There's nothing fun about being sick ... or is there?

I'm so stoked. I'm finally vertical again. This morning I got out of bed to do more than just answer the call of nature, refill my tea cup or hunt for more tissues.

As is the case with most winters, this season there's "something going around" in the Washington, DC area. I managed to dodge a bullet last year; this time I couldn't get out of its way fast enough.

Since last Wednesday (January 5th) I've been nursing this miserable head cold at home. I felt like a caged animal -- intellectually ready to go out and do things, but physically unable to. I'm sure I'll have more understanding when I visit the zoo from now on ....

Being sick sucks ... for the most part.

On the upside, I got to lounge in bed all day yesterday, while Gary "waited" on me. But considering my general state of being -- with special emphasis on how each time I coughed I thought my head was going to explode -- I gladly would have traded in the personal butler service for sharp, clear vision; acute hearing and an overall feeling of alertness.

And since I'm so stuffed up, I've more or less lost my sense of smell and taste. Note to self: Eating is far less interesting when you can't smell or taste anything.

Fortunately, I haven't lost my sense of humor.

I was thinking about how to describe this weekend in the event that someone asked "How was your weekend?" and it occurred to me that it's been 48 hours of non-stop drinking (tea, water, juice, soup ...) and drugs (aspirin, Mucinex, Dayquil ...)!

Who says being sick can't be a party? Rock on!

The answer is 42 regardless of the question

I have a habit of prefacing questions with the statement, "I have a question." Whenever I would say that to a pal of mine, regardless of the question, he'd say, 'The answer is 42." 

I hope he's right. I'm going to put his theory to the test...

This year I turn 42 ... I think. Yeah, that sounds right. I never was very good at math. That's why it's easier for me to say "I'm turning 29 again" and let my fans figure out how old I really am. 
So I'm turning 29 again and here I am, taking a stab at writing a blog... again. 
Will I post more than four entries like I did in all of last year?  Will I muse and amuse as the title of my blog says I will?
Right now the only answer I can give is ... 42.

A Sunday Walk a la Forrest Gump

Once a month, Gary plays poker with "the boys." In fact, the boys are, for the most part, a group of men who are significantly older than Gary. They've been playing together for as long as I can remember and then some. Generally, they play on Friday evenings towards the beginning of the month and the game rotates from house to house. This week it was at Chuck's house. That means that this past Friday night I was on my own. TNT was having some "Tom Hanks Fest" this weekend, or something and Friday's featured film was "Forrest Gump."

I like Forrest Gump. It's a predictable, but fun, sweet movie. One of my favorite parts is when he takes off running after Jenny leaves him for the umpteenth time. I love the scenes of him running with his long hair and long beard, to say nothing of the scenery, real or fake. You know that in the movie he runs from coast to coast for three-plus years. So...

After a few late nights, Gary and I slept in a bit this morning. When we finally got up, we were unsure what we wanted to do but we knew we wanted to get coffee and take a walk.

Ultimately, we decided we'd walk around Old Town Alexandria. Old Town is a lot like Broooklyn Heights, lots of old homes. Very picturesque, always a treat to walk around and "sightsee" there even if we aren't tourists. So we walked and walked. Before I knew it we'd walked over the Woodrow Wilson Bridge all the way to National Harbor in Maryland. And then we walked back!

Maybe not coast to coast for three and change years, but considering that I thought we'd do a half an hour or so and we ended up walking for nearly three hours and covering about seven miles, I'm officially joining the "Forrest Gump" running club. Not bad!

I love you, whoever you are...

If you have a significant other, admit it. You have a "pet name" for him or her. Right? Don't deny it. Honest to God, there are times when I can't remember my husband's name for all the nicknames he has. It's like being unable to see the forest for the trees. Caught up in details, y'know? For the record, my husband's name is Gary.

Among the many things I call him, is one "cutesy" name that I can't reveal that he tolerates, but doesn't really like, because he doesn't think it's "manly." And it probably isn't, but I love him and I love it. It's a permutation of "Babydoll." For the sake of this blog post, we'll say that's what it is.

So we're with my parents at Union Station in Washington, DC on Saturday along with half the world, it seems -- all there for National Train Day. Very cool! On display, among other things, were several cars from the early 1900s that had been rehabbed under the auspices of private owners. They were extremely luxurious with carpeting and plush sofas and most of them were mahogany paneled. Wow! Now, anyone who has taken a train knows that when you walk from one car to the next, you look in the direction you are going in and rarely look behind you. I've just set the scene....

So I've walked through the train and now I'm out on the platform waiting for my parents who are a bit further behind me to come out. I know that Gary is right behind me and I can see him out of the corner of my eye. I'm carrying some papers that I want him to hold for me, so, as I turn around to give them to him, I say, "Babydoll, can you put these papers in your...." What?! No way?! I'm facing a complete stranger who's looking at me with a rather shocked expression and Gary is just now exiting the train. When my parents came out of the train seconds later, they wanted to know why everyone was doubled over laughing. The joke was definitely on me and it was hilarious! Fortunately, no feelings of anyone involved in this rather grand faux pas were hurt.

Impromptu Concert

On January 1st I sat down and blogged about goal setting. I might not have told the whole truth. Part of my New Year's goal was to blog more often. I have read countless times that a writer needs to practice writing EVERY DAY. Well, let's not get carried away... I'm only human after all. But truth be told, I've been missing blogging. I've actually written a few posts for Good Shepherd Housing and Family Services for whom I volunteer, but I haven't blogged for me since January. That said, it was my birthday last Friday. I regard my birthday as a chance to start again. Hopefully this time I can stick to it a little more.
So today has been hot and humid -- how charming -- and I'm working on getting my house in order (in more ways than one, perhaps) before my parents come for the weekend on Friday. For the last 45 minutes or so, I've been folding laundry in a room with a fan on and windows open. I've got a CD of the Mikado playing.

I was in the Mikado in 6th grade -- in the men's chorus (don't ask). How old was I then, about 12? I do not have an identity crisis now, but incredibly, I do still remember a lot of the lyrics from the show. We practiced a lot as I recall. So I've been belting them out along with the singers from the D'Oyly Carte Opera Company. And then I remembered that the window was open...
I hope my neighbors enjoyed the impromptu concert.