all week, asking for wet food.  Like most kitties, she feels that the dry food in the tower just doesn't taste right at sun-up, and she must have wet food instead.  She's been a little bossy and loud, as she tries to wake me up.  I've been trying to teach her better manners.  If she meows too loudly, I'll whisper "Shh... quiet". If she persists, I'll say "No", and push her off the bed.  She usually comes back a few minutes later, a little better-mannered.

She was kind this morning.  She let me sleep until nearly 7:30.  Then, sure 'nuff, she was standing on my chest.  "Brrp.  Mrrr.  *purr*  *purr*  *makes biscuits*  Uh oh.  Mrrehh."  She was a little loud, so I whispered "Shh, quiet."  She persisted.  "Brreh. Uh oh.  Mrooow.  Uh oh."   She was still a little loud, so I whispered "No..."  She immediately got quiet and demure, so I didn't push her out of bed.  "Uh oh", she said, meekly.   I was still out of it, and dozed off with her standing on my chest.

Now, it would seem odd that a kitty would say "uh oh", but it's actually one of the most consistent and understandable things she says.  We've always called to the kitties as we put down wet food.  We'd holler "Snackie!" or "Dinner!" and they would come running.  Squeak was a little confused by this, at first, but eventually caught on.  Interestingly, I noticed that when I would say "snackie" as I was putting down her bowl, she would often respond "uh oh".  After a few days of it, I pointed it out to Jules.  She said "No way!"  She went into the kitty room, and said "Squeak, do you want a snackie?"  Squeak ran into the room and said "Uh oh!".   So, now, we call them "Uh oh's" too.

"Uh oh.   Mrrrp.  *purr* *purr*".   Squeak was still standing on my chest.  I had fallen back asleep again.  I reached up, more asleep than awake, and gently stroked her forehead.  She purred, as my hand limply fell back to my chest and I nodded off.  

I was awakened a moment later, as she shoved her head under my hand, and lifted it, stroking her own head with my limp hand.  "Oh oh" she said.   I began to chuckle.  She bounced up and down on my chest, as her big green eyes grew large like saucers.   I scritched her ears, and my eyes became heavy again.  They had nearly closed, when she stepped forward and pressed her nose within an inch of mine.  I opened my eyes in surprise, as she glared at me with her piercing green eyes.  "UHHHH OHHHH!" she screamed, and followed it up with a huge "*HUFF*, exhaling so hard that I got kitty spit on my face.  I burst out laughing, and got up to feed her.

A while later, Jules and I were spooning.  Squeak was curled up between our tangled legs.  I was beginning to wake up, but Jules was still sleepy.  I related the story to her, as she lay half in and out of sleep.  She smiled and began to doze off again. "Uh oh?"  I said.  She smiled.  I picked up her limp hand, and rubbed my own forehead with it.  She chuckled, and lay with her eyes closed and her back to me.  I could see she was waking up.   Still, the bed was warm and cozy.  It felt good to lie there.

"Did you sleep well?" I whispered.   I got no response, though I was pretty sure she was awake. 
I repeated, "Did you sleep well?"  
"Ya... didn't you see me nod?" 
"Oh, no, I had my eyes closed, and didn't hear the marbles rattle."
"I lost those years ago," she replied, with a relaxed sigh.
"Oh?  Maybe we should get you some new ones."
"Naa.  Don't bother."

We both fell back asleep.

Current Mood: sleepy sleepy
Current Music: Harry Chapin, "Saturday Morning"

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