eBay Roulette
The game in which I always win. Or is it lose?

The rules...
Bid on something I could use - though not necessarily necessary - like a piece of silver in my pattern or a plastic anatomical model. One moderate bid only. And only an amount of money that I can afford to lose. That rules out things like $800 life size torsos or $159 Madam Jumel asparagus tongs.

The thrill of the game is in how one’s fortunes can change...giving one the urge to up the ante if we’re doing well or to pray that one is outbid if a lot of new bills come in while waiting out the auction. Cheaper than going to a casino. And you can’t lose. Or is it win?

I haven’t won (or is it lost?) in quite a while. The plastic left-foot bones were a legitimate school expenditure.

And ixnay on the igpay atinlay....
Reading Karen Hall on “Why Caleb Can’t Read” was a blast from the past, in an “I laughed and felt her pain” sort of way. All I can add to the discussion is that, from my experience, one should be very cautious when filling out school forms. Telling our public school that we spoke other languages besides English (i.e. high school German and French, Pig Latin and Pidgin Sign) was not a good idea.

When I enrolled Bridget in pre-school, the form asked “Was your child born too soon? and if so, by how much?" I was so tempted to say “about five years.” Sometimes rational thought prevails. And other times not, such as replying to Embot’s good grade in Latin with “I’may osay easedplay.”

"Goody Two Shoes”
Surely the Bible must have something to say about deep-fried macaroni and cheese. (No, honestly, I saw it on TV) In this case, I think the word we’re looking for is “abomination.”

So relieved...
Everythiing went well with today's procedure. As so many people have said, the anticipation is 100 times worse than the event. Painless and fascinating. Also sort of a blast from the past because the GI lab is in what used to be Labor and Delivery, where our delightful Misses Frances and Bridget made their debuts twenty some years ago.

I guess I was supposed to be more or less asleep but the maximum mixture of Fentanyl and Versed just had me relaxed and chatty. (if there is a little Rasputin in some of my children, they must get it from me!) I could actually look over my shoulder at the screen to watch as the fiber optics plumbed the depths of my being (to put it in as poetic a way as possible.) And I thought it was cool to watch my stomach being x-rayed back in high-school. That was black and white, very low definition, so Seventies.

Nothing needed removing and I don't have to go back for five years. I felt a little guilty telling my sister, after all her travails of this summer. But she pointed it out that it is probably better this way. If I had actually had a colonoscopy a year or two ago, my pristine colon could have lulled her into a sense of complacency about her self. All in all, she came out of everything in great shape, but the doctor said if about six more months had elapsed she would have been in bigger trouble.

Am still waiting to hear about my friend who was having surgery at the same time. I tried to give the nurse the slip and work my way over to the surgical waiting area on my way out, but was not successful.

POM Tea
The jelly jar glasses of the 21st century. They do fit nicely in the cabinet. But I have trouble visualizing them as the water glasses on our table at Thanksgiving. (Next daughter to move out receives a complimentary set of 12 to help feather the nest)

On the other hand, perhaps they will have some collectible value in 20 or 30 years. Remind me to keep my eBay account...

Inciting an Insane (and luckily transient...)
urge to tear the house apart, I was watching the national news on Friday night when ABC names Billie Jean King as their person of the the week. Somewhere, in some box of my stuff, is the the BJK autograph that I got when I was in high school. I think she was the first celebrity I ever met. (I'm not counting Henry Aaron who I would see in the local grocery from time to time when I was little. I didn't understand the celeb stuff at that point and not being a hard core baseball fan, seeing him didn't make me feel faint the way I did when I met Billie Jean.) Oh, the memories. For a few minutes I was living back in high school. Everything was tennis then.

I still bristled a little when they talked about all the girls in post-Title IX today who don't know who BJK was and what she did for girls in sports. But I think we, the girls of the '70's, had more fun. We loved tennis. We played for the love of the game. Girls have more opportunities for sports advancement today, but when I've been to high school events, the girls don't look like they are having a lot of fun. They look dead serious and that makes me kind of sad. It's all kinda moot for me since I never coulda been a contender, possessing more heart than talent. So I'm not mourning missed personal opportunities. But are there adequate opportunities today for the mediocre? For those who deadly seriousness ends at the end of the match? Who know that wacking a fuzzy yellow ball or any other piece of sports equipment, for that matter, will never help underwrite their higher education?

Oh, well. Since I'm feeling nostalgic, I'll go grab the new can of tennis balls out of the closet. And if I don't have a chance to hit a few, I'll bury my nose in the can and breathe deep one of the most delicious smells around. (OK, so I'm a little strange. I rank the smell of tennis balls in the top fragrances, right along with roses, the lovely odor of a baby's head, and Magic Markers...)

Oh, the humanity...
Slogging with less than usual enthusiasm through my Labor Day get-organized-for-school routine.
More about the minor disasters of the week-end when I feel re-energized. In a few days, it may well be funny.

For now, I'm bracing myself for Tuesday's colonoscopy. I know there are worse things that I could obsess about, but this just feels like the frosting on the virtual cake.
(It's funny how badly you crave red drinks and Jell-o when they are forbidden.)

I'll quit the kvetching for now. I want to offer up my petty irritations and discomforts for a dear friend who is having surgery at the same time as my scopage. And I'm looking forward to the end of my sister's nagging...

PS - I didn't set out to do this on purpose, but I found that watching "Braveheart" made me feel a lot better. Makes me look like a wimp by comparison!