After Work Follies

Sledding when you are in your 30's is quite different than when you were 10.  Still fun; just different.

I had the grand idea to go sledding after work the other night.  Yes, a midnight adventure on a golf course.  Our caravan of after work employees pulled up to our sledding destination with gusto.  We were donned in our best winter get-up including a makeshift, albeit brilliant, pair of "snow pants" fashioned out of a stolen-from-work garbage bag.  It was hard to distinguish if they were supposed to be snow pants or an over sized diaper, but since this particular friend is potty trained, its safe to say they were snow pants indeed.

With exuberance, we ran to get our sled on.  That run slowed to a dull trot and eventually ended in a slow, careful walk after about 30 seconds.  Huffin' and Puffin' we climbed the hill, rested to catch our breath, then took that exiting first trip down the hill in our sleds.  When you are 10, there is no fear.  But when you are mid 30's and 40's, sliding down that hill is rather frightening.  Not to mention we were under a moon-less, cloudy sky so it was rather dark.  The sound of coyotes howling in the distance gave the night the perfect flavor.

At 10, you don't go sledding with your insurance card in your pocket "just in case".  One friend did just that after a tragic sliding mishap a year ago left her with a bit of PTSD, she wanted to be ready this time in case a  trip to the ER was needed.  So, complete with our insurance cards in hand (pocket), and our garbage bag snow pants, we ventured down the hill in our sleds.  Not uncommonly uttered from our mouths were:  "I'm scared", "I have osteoporosis; I don't want to break a bone", "I can't go over bumps because I might break my tail bone.  They take a long time to heal", "Walking back up this hill is more work than I remember", I need to rest a minute". 

Yes, the dialogue may be different as we age, but we still had a blast.  With caution and appreciation of our able bodied selves, we probably had more fun than if we were 10.  And nobody had to go to the ER.

Words

The last few days I have spent creating words from a mish mash of letters.  Word Twist on Facebook is a favorite pastime, but nothing beats the feel of the wooden tiles in my hand.  My mom and I have been playing Scrabble for hours on end the last few days.  It is so much fun!  (Mostly its fun because I win the majority of the time).  No electronic gizmos to help make the words, add up the points, or magically make new letter tiles appear.  Plus, its quality time with my favorite person.  Is it really that pathetic that I spent my Friday night playing an old-lady game with my mom?  I think not.

What is pathetic is that I refused to let two ladies with dementia have a fighting chance of winning when I played with them.  My Scrabble fetish was reawakened when I had to work with two dementia patients on the dreaded 4th floor.  They were very sweet ladies and we had ourselves a nice little game of Scrabble.  You would think that playing Scrabble with two dementia ladies would be annoying to say the least.  Not so.  The one lady was kicking my ass, and she played the game with the expertise of an experienced Scrabble player!  I'll be damned if I'll let an 89 year old lady with dementia beat my sorry ass in Scrabble.  I had to pull out my competitive tricks, and I actually did end up beating those two ladies.  Not sure what would have been more embarrassing to admit:  That the ladies kicked my ass or that I kicked theirs.

Anyway, it was me who did the ass kicking.  And I'm not too embarrassed to admit it.