Thursday, June 30, 2016

Kubb-ing Grandma a Wednesday Night

If you've found your way to this blog because you googled KUBB, I apologize in advance for your side trip to something not very helpful in the KUBB department. You have entered the Addiverse, not the KUBB Cube. Alas, I met the national champion last night, so maybe you HAVE come to the right place. Dang. Maybe I should have asked for his autograph. 
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 Yesterday, I learned something new and did something of which I had ever done before. But, before I get to that, I need a moment of silence....

While in counseling with a new client, I asked if she had any questions for me. Her question?

"Do you have any grandchildren?"

OUCH! Didn't ask if I had kids--she went straight to grandchildren. I may have to re-think this Jamie Lee Curtis-inspired graying hair.

Maybe it's the triceps flapping that gives me away. Time to wear longer sleeves or start pumping iron. I know which one I'd prefer.....
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Back to yesterday. A dear friend asked us to join her at a local pub to play a round of....

...KUBB. 

I had never heard of this thing called KUBB. (prounounced KOOOOO-buh...one syllable) She assured us it was easy and fun--some kind of "Viking Chess" lawn game. I like Vikings and lawn games, so that was a plus when deciding about the offer. She added that our softball prowess would come in handy. (Thank god she didn't say my bowling prowess would serve me well while playing KUBB, as I have no bowling prowess). After determining I probably could not and would not sustain an injury while trying out the game, we decided to take her up on the offer. It was reassuring to know that was an instructional league night.

Talk about learning from the best--we learned from a KUBB-er from the US Championship team. Seriously! Here we were, KUBB-ing for the first time and we meet the top dawg. It could have been intimidating but he was a gentle soul with an understanding heart and a passion about sharing his love for this Swedish Viking game.

He is a kick-ass KUBB-er. Dang, he was good!

Perhaps those of you living in Wisconsin are familiar with this game, as it the capitol is Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Or, maybe not--even the cheesehead wife didn't know this was going on in her home state. Although the game hails from Sweden, the US nationals are held in Eau Claire. (The International championship is held in Sweden on some island. Makes sense to me--the Swedish part. Eau Claire...I'm not so sure.)

I'd try to explain the game to you but I'm no master. Besides, I just followed the lead of the champion and didn't concentrate on learning such nonsense. (Read: I didn't pay attention.) I've included a video at the end of this blog entry so you can learn more, if you should desire.

Suffice it to say it's a team game (although you can play one against one) where you throw these wooden batons underhand in an attempt to knock down cube blocks at the other end of the pitch (the name for the field). You keep doing this until all the cubes are knocked down. Then, you knock the king down. Easy enough, even for people with gray hair. As you can see in the video below, one can KUBB and have a beverage at the same time. Bonus points for that.

I say "easy enough" because there really wasn't much danger involved, although I suppose you could accidentally hit someone in the head with a baton. I liked that it is performed underhand, so that is easy on the muscles. I can't say I was born to KUBB but I can say that I wasn't quite as bad as I thought I'd be. (Read: I didn't get hurt, I didn't hurt anyone, I didn't run off the pitch crying like a baby.) I think the wife enjoyed the game well enough.... but, not well enough to run out and buy her own KUBB game (which you can, surprisingly enough to me, at local department box stores).

If you are invited to play a game (match? set?) of KUBB, do say yes. It's like horseshoes + bocce ball + bowling + chess all rolled up into one.  Those are fun games, so how can a game that combines all that on to one field be less than fun? Perhaps we should take a road trip to Sweden and play where the game was invented.

....well, not until I firm up these triceps and perfect my KUBB form. I think gray hair goes well with KUBB (the US champion guy has gray hair and a gray beard) but the triceps definitely flap when tossing the baton. I can't be flapping on the pitch. Kuuuu-beeee-doooo-beeee-dooooo.


Friday, June 24, 2016

What's your druther?

I have 14 minutes to write a blog. That's pressure. The wife is loading the car for today's day trip and I'm writing a blog. Imagine how thrilled she is by this.

She is not entertained. Not surprised, either.

I was doodling about birthday memories, so I thought I'd use that as the basis of today's delcious entry. My birthdays are usually quite fabulous. I hope your birthdays are fabulous, too.

So, as I answer my questions, I hope you will answer along. This is an all skate! (I hope answering this does not lead to bitterness or a need for therapy over a particularly bad event.) There are many things to do on a birthday; thus, I ask "what's your druther?" At home? On an island? With friends? Alone? Drunk? Smothered in chocolate and gluten? At a theme park?

My favorite-because-of-location birthday was #36, as we were in Disneyworld. What's not to love about having a birthday at the happiest place on earth? My least favorite birthday, due to the circumstances related to a fight with a visiting friend, was #19. So, I ask: What's your best and worst birthday?

The first birthday gift I fully remember was an alarm clock so I would be able to wake up for school (first grade), Oh, there are other gifts before that but I remember that clock like it was yesterday. It was white, rectangular and plugged in. It came in a card board box. I was SUPER excited about that most perfect gift. I am not sure who gave it to me, so I apologize to them for that. The cake was decorated for both my and my cosuin Bill, whose birthday was near mine. The most recent gift was a new watch from the wife (and, boy do I love watches!).

Decade birthdays have featured a pig roast (#30), a sporty forty outdoor party (#40) and a lobster boil on the Cape (#50) with my birthday twin. I'm sure I did something for #20 but I have no idea what that might have been. I was bowling on #10. I am all about the decades. I'm not in a hurry to get to the next decade but I am taking suggestions to put on the list.

Many of you had sleep overs as a kid. I didn't have any until I was #18....and, that was a surprise sleepover party thrown by my mother. That was a fun surprise. Stayed up all night, giggling.

My favorite birthday meal as a child would be: pork chops, mashed potatoes (real) and corn. Now it would be the wife's lemon cornmeal cake (drowning in some fancy frosting and blueberries). That would be followed by some form of chocolate product smothered in ice cream. I couldn't care less about birthday cake unless it is shared with family and friends.

It's your turn. Your birthday might be near or far. Whenever it is, I hope you have a most delicious birthday. I know I plan to do so. Here's to us!




Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Meet the Work Children

I've been conferencing, so I've been away from real life for a few days. I am rather irritated by this, as it cuts into my social life, blogging time and general way of being. The commute time is the biggest "sucker of time" culprit, being that it's two hours there and then, of course, two hours back. (I do NOT know how people who commute to/from work on a daily basis do such a thing.) The three of us (two fabulous co-workers and moi) because they are young and don't have cash to be throwing at hotels. One has small children at home, so I think he's been gently "told" he will come home to address the children, as needed. Usually, I would sketch, doodle, play games on my phone, et cetera but this conference does not lend itself to that. Everyone can see what you're doing when you are not sitting in the back (we're not) and when the break out sessions are in small rooms. Today, I will try and doodle so I can put some quick sketches in my next blog. I think I shall entitle it "Survival When Conferencing."

The two people I am commuting with --and by the way, we are traveling to/from in my two door Honda Civic, so that lends itself to some shits and giggles-- are my "work children." Now, many people have heard of having a "work wife," but as I've aged (gracefully, of course) and since my work wife no longer works at the agency, my peers seem to have gotten younger and thus I now have work children.

It's very convenient, therapeutic and helpful to have a work wife. If you aren't familiar with the concept, it's all the rage.  It's not sexual. It doesn't even matter the gender. A guy could be my work wife.

As a recent Buzzfeed article explains:
"...the one you know is going to psych you up right before your yearly review, let you vent openly about office frustrations, have the same reaction as you do when a co-worker says something ridiculous, and save some of the free food in the break room because you’re on a phone call when it’s set out. And even though it’s all platonic, there’s still an undeniable friend chemistry that makes your bond a little extra special."

 https://www.buzzfeed.com/rachelwmiller/heres-why-work-husbands-work-wives-are-actually-the-best?utm_term=.pyLr46NGKg#.ml1Lzmre2K

My work wife was my "person," someone of whom I could bitch about anything about work, at work. Alas, she went to another job and thus I was left sad and lonely. You can't just "pick" a work wife. It's not like that. You have to develop a relationship first. I really missed my work wife. I had to keep all that workplace "stuff" inside me. I didn't have anyone with whom to gossip, bitch, or whine to once she left. I thought about finding a new mate, but like I said, the pool keeps getting younger. I need a peer, not a kid.....

....so, ended up finding some work children. I don't think is a "thing," but it's something that might catch on. You read it here first, folks.

My work children are just that--children. Well, okay--they are 31 and 32 years old.....ahem, that means despite them being in their 30's, they are young enough to be my actual children. Ouch. They are both very like me, not that they would admit that. I often think, "geez, that's something I would've done at their age and I chuckle at their youngster view of our workplace universe. I am entertained to no end. 

I've trained my children well. They give me respect; I give them grief. For Mother's Day, they gave me a card and named me, appropriately enough, "Ma-donna." (Clever children I have. Calling me Ma while respecting my beloved Madonna. They inherited my wit.) They are still a work in progress but I have faith that they will continue to sprout into fine human beings. 

It's a far cry from having a work wife but it is a great distraction at work. It's been great except for last week there was an "incident." My male work child (I have a boy and a girl), stopped in with his wife and children (his real ones). As he enters my office, he proudly announces:

"Your work grandchildren are here to see you!"

Oh dear Lord, I just about had a heart attack. Work grandchildren! I really like those kids but seriously, I just about swallowed my tongue. I was momentarily mortified until I realized that is....

....so possible. I am at an age of which this could be true. Reality is a cruel master.

I've have time to accept this truth, so all is back in balance in my work world. I try not to contemplate on this subject. I distract myself by thinking about still-no-Orioles, eating more chocolate, avoiding gluten-tainted foods and wondering WHY on earth I STILL get my stupid period on a regular basis. Grandmas are not supposed to do that. 

It's time for me to get showered and back into the car to travel to/from the conference with my kiddies. They are a captive audience so they must listen to their "mother" during the long commute. I can fill their heads with all sorts of work nonsense as part of the adventure. It's like legal torture. They cannot escape me. Although it's my car, I'm going to make my work son do the driving today. I'm gonna sit back and relax while he does the driving. That'll tickle him pink and it will make my commute just that much more enjoyable. I might get to like this work child thing almost as much as I like having a work wife....

Hmmm, I never thought about that. What if I get a new work wife? Will I still care about the work children? Will they feel slighted? What if they don't get along with their step-work-mom?

Maybe I'll ask them during the commute.... right after I ask how the work grandchildren are doing.

Sunday, June 05, 2016

Know better...Do it, Anyway

OMG OMG OMG!! I hear a Baltimore Oriole!!! I'm sitting at the kitchen table. As I start to write this blog, I hear the sound of which I've listened to hear. I can't see the bird but I can hear it loud and clear. (I've been brushing up on my bird listening skills.) I know Mr. Oriole is just waiting for the perfect moment to swoop down and enjoy the oranges and jelly I have set out just for this type of occasion.  I am so close to success.....

I think I'm going to try something new. I am going to do five minute sketches to go along with my blog entry. Pen only, five minute limit. Pencils and time are for wimps. Quick sketches will get me back in the swing of things and improve (or, at least maintain) my artistic prowess. This may only last a few weeks but it's worth a try. It's very much how I write my blog--write it and be done with it. No editing. No worry about grammar. No going back or starting with a draft. That's how I roll.

This week, the Addiverse brought me--er, I brought to it--a tumble worthy of both drawing and tale. It's an "I knew better" story, of which has a happy ending (i.e. no ambulance was required, no teeth were broken).

I was at a place of which I cannot and will not confirm or deny, helping a person learn a new skill (of which I do for a living). As we were talking, she got this horrified look on her face and exclaimed, "there's a bug!" My first reaction was: Oh please god, don't let it be a centipede! She then added, "It's a spider!" I don't care about spiders, so I turned around and yup, a spider was webbing his way back up to the ceiling. It wasn't a big spider but I'm sure it scared her nonetheless. I told her I would kill it once it crawled across the ceiling and got to the wall. (These are 10 foot ceilings. there was no way I could kill it while it hung out on the ceiling.)

Ol' Mr. Spidee finally came down the wall just far enough that I thought I'd be able to kill him using the handy fly swatter. A few swats, accompanied by a few jump-and-swats, proved that I was too short for such an adventure.

There was a blue bin parked next to the wall of which featured the spider who must be killed. I looked at the person, looked at the bin, looked at the person. It looked like a 3 feet deep bin, which would give me more than enough height to kill the spider. I asked, more to me than her, "Do you think this thing can support me?" She didn't answer. I'm not sure she understood my question, being she was so freaked out by the spider.

Now, most people would be smart enough not to do anything that requires questions such as the one I just posed aloud. Most people would check to see if the bin was full or empty. Most people wouldn't care about a spider to even wonder about a blue bin. Not me. I looked at the blue bin and said aloud, "I know I shouldn't do this. I know better."

Duh! When your mouth spits out such a statement, one should listen.

But, I did not listen. Instead, flyswatter in hand, I put my left foot on the left end of the bin cover. I gently put my right foot on the right side of the bin top. I slowly stood up. Yes! It supported me just fine. Confidence spewing forth, I reached up with the fly swatter to give that eight legged creature a quick good-bye. I wound up for the swat, putting a bit more weight on my left leg as I reached up with my right arm, and......

...the blue bin, which was empty, went FLYING out from under my feet and blasted off to the right. My momentum blasted my body to the left. Airborn for a moment...I crashed on top of a large, business strength garbage can...on which I came down in a ruckus enough to wake the dead. Bin flying, me flying, garbage can flying. As I fell onto the garbage can, the lid flew off, the bin hit the metal desk and I landed on my nose. No kidding. Glasses flying, limbs flaying, body tumbling, nose smooshing.

I landed with a eardrum-busting thud. For a second, I was not sure what exactly had just happened, as such incidents happen in one bazillionth of a second. There is no knowing what just kicked your ass it such a short span of time.

My pride immediately kicked into gear and I SHOT up from the floor, threw my arms in the air and exclaimed, "I'M GOOD!"

I terrified that poor lady. The spider was now the least of her concerns. My body hurt in all different places but I wasn't gonna let her know that. I picked up the garbage can, trying not to show her the pain I was feeling--both in body and in spirit. I looked up to the wall.....

....insult to injury, I missed the spider.

 I looked at the lady, whose eyes were wide open. She must've read my mind because she said, "I didn't see anything." Give that lady a drink.

The spider must have taken pity on me, as he crawled down closer to my reach. I smooshed him like there was no tomorrow. I hit him several times, not that I needed to. He was dead on the first swat. I gave him several extra ones, just to be sure.

Any concern I harbored (I had killed one of my front teeth, I had broken my nose, I had cracked one bone or another) were all unfounded. I thanked the baby Jesus for not letting me hit my head or break a bone or require stitches. I had bruises and scrapes and semi-crooked glasses, but I was really no worse for the wear.

I was able to use this as a teachable moment. I turned toward the lady and said, "Don't ever do that." She assured me she wouldn't. I smiled and turned to leave, most decidely sure she would never do anything quite so stupid. I got in my car and was finally able to gather my wits. I sat there for a moment, finally trembling in response to the event and chewed on my stupidity.

I knew better, but I did it, anyway. Not a good way to do business. Not a good way to kill a spider. Not a good way to maintain pride....

...but, a great way to get a blogworthy story. One must have priorities, don't you think?
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