Beantown Wine

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Yesterday I received an e-mail from my sister. "You have a package arriving today from UPS." I'm glad she gave me the heads up. When the doorbell rang I was sweaty and smelly from exercise and may not have answered, but the thought of "surprise gift!" lured me in. 

I signed for the long narrow box and took it back to the kitchen where I ripped clawed chewed carefully opened it. The box had "fragile" marked all over it and as I slid the contents of the box out I could tell it was a wine bottle, even through the layers of bubble wrap. Wine? Why was my sister sending me wine? I like wine, but I'm hardly a connoisseur. I can't tell the difference between a $3 bottle and a $300 bottle. Maybe they visited a vineyard (in Chicago?) and wanted to share the experience. I hoped they hadn't spent too much. 

Then I rolled the bottle over to read the label. Oh my God. New contender for BEST. GIFT. EVER. It's a wine bottle with a customized label celebrating my run in Boston. "Beantown 26.2 Winery." How fun is that? I'm going to find a special place of honor in the exercise room for the bottle. Wine and a treadmill all in one room - that's how you can tell I'm a serious runner. 

Thanks Nicole and Grant! I love the gift!!!

 

Knockout Roses

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Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows plants and I don't do well together. Almost every flower/plant/herb that has come into my care has ended up dying a neglected death.

Well meaning gardening friends tell me that caring for plants is easy, then launch into hour-long soliloquies on NASA researched formulas for soil composition, watering, and fertilizing. When I ask if there isn't a flower available that I can just plant and water sporadically...

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Did I Mention I Made Him A Souffle?

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Last night I didn't arrive home until just after 7 PM. My stomach was rumbling as I walked in the door. 

"Hey sugah," said Blair, coming to meet me and give me a kiss.

"Hey. Did you eat yet?" I asked.

"I sure did."

"How was it?" 

"How was what?" 

Knowing I'd be home late, I had made a spinach soufflé and side dishes earlier that afternoon and tucked them away in the fridge. I'd left a note on the kitchen counter telling Blair what there was for dinner. Which he had obviously ignored.

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Say "Ah" if It Hurts

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I have reached the point in life where I make noises when I stand up or sit down. Getting out of bed in the morning produces a cacophony of groans, grunts, and popping sounds. I baby my right knee so as not to torque it. Bending over to touch the floor requires an act of willpower. 

Blair and I were in the car this weekend and as we parked and got out, I let forth with a few "ow's" and "oh's" as I shook the blood back into my legs. 

"I feel fine," said Blair with an annoyingly smug look on his face. 

"That's because you don't work out," I shot back. "If you were healthy, like me, you would hurt more." 

Crazy sounding, but I stand by my logic. Blair will probably die a peaceful death in his sleep, mobile until his final days. I'll end up bed-ridden and highly medicated for the damage I did to my body over the years.

But if I outlive him, I'll still have to crow a bit, and attribute it all to exercise. ;)

Cheers,

Dena