I went for a run yesterday afternoon. It was my first time out since my toe was t-boned by a runaway shelf the other day. I’m thankful that my metatarsals suffered only topical damage, in the form of an indigo colored toenail.
Nothing is less romantic sounding than a broken toe. Think about it, if you break your foot, you’re probably a stuntman; while breaking your ankle elicits pained expressions on a three fingers of bourbon level. Broken ribs provoke theological puns about Eve getting greedy, which is snarky without being demeaning. A broken arm somehow makes us seem athletic. A broken knee cap will have your friends thinking there was some nostra to your cosa.
A broken toe is a punchline. Without the punch. Seriously, if you tell someone you broke your clavicle, they offer to make you dinner for a month. Tell them you broke your toe? You’ve gifted them a running joke that will follow you to your grave.
This was one of the many things I thought about during a particularly brisk run whose Murgatroyd was heavenly. A good run is like watering the soul with Tibetan tap water. Somewhere inside the clipped breathing and rhythmic pounding there exists this wonderfully peaceful dimension in which sight and sound possess a flavor.
And so it happened while I was taking a bite of this glorious run, that mortality became a passing thought. Ditching the tunes invites loose thoughts. As a fifty two year old man who carries an aspirin and his drivers license on these jaunts, thoughts of death are not the preferred in flight movie. Death’s name in this instance, was Jimbo.
I know right?
Jimbo was friends with my pal Big Papi. They began falling out of each other’s loops over the last year and change. This change in temperature came about as Jim got dumber about his health and Big Papi, whose real name is Duane, got sick and tired of lecturing him on it. The last straw came when Jim celebrated a successful heart procedure by going to an all you can eat buffet.
The men both suffered from myriad health problems. But whereas Duane’s are the result of a stroke he suffered as a young man that paralyzed the left side of his body, Jim’s problems were self inflicted.
Truth is, I never liked Jim. He was a caveman whose personality was vanilla ice cream. Jim wore NBA jerseys in public, which I happen to think should be illegal for fat white guys. He drank soda because he didn’t like the taste of alcohol, which was not a sin in and of itself. But judging us for doing so? Was. And the whole Jimbo thing . . I mean, unless you own a bait shop, gun shop or porn shop, there is no fucking way you should allow the bo to caboose your proper name.
Clearly, I’m shitty when it comes to eulogies. Or maybe I’m just no good at dressing things up. But I don’t like that Big Papi had to pretend away the pain since there was nowhere for him to put it now. He’s fifty six years old and he’s going to be borrowing time sooner than later as a result of all the curve balls his body keeps throwing at him.
I attempt to change the subject in my head by assembling a poem on the fly. The cold air is a weep of bricks and the sky feels like a Caravaggio and my run deteriorates from bounding to sodden. The thoughts sometimes, they play for keeps. And death, its real name is time. I’d rather think of nothing at all, but its too late. Barbarians at the gate, the nasty little fuckers. So I push harder now, if only to hurt somewhere else, and it makes me feel as if I have something to lose. I find my rhythm inside the purpose of those twenty minutes.
I’m running away from home.
I think you do eulogys just fine. This was excellent.
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I pared this post down, because it wasn’t nice. And I wanted to focus on some of my thoughts during that twenty minute run.
It was concern for my friend Duane, who swallowed any pain he might have been feeling. But man, I know it made him feel old beyond his years and I hate that.
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The benefits of a stinking, fall down, raging, and sobbing drunk sesson.
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I’ve had a few of those in my time.
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Good for the soul.
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You always speak the truth.
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Oh, and thank you John.
Sorry, I ramble sometimes.
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I think you should use Bo Jangles line. “You see, I rambles a bit.” 😊
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Haha!
I am a rambling man . . so you will get no argument from me.
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😊
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Virtual **High Five!**
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There is something less romantic than a broken toe and that is bunion surgery. Just saying!
Jimbo would be perfectly suited for a pawn shop too, I think.
As far as eulogies go, I hear the love and that’s as good as it gets.
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Ella,
You got me on that one. Bunion surgery for the win, Alex!
And yes, definitely a pawn shop.
Thank you for the chiming spoonful!
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Dear Marco,
It’s funny how one toe can become your whole existence when it hurts. I think I’d like for you to deliver my eulogy. 😉 You do have a way with words, my friend.
A few years back I had my own broken toe fiasco…the only bone I’ve ever broken in my whole life. Never got to experience the celebrity of a cast that everyone could sign. How rude is that? Just in case you’d like to read my tragic story, here’s the link. https://rochellewisoff.com/2014/06/29/toemageddon/
Glad you’re able to run.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Rochelle,
That little piggy of a toe provided some much needed perspective. After which the loose thoughts . . well. They have minds of their own is all I can say.
I remember when I was in grade school and my friends would bring a fresh new cast into school. It was an event! I felt like, how lucky are they? LOL.
Oooooh, your maiden voyage into the land of broken bones was a toe? Imma have to read this!
Thank you for the lovely chime.
Shalom,
Marco
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Toemaggedon!
If they gave out award for post titles, you would have an award winner there. Seriously.
Two toes . . yikes!
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😀
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Notice I abstained from foot puns?
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Your title is pretty awesome too a both of y’all get title awards – lol
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Thank you Prior!
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😊✋
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😊
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Dear B,
I hear ya the toe thing. There is no way to romance a broke toe. It always comes down to some form of klutz-dom (be it true or not, matters less because peeps are gonna bring it down to the Laurel and Hardy level).
I was thinking how much I envy you your joy at running. That “runner’s high” they talk about that I’ve never been able to achieve.
I’m thinking you did this eulogy justice. These things are rarely done with full disclosure. We choose to cover up the shit with flowers to hide the smell. And while, of course, at these times we want to focus on the lovely bits, it’s hard to pay homage to someone who doesn’t respect their body, basically giving the finger to the doctors who gave him the gift of extended life. I understand Big Papi’s frustration and desire to wash his hands of Jimbo.
If you’re running from home, where are you running to?
Lotsa love,
Q
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Q,
People do not take the toe seriously. I mean, poor Rochelle broke not one toe but two! And SHE was wrote a post on it titled “Toemaggedon”! Which tells you everything you need to know about this toe situation. Even the recipients feel the need to make light of it. Yikes!
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I know, right?
Just reading your posts and I’m remembering my six-pack of evaporated milk landing on MY toe…
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I used to wear steel toe boots. And sometimes, I think I should go back to them. They’re shit for fashion wise and they do no favors to the back. But my toes . . they would be safe.
I can’t even think about that can of evaporated milk flying through the air without wincing!
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Steel-toe boots are a necessity in some jobs. Problem is, as you say, they are shit for the back, knees, feet (other than saving toes).
My stomach just flipped remembering.
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I wonder if they make steel toe sneakers. Hmmmmm.
My toes just curled remembering that evaporated can story. The good news? They’re able to curl . . .
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Yes, they do.
Hah! And yes, that is good news!
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You might say that last week . . . wait for it . . I got off on the wrong foot.
But Shady’s back!
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Hey… just think of Rochelle and make sure you don’t get off on the wrong one next 😉
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Schtop it!
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😜😎😘
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Don’t be bogarting my 😎.
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Moi?? Totally different context. 😇
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I’ll accept that . . .
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I appreciate it…
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I wasn’t able to buy the rights to the emoji, so I have no choice but to accept it! LOL
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There is that. However, out of respect for ya… 😉
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How sweet are you? . . .
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Occasionally. Shhh, don’t tell anyone. My reputation will be ruined.
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Your . . umm . . secret, is safe with me.
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Hmmm… methinks that “umm” of yours indicates otherwise.
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Buahahaha!
Was it THAT obvious?
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BOLD, FLASHING, UNDERLINED…
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I think mayhaps you are embellishing just a tad. As writers are wont to do . .
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Maybe, just maybe, I’m being influenced by this great writer I read… He has a way with words, phrasing, references that I have to look up…
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Hmmm. I bet he’s an ornery bastid with a real attitude.
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He says he is.
I don’t buy it.
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Well, ain’t that a kick.
What? You thought I was out of puns?
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A kick, eh?
You? Nah… you seem to have an endless supply.
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Sadly, you are correct.
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Why, sad? You do keep your fans entertained
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Imma trust you on this. I guess the Beatles were right about happiness being a warm pun.
Or something like that. . .
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Trust me. I know of what I speak…. I’m just not as eloquent as you 😉
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😎
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😜
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Evidently my thoughts are so loose that I replied before finishing my thought!
Anyways, yes. Running is something I am thankful for. It allows for that peace of mind when I really, truly need it. And even when those less than pleasant thoughts intrude, I can fix myself on writing poetry and get back to square.
I felt badly for Duane. I’ll never forget how his voice wavered and then he caught himself and got back. It was a momentary slip that spoke volumes.
Oh, it was just the thought that came into my head when I was thinking on a poem in order to change the subject. The title was “Running Away from Home”. Do I remember much of the poem? Nope. LOL.
Love ya,
B
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I thought that was rather abrupt 😉 And waited… figuring you’d be back…
Running, yes. I hear those who love it do exactly what you did (when not plugged into any tunes). And there is nothing wrong with letting the less-than-pleasant thoughts intrude – better let ’em in, face ’em, deal with ’em and let ’em go. Plus, they help us appreciate all the more that which is so very pleasant!
Poor Duane – he did care about him, which is why he was so frustrated with him, I should think.
Poetry, even when we only remember bits and pieces, can be most comforting. I’m always blown away by those who can recite known works or dig out the right one for the right moment, just like that (snaps fingers).
MWAH!
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It was a result of the government shutdown . . .
I haven’t listened to tunes since I gave up the fit-bit. Or went on hiatus with the fit-bit. Truthfully, I dig running without music. And you’re right, there is something to be said for facing those kinds of thoughts head on. They behave the same as toxins, after all.
The endorphin rush . . better than other highs. And better for me. So there’s that.
Yeah, I mean. You can’t be friends with someone for more than half your life and not carry something with ya. Even if they were no longer friends, all that time still counted.
Me too. Poetry is something special.
MUAH!
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I shoulda known…
It’s like when I walk Zeke. I refuse to listen to anything but nature. And my thoughts – which can be trivial or deep, depending.
I need to find me an equivalent (at least for 15 minutes per day, as prescribed!)
No, You can’t dismiss half a lifetime – even if at the end, all was not as it was.
To poetry (in motion and in thought!)
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Partial service and all . . .
It’s a totally different experience when you’re not plugged in. Because as you point out, you’re simply a different kind of plugged in.
Yoga. Stationary bike. Treadmill.
Big Papi is a gruff old bastard, but he’s got a heart of gold.
Jes!
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Yep.
And it truly is. More people should try it…
Gotta bring up the heartbeat and I sold my treadmill… Imma start putting on dance music and bust me some moves instead!
And he’s not old, numbers-wise, but, as you mentioned, life has not been easy for him.
Si!
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I enjoyed listening to tunes or audio-books, so the idea of JUST running never really crossed my mind until I took a break from my fit-bit.
There you go. I do a Rob Zombie workout that is equal parts martial arts, dance and epileptic seizure. But it works.
His fifty six years old is much older than the typical, healthy fifty six year old. He has slowed down considerably over the last several years. He really needs one of those hoverrounds but he’s been pretty stubborn about it. I don’t blame him.
🙂
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Funny how one thing leads to another (or missing one thing, gives extra).
Buahaha! I’ll need you to show me that one day 😉
I believe it. I would be like him, no doubt.
🙂
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It was a nice break from the fit-bit and the tunes.
It’s frightening. It’s as if I’m being tased . . and I like it!
Me too.
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Well… you can bring the fit-bit back in and tune in less 😉
Now I really, REALLY need to see that 😀
I’ve not doubt.
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You are so right about the meals – no meals for toe injuries – lol
Enjoyed your post
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None! LOL.
On the other side of “toe-gate”, I find myself being ridiculously careful. I’m such a klutz, and as such, am prone to stubbing my toes . . like, all the time. As the soreness was subsiding, I found myself making wider turns than a tractor trailer.
One of the consequences of my bruised toe is that I messed with my hamstring whilst limping around. So I had to work THAT out before I could run, LOL.
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Oh man – I have heard that happens where compensating for an injury leads to other imbalance – but hopefully some r and r will help.
And many years ago my husband hurt his toe – the same toe – four times in a half a year period –
And seriously no glam in that kind of injury –
Oh and I know someone who broke – yes broke – their arm by walking a certain way and the forearm swung up and hit a door and doorknob.
Crazy how the little things can happen.
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Heck, Rochelle broke a toe on both feet. She had bookends!
The R and R has given way to running again. First run felt good. I’ll run again tomorrow. No worse for wear, so I was fortunate.
That broken arm story IS crazy.
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I am going to check out Rochelle’s post now –
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It’s an older one. Hold on . .
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thanks for making it easy for me to find – you rock
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I gotchou! 🙂
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It’s from June of 2014.
https://rochellewisoff.com/2014/06/29/toemageddon/
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thanks again for the link – and oh wow – her pictures really added to the post – the bruising – the double boot
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I know right? And me? All I got was this Deep Purple lacquer one of my toenails . . thankfully!
Rochelle was hit with the double whammy . . .
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oh M, deep purple lacquer is no bueno – and it sure made for a great post (and sorry for your pain too)
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No bueno . . at all. But just a little soreness at this point so yay that.
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yes – and you did say you were back to running. Funny how our toes are so little and we take them for granted but when they get injured – well then we know they are there
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I am back to running indeed! And ain’t that the truth about our toes. I think they are little reminders to keep things in perspective. Because the little things DO mean a lot sometimes.
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sure do – and just like toes help us balance
the little things are important and can add up to know us out of balance –
oh man – this is getting deep –
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Yeah right? How did we go from bruised toes to waxing on the meta-physical? LOL
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well however it happened i rather enjoyed it a lot. oh and here is the link to see the other patch and postcard (if you remember our min chat about that – from my post) –
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It was a lot of fun. And I love that patched up postcard! What a kitschy cool idea that is!
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have a good rest of your night and ttys
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You too!
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Didn’t realize you’re a runner, something we have in common and a broken toe like a rib is a test in patience since you can do nothing but tap the other 9 while it slowly heals. I remember wearing Wellies in July because they were wide and that shoe, that ugly hoof they expect you to wear, just wouldn’t do. We have our sartorial pride after all. Hope it heals soon. 👌
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SB,
Yep. I took up running when I was in my mid twenties, along with skiing. I think I was more in love with the latter for the first several years, but running was always right there as well. I can’t imagine NOT running now.
Thankfully, it was just badly bruised. Another micro-centimeter and it would have hit the bone and yesterday’s post would’ve been totally different. As it is, my index toe (what IS it called) and the middle toenail bore the brunt. Patience was in order, yes . . .
Sartorial!
Word o the day!!!
Thanks Thin Girl.
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Me too. I ran when only thieves did. And hamsters in those wheels. 😴
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Thieves run with purpose and hamsters as if nobody is watching. Both instances are the goal for me.
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I’ll bet you’d look so cute in a wheel. 🙂
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You say cute, I say deranged. Let’s meet in the middle, deal?
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It’s all about perspective. Couldn’t ya see Freddy in a wheel havin’ a grand old time? BTW…I love That BR is cleaning up. Just tickles me to no end.
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I do believe he probably had a wheel to jump and dance around inside of, custom.
I cant wait to see it again.
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You say tomato, and I say tamato…you say potato and I say patato…you’ve inspired this and it’s your fault I can’t get it out of my head….
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Okay, how’s about you say potato and I say vodka. That woik?
Okay, it’s just a simple ear worm. You’re gonna want to listen to a whole Queen album and get plenty of rest. That should clear it up . . .
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It does. Wish he were here to reap all this attention.
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He would love it.
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He was such a preener in those animal tights he liked to wear. I read he was a huge cat lover. Being one, it made me like Freddy even more, if that were possible. I’m
humming…SEND ME SOMEBODY TO LOVE. 🙂
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Don’t just hum it Thin Girl . . sing it!
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I sing like a sick moose, but maybe I’ll belt it out in the shower.
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I feel as if I can do Otis Redding to an effective enough degree to land me on the Bar Mitzvah circuit. Hey, it’s something!
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I can just see you crooning Sittin’ on the dock of the bay, under a hoopa. 🙂
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Just watching the ships roll in . . then I watch em roll away again . . .
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wastin’ time….:)
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High five chica!
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High 5 Otis. Right back attcha
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A great piece on Freddie’s cats . . .
https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2018/11/freddie-mercury-and-his-love-affair-with-his-cats
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Thank you. PURR!!!!
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I thought you might like it Catwoman.
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I do. He looked like a cat, that face…his smirk. And mustn’t forget how he prowled, rather than just walked. He was elegant in his outrageousness. Hey Freddy, did ya hear that?
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He’s in the middle of a show right now, SB. He does an 11 am to 1 brunch special and then he rocks it out with a three hour masterpiece every evening, nine to midnight.
A boy can dream, can’t he?
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Yes he can. LOL
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I went for a run Sunday morning — first one in about six weeks, after getting sick in Europe with a cough that lingers to this day, and then re-tearing a groin muscle just standing up from a chair on my last day in Europe. It felt absolutely great. Almost 3 1/2 miles that were just fantastic — not because I set any speed records, but because I was running again.
And then Monday morning arrived, I got out of bed and my thighs act like I ran a marathon. Twice. And this morning arrived and they act like a ran a marathon. Thrice. Sigh. This 54-year-old man is tired of getting old.
As for Jimbo, some people don’t deserve nice eulogies. (I kind of have an issue about the life and health choices of some people who are significant parts of my life, so I totally get your frustration with Jimbo … JIMBO!!!!!) Honesty is always the best policy. And yes, no grown man should end his name with bo.
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Just being out feels great, doesn’t it? I allotted myself twenty minutes to see how I felt. The toe(s) were still sore and I still had to remind myself not to compensate for it so much when I plant, lest I mess with my hammy again.
Groin muscle tear! Ouch! I remember doing that to myself whilst cross country skiing years ago. Terrible!
Oh see . . that’s why I did baby steps, LOL. I’ve been fortunate to evade the resultant soreness. Over the last two months, I run at least twice a week, which ain’t my usual but it keeps my muscles honest.
I know man. Life is uncertain enough without double whoppering yourself into issues. There are things that I absolutely would love to do. Like . . eat fast food all the time and smoke cigars. But I stay away because I ain’t getting any younger and I don’t want the bill that my body is going to present me for doing so.
No way! If my name was Jim, I would insist on being called James . . .
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By the way, if you would just include a bear in the story of how you hurt your toe, the dynamic would complete change. Or a samurai. Or … Trump?
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So true. Including a bear in the story changes everything!
Umm . . did you do that on purpose? Including the bear (Russia) and Trump in the same comment? 🙂
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Deaths real name is time…ah, I’m going to steal that. Right NOW!
Excellent writing ✍️
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RNB,
You’re always welcome to steal my stuff as long as you’re going to be that sweet about it.
Muchas gracias chica!
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Haha I’ll mention you if I’ll use it tho.
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You rock the casbah.
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Dude. You’ve done an awesome job here. I’m loving your last line. Eulogies are wedding vows in reverse. Maaaaaan. That’s good. And you would definitely be the one to give eulogies. You’re like President Kirkman’s speechwriter… you’re that good.
As for The toe. It’s hard on the toe … unless you’re a guy wearing a basketball jersey in public then everyone will be like … yeah toe injury…definitely fits.
On the up side I’m glad you went out for a run, and sometimes you silence the tunes to listen to your thoughts, you got some pretty awesome ones up there. That kind of vibe can last for hours. Plus you carry aspirin with you 🙂 that’s a bonus. Sending you Sunshine and waves buddy 🙂
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Cali,
You always bring the sugar, thank you. And umm . . . funny story. That line was supposed to be removed from the post, LOL. I took it out as my ‘eulogy’ went south since I wasn’t crazy about Jim. I forgot to check the very bottom of the post. It’s not the first time that has happened!
Ugh! That basketball jersey thing. Unless you’re an NBA player or a chica (my rules), you shouldn’t be able to wear basketball jerseys in public.
Yep, sans music has been great. Finding my Zen moments in the silence. 🙂
Sunshine? What’s that?
Peace and waves Cali
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Gah…sorry to chime in days after the fact. Nothing worse than a bum wheel, especially if said wheel is expected to carry half a body quickly. Or even efficiently. Arnica, my friend. Arnica. Would never have lived through softball season without it. And any grown man who adds “bo” to the end of his name…well that’s all kinds of wrong. Head shaking. I mean, jeez WTH??
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You can chime in whenever you feel like it, Monika.
I was very fortunate in that it was simply badly bruised. I was back running this week. Ran today in the snow and it felt really good. The index and middle toe are coming along and should be back to their normal selves before too much longer.
You never realize how much you need the little buggers until they’re out of commission.
No ‘bo. No how.
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Arnica helps bruising heal much quicker. It’s practically like magic.
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Good to know. Gracias Monika!
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A broken toe is a punchline. My sister kicked mine off. I’ll write that punchline someday. It was fun to read this. Keep running.
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Kicked yours off? Please tell me you mean your toenail, and not like . . the whole toe?
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It was there one moment and then dangling the next.
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OUCH!
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