My body gave me grief this weekend. Saturday I finally gave up at six a.m. and admitted my discomfort from the night before was developing into the classic Bad Neck/Head Ache. By that time, of course, it was a struggle to force myself to move at all, much less stagger out to the kitchen for a biscuit and a glass of milk (never take ibuprofen on an empty stomach), choke down some medicine, soak my aching body in a hot shower, and lie down again in a shivering, nauseated heap. An hour later I was able to drink some tea, and after another hot shower, I felt less like a flu victim and more like a person with a manageable, if painful, headache.
The chiropractor says if I exercised more and strengthened my muscles my neck wouldn't get out of alignment so often, and I'd have fewer of these neckaches. Have I started exercising? No. I hate exercising more than I hate almost anything. I can't stand exertion, getting sweaty, or the horrible pounding of my heart when I'm at approved cardiovascular workout levels. The only sports that ever interested me were horseback riding and skiing, neither of which I've practiced since about age 16 when my parents stopped paying for lessons. Will I change my ways only after something drastic happens to me healthwise? Probably only then. Meanwhile, I cross my fingers and try to remember to stretch every 20 minutes or so at work. I bring it all on myself, and that's all there is to it.
But Sunday wasn't my fault. Mother Nature decided to get involved, and I got my period at an inconvenient four a.m., which meant hauling my tired butt out of bed to look for girl equipment, the heating pad, and take yet another shower. The cats found all of this fascinating, and accompanied me back and forth between bedroom and bathroom. They seem to know when I'm not feeling well, but do they do anything useful like snuggle and purr sympathetically, or put their warm, furry bodies on aching parts? Not a chance. Keiko likes to knock over the box of tampons and bat around the plastic wrapped objects when I'm sitting on the toilet unable to get up and stop her. Natasha prefers to beg for milk if I'm drinking some, usually by sitting 3 inches from the glass and looking at it meaningfully, or will sit carefully on my feet while I lean blearily on the counter. Some animal friends they are.
In spite of two rotten breaks, I had a pretty good weekend. Denise and I spent three hours at the RubberRama Stamp Festival in San Francisco on Saturday. Neither of us bought all that much, but we got tons of great ideas and had a marvelous time looking for images we collect, and exclaiming over images we would like to collect. I was particularly taken by a new technique I learned from the folks at Beeswax who showed me how to make burned velvet using an iron and fabric stamps. I bought a couple of unmounted images, a gleeful running Santa Claus, a Gingerbread Man, an amazing fir tree with snow that makes me want to take up hand carving again, some double-sided adhesive backing, a string of tiny, plastic Christmas tree lights which I plan to string across the tops of my Christmas cards for a special 3-D effect, and a catalog from Paula Best & Co. whose work is sort of a cross between Laurel Burch and Aubrey Beardsley. I wanted to buy more, and I covetously fingered dozens of beautiful stamps, but payday isn't until Tuesday, darn it. I have everyone's address, though, so I can send for catalogs later when the money's in the bank.
Afterwards, we bought coffee and snacks at Green's, the best vegetarian restaurant in the city, and sat down overlooking the marina. A heavy fog bank was spread over Marin County, and drifts of it floated by overhead, but it was hot and bright where we were all afternoon. We had planned to go see the Julia Cameron photo exhibit at SFMOMA, but we were exhausted by our rubber stamp hunt, and opted to go home and play with our new toys instead.
Sunday was a pleasant, sunny day again. Do you think it's boring of me to mention it? Let me tell you, this summer has been unusually grey, cool, and foggy. I'm thrilled every time the sun comes out. So are my plants. And in fact, I spent much of my day transplanting, deadheading blossoms, watering, and fertilizing everything. I'm really bummed by how poorly some of my sun loving plants have done. They just don't thrive underneath the eucalyptus grove we have around this condominium complex. It's such a pity. The scabiosa simply stopped blooming back in June, I haven't seen any geraniums for a month now, and the marigolds weren't doing very well even before Dixie pooped like a wild thing all over them. On the other hand, my remaining euphorbia seems happy, the monarda is still growing daily, the salvia seems to be coping with the sunlight it gets, and the angelica and hosta in the back are filling out nicely. I am looking forward to September when all the plants I've ordered are shipped out around the middle of the month.
At least gardening gives me a bit of exercise. My neck may be a pain, but I'm getting thighs and buns of steel from squatting and standing twelve zillion times in a weekend. Move over, Suzanne Somers.
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