So, instead of being scandalized by the highly improper adventures of Kate and Cecy on their Grand Tour, or respective honeymoons, I am writing this post about how absolutely sore I am.  I figured you ought to know.  That way, I get to complain to someone.  Else. 

Rich and I went for a few not-so-strenuous walks and runs last week, but we didn't do a whole lot.  On Friday I played soccer with my family and another family, which was fun.  I didn't do a whole lot then.  Saturday was a pretty relaxed day, too.  Sunday, however ... well, Sunday was different.

We went to Calvary Chapel's service that morning -- the worship was good, and I enjoyed the teaching.  I'm generally extraordinarily skeptical and hard to teach via sermon, and I didn't agree with everything he said, but it was enjoyable.  Bob Caldwell is a good speaker, and although I personally, and my family, do not agree with the authoritative church structure, he is pleasantly humble in what I do not feel to be a false way.  I'm not 'attending' the church, nor do I have any plans to get involved in it, but for a bit of teaching to get me thinking on various points, he'll do nicely.  And I do love singing.   

With barely time to eat after church, we went to my soccer game.  I've signed up to play soccer, as I may have mentioned, on a team with my sister.  It's an adult women's league, and I was quite nervous about playing.  I kick the ball around with my siblings on occasion, but I haven't played on a team since I was about 12 or 13 years old.  Quite a while ago.   I requested to play in the back, and after a few good pointers from the other members (we don't exactly have a coach, more a team captain) I was playing right along.  We had a good offensive lineup, who kept the ball mostly on the other side of the half-line, so I didn't get too much strenuous play.  I lost the ball a couple of times, and took it away at least once.  I was kicked in the knee, knocked violently to the ground, and shoved a lot.  The girl who was the other team's offense on my side seemed to resent my presence.  I took that to mean I was doing a good job, and enjoyed myself immensely.  We won 2-1.

Promptly after the game Rich and I were approximately 35 minutes late for a potluck Passover celebration at a friend's church -- I hadn't remembered or realized that my halves would be 45 minutes long, and that was obviously cutting it too close.  Especially considering that I wasn't totally prepared, and had to stop by the store to get the beverages I was assigned to provide.  Everyone was gracious about our tardiness, though, and it was a fascination ceremony.  I have read before about the Seder, and the various meanings of the ritualized drinkings and samplings of bitter herbs and such, but I'd never attended one before. 

So, today, I have been feeling slightly ill from too much sugary and not-prepared-at-my-house food, my knee is extraordinarily tender, my legs hurt, my foot is trying to cramp every so often, I have a nice bruise on my chest, and I think I strained my side back when I did the somersault in the field yesterday ... 

Some pain is rewarding.

The Aching Anemone

I'm finding it somewhat difficult to remember what the specifics of Thursday and Friday were ...  We watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail on Thursday night, me for the first time and Rich for the millionth I'm sure, which made it feel exceptionally Friday-like.  Friday I went to a massage class with a friend, which was quite enjoyable, and I learned a lot.  Mostly that there's not as much to massage as you might think, in the basics, anyway, but probably more than I think in the more experienced techniques.  Oh, well.  I guess I just need to practice a bit, and be ready for the more advanced class in three weeks. 

On Saturday we went for a hike -- it was measured to be at least 5 or 6 miles, some running, some uphill, some with a kid on my back.  Good exercise.  Sunday was a good day for working out, too; breakfast at my parent's house, and then Rich and my brother and I all went for a run / walk for 8 miles.  I was feeling a leetle wobbly by the end of that, I assure you. 

So, today's my day off.  I went to dinner with a friend, ate far more than I should have (including a strawberry milkshake!) and I'm now relaxing on the couch with a cup of tea, considering going to bed at 8pm.  Which, considering the time change, is about 7pm 'normal body time.'  Eh.  Sometimes you just get tired.  Perhaps I'll get up a bit earlier than usual. 

Bye for now,
Anemone

So, unless you've not been around me much the last couple of months, you will note that I have a romantic interest.  As in, he likes me, and I like him back. 

The problem with this arrangement is that you tend to like to do things together.  Not so abnormal, you say?  Well, perhaps.  But when you take into account my normal activity level over the last few years, and then I tell you that our main activities are, (yes, in this order):  Hiking / walking, running, watching movies, racquetball, reading; then you begin to see what I'm talking about.  Not that I'm complaining -- it's great to have someone with the ability to make me get up and exercise.  I'm actually enjoying it most of the time. 

So, I figure, if I'm going to run Robie Creek next year (please, next year?  did I say please?)  I'd like to be able to track my progress a little bit.  And since I haven't been very good about posting on this blog, now that I see the person I liked to post for most more regularly than I'd be able to keep up with writing, I think I'll keep a record here.

So, for the record:

I ran a mile in 10:43 last night.
Lifted free weights & stretched a bit.
Weight: 197lbs
Lung capacity: negligible, it seems. 


That's all for now, from your
Hyperventilated Anemone

My alarm went off at 6:30am Idaho time this morning.  I guess my cell phone doesn't know to differentiate between normal Monday mornings and Christmas Eve Monday mornings.  So I crawled across two sleeping girls to turn it off, and then back.

It wasn't long, however, before my dad came in to wake us -- after breakfast and a quick sweep of the house for our varied belongings (my mom wanted us to get the mess into the bedrooms so that my grandma wouldn't have to worry about anything of ours as she prepared for the big family dinner on Christmas Day), we prepared for the drive to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. 

The trip was approximately two hours of driving, I think -- on GoogleMaps it gave the distance at just over 100 miles.  I started crocheting my second scarf of the vacation week, and most everyone dozed off a bit at various times or entertained themselves by reading.  We drove around Monterey Bay a couple of different directions, foiled in our attempts to find parking close to the aquarium by the one-way grid and construction zones.  There was a little discussion as I was ferried from the airport on my first day debating whether Californians were picking up bad road construction habits from Idaho, or whether they had brought them to Idaho in the first place ...

At any rate, we did find parking, we did find lunch before starving to death, and we did make it to the aquarium around noon or 1pm.  We spent about three hours inspecting the exhibits through mind-bending and eye-watering glass and lighting, especially in the jellyfish tanks.  It was quite good.  I really enjoyed the various jellyfish exhibits -- I can't say that they do anything terribly interesting or demonstrative of intelligence, but they're pretty.  There were many many anemones in practically every exhibit.  (We are Legion!)  On the spotted jellyfish exhibit there was a placard announcing that these beautiful creatures are going extinct, because they need mangrove roots in order to survive and people keep cutting those trees down.  I was slightly bemused by this statement, especially after I had carefully searched the tank containing the jellyfish in vain for a mangrove tree.  Perhaps glass is a respectable substitute.

The jellyfish came in all sizes and colors; some were transparent but for small white bits for the most necessary organs, and some where thick and looked cuddly in their brown and blue globes.  There were rainbow jellies, teeny-tiny clustering moon jellies, umbrella jellies, and some which did not swim but rested upside-down on the bottom of their tank, lifting their plumes into the water in imitation of a barnacle or anemone.  It astonished me, as I looked at the minuscule swarms which were magnified 50 times so that we could see them, just how complicated this rather comparatively simple creature was.  There was so much going on at a microscopic level, you'd never guess it to merely gaze upon the clear hoods and see the trailing tentacles. 

The otters were cute -- the freshwater otters were mostly sleeping but for two brothers romping in one tank, and the sea otters refused to acknowledge my existence.  We were near the tank at feeding time, but didn't feel it necessary to insinuate ourselves into the crowd gathered around to watch the event.  The Great White shark was smaller than I would have expected -- only five feet long or so -- but that's just because he was a juvenile.  The leopard sharks are quite pretty.  They looked as though they would be soft to the touch.

The octopus was impressive.  Nothing looks quite so alien as an octopus or squid.  Although my mother was slightly disturbed by the rainbow jellyfish -- their small propelling hairs diffract the light like prisms, causing a technicolor display as they swim around slowly.  These mostly-transparent creatures are similar to the sea cucumber, in that they self-destruct and disintegrate when disturbed.  Perhaps the bits grow into new jellyfish, a la' starfish.  I did pet a starfish, but I was called to join the rest of the family just as I was searching the petting pool for something more interesting to touch. 

After three hours of walking, we were all hungry again -- on the trip home we investigated the remains of the travel snacks which had been in the back for the last few days -- various crackers and nuts.  Slim pickings, but enough to stave off the immediate starvation which some of us were anticipating. 

The trip back seemed longer than the trip out, but I suppose that's fairly normal for an excursion.  We found some Christmas music on the radio to listen to.  We were also informed, to a few sighs, that the trip to Alcatraz was canceled.  It was visible from the Golden Gate Bridge on our way from Muir Park the day before yesterday, and my parents decided to spend the time alloted for that in other activities.  Perhaps another time.

We've just finished the fifth movie of the vacation:  The Avengers, The Crimson Pirate, Bewitched, While You Were Sleeping, and topped off with tonight's 'Foul Play,' starring Goldie Hawn and Chevy Chase.  Not bad.  Quite funny.

That's all for now folks ...  Have a wonderful and merry Christmas!

Anemone

After arriving at the San Jose airport a few minutes earlier than scheduled, I found my ride with astonishing ease and was on my way to my Grandmother's house, where my family is staying for the next five days to a week.  I was rather exhausted by the time we got there, after a longish drive which I remember only from the fact that we were all tired and had hilarious conversations in Spanish.  After eating pizza and watching 'The Avengers,' which was cheesy but fun, I crawled through the various bedding in the fifteen by fifteen room I'm sharing with my three sisters to read in bed for a little while.  As the words blurred before my eyes, I was informed that we would be waking early to head to the redwoods in Muir Park.  Desparing of my rest, I pulled a sleepingbag over my head and tried to drift into oblivion ...

We did wake early; after a breakfast of oatmeal with the works (chocolate chips, brown sugar, rasins, various nuts, milk) we all piled into the suburban and drove off to San Francisco.  My Grandmother elected to remain behind.  So, eight of us crammed into the nine-seat car for an hour and a half drive to town.  We went via San Rafael, which all of the kids tried to say 'San Ra-fae-el' and my father insisted was an American word, not Spanish, and should be said 'San Ru-fel.'  The road is much more interesting when you criticize the landmarks in Spanish.  Much.

I started crocheting a scarf on the way, and had finished about five or six inches, or a half a skein of yarn, when we arrived at the park.  It was chilly and wet.  We all had sweatshirts, coats, and many wore hats and gloves as well.  The attendant who took our entrance fees provided a small pamphlet, which was to be shared between the eight of us.  Sequioia semper virens was the main attraction at this park -- after a bit of misunderstanding we found that the true Giant Sequioia, which is what most people think of when they hear the name 'redwood' is only found in the Sierra Nevada area, and what we were really looking at was the Coast Redwood.  Still a magnificent tree, it is apparently resistant to mold and mosses, and therefore survives quite well in the soggy areas we tromped through.  I had originally entertained thoughts of wearing some nice boots I had, but upon consulting with my mother chose to don my tennis shoes instead.  This was a wise choice. 

We started our jaunt on a boardwalk, where there were many signs saying things like 'Don't touch the trees' and 'Stay on the path.'  So we did.  Mostly.  After a spurt of picture taking during the first fifteen minutes or so, all three of the cameras that had been brought seemed to run out of batteries.  So much for being prepared ...

The path eventually morphed into a cement walkway bordered by split-log fencing, and as we left the grounds of Muir Park after a mere mile of walking, it became a muddy forest trail.  Not all of it was terribly muddy, but it all looked rather damp.  The profuse ferns, mushrooms, and other tropical-looking vegetation along the sides of the hill were quite happy.  We walked up.  And up.  A maze of switchbacks led up the side of a mountain past the redwoods and above the treeline.  There was a huge Douglas Fir which had fallen three or four years ago -- we would have mistaken it for a redwood carcass, if not for the moss growing along the sides.  Even when dead, redwoods seem to repel the moss and other forest growths.  There was a sign declaring that particular tree to be the Kent Tree, dedicated to someone who had either donated land or protected this part of the forest for a while, I can't remember.  It was truly massive for a Douglas Fir, according to our resident gardener and horticulturist.  They both agreed that it was an exception. 

The atmosphere grew increasingly warmer as we traveled up -- by the time we broached the upper treeline and could see the ocean, faintly shimmering and seeming to float slightly higher than the mountains we had come through, most of us had shed our coats and sweatshirts and were now working with the problem of carrying them back down the mountain.  This was solved by going quickly.  We jogged, walked quite quickly, and actually ran for a lot of the way down.  Something in the brisk air must have been slightly intoxicating, because all of my brothers and sisters and I found ourselves singing as we descended.  I'm sure it was disconcerting to some of the other hikers -- there were quite a few -- to come upon our motley crew as we sang hymns, Christmas carols, various Bible verses and chapters, and even attempted Skullcrusher Mountain.  Which unfortunately failed -- but the other music came through all right. 

Even as we regained the lowest level, where the car was parked, residual warmth from the jog down kept us pretty warm.  Once we re-entered the car, various snacks were passed around to us, and then we were surprised by stopping after traveling a mere mile or so to Muir Beach.  The lagoon was closed for wading, but there was a nice little jumble of boulders off to one side, and we amused ourselves by hopping from one to another, searching for seashells and tumbled rocks and bits of glass, and scouting for mussels, anemones, limpets, and barnacles.  My father called my attention to some bright pink anemones, which were quite small and adorable, but were closed up as it was low tide.  No one having killed themselves by falling or jumping off the larger rocks (yes, they did both fall and jump) we resigned ourselves to facing the afternoon traffic on the way back to Livermore.  I didn't know that San Francisco had a 2:30pm rush hour ... on Saturdays ...  We went back via the Golden Gate Bridge, which was shorter than I had expected, and the Bay Bridge.  Both of them were quite impressive.  My mother said that was the kind of bridge she liked -- sturdy.  She's not much for any other kind of bridge, or driving along cliffs.  But the double fence between the cars and the bay on the Golden Gate Bridge was just to her liking.

There was some consternation when we realized we didn't have a map of San Francisco, but we drove up and down a few steep hills through a couple of tall neighborhoods and my father and mother finally worked out how to get back to the freeway.  I still don't really know where we actually are -- I'm hoping to get away with not driving anywhere, at least for the most part.  The area reminds me of Oregon -- trees and buildings and things everywhere blocking my view of the horizon.  I hate driving when I can't see where I'm going. 

I've just been informed that we're going to watch a mindless movie.  As it's 10pm and I'm already tired, perhaps I'll go see whether I can fall asleep during it ...

See you later!
Anemone