Random Ramble

Wheels were down and rolling at 4:45 yesterday morning, the 4X4 engaged on the Blue Bean, heater blasting to roll back 4 degrees of deep freeze, I was off to work.  Crunching down the barely plowed road, mind adrift in a quasi caffeine haze, a sound began to ebb it's way into my conscience.  (or is it conscious- actually I believe in this case you can apply either)  Squeak, squeak squeak, squeaky, squeak.  Now, I swear I heard, scratch, scratch, scratch, let me out, let me out!  I wanted to think new Jeep commercial and even began to sing "Rock me gently,..." hoping my little friend would jump in and harmonize.  However, whatever critter has been taking up residence in my car is not so intent on friendship- he ate my stash of almonds.  All of them.  And these weren't the co-op bundle bag of almonds.  These were the can of buttery delicious goodness, perfectly salted almonds.  Not only that, he left a mess of chewed lid all over the floor boards.  Moving 45 miles per hour on icy, pre plowed roads did not exactly invite a visit from my back seat friend.  I sang louder, with the outside hope that whoever was squeaking would realize my size and considerable singing advantage and make a departure out the crack in the back door.  He was a trooper, or more precisely, a paratrooper, as the squeaker departed, albeit with no chute deployment.  

R.I.P. little buddy.

That's when it hit me.  I don't have recess duty today.  I don't have recess duty tomorrow either.  In fact, I don't have recess duty all year.  "No" is such a lovely word.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed recess duty in the early fall and late spring, but 2 frosty hours mid winter, no thanks.  Which got me thinking about the game of tag.   In a dog eat dog world, is tag really all that advantageous a game to be teaching.  Think about it, everyone yells "not it" and runs away.  Ok, maybe it is good CYA training for corporate America.  But, really, everyone wants to be the hunted?  Ok, you make a good point, in the dating world that's not a bad angle.  I always try a twist on tag.  Sidling up to an unsuspecting participant who queries, "who's it?"  I respond, "I am", and "tag you're it!".   I do this until everyone playing thinks they are "it", and in mass confusion they give up and go swing.  

I visit the ortho surg today for a consult about the leg.  I'm hoping he takes one look at my uber sexy tri legs and immediately insists on cutting edge bionics to fix my knee.  Chances are better I get a graft from a middle age couch potato besought with commonmansyndrome who takes over at every race and compels me to sit at the side of the road eating chips.  Good thing I'm a personal trainer, I'll whip em into shape.  I'm hosting a contest for The Tribe and all takers to "Name the Knee"  It's my best defense against my inner conflict of having someone else articulate my joint.  Of course, 75 percent will still be all Trimama, but if the 25 percent is at all like The Tribe, I'm doomed and will spend the rest of my life biking and running in circles.

More snow today and Saturday, is this the year to break down and finally buy skiis?  We'll see what the surgeon says.  Ride safe