Dark and lovely was how Polly frequently described me. Now that she is
gone, I am sure she would add one more word to her depiction: deadly. No one, including
my good for nothing family, would ever dare say that the youngest daughter of
Mayor Jessup was a bad seed; which is quite funny if you think about it, because
that’s how I killed her; with a single sunflower seed. And as they lay her to rest
in a shoebox in my backyard I can’t help but look around, and smile, knowing
that I finally am free from that darn bird’s incessant cries.
I Dream in Cuban
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
C is for Choose
“Choose,”
is all the guard said to Emilio before shoving two scarves in his face. He didn’t take the red one; choosing,
even in the end, to defy Fidel Castro’s Communist regime.
“Return to me.”
Those
were his wife’s last words before he had pushed the stolen rowboat out to sea.
He was unsure if their infant son could survive the ninety miles to freedom but
knew it was the only choice he had to save them.
As the scarf was placed over his
eyes, Emilio wrapped his hand around the letter in his pocket.
“They
can’t take our love away,”
is how she ended it.
He was not scared now that he knew
they were safe. These animals would choose when he died but they were banned
from choosing how. As the firing squad raised their rifles, Emilio took his
last free breath and shouted, “I love you, Carmen.”
In keeping with the A to Z Blogging Challenge, the entries should also comply with the following, based on the day you write your entry (for consistency, we'll be working in US EDT time):
- Sunday April 1 - base your entry around the letter "A"
- Monday April 2 - your entry should contain the words "brackish" and "bend"
- Tuesday April 3 - begin and end your entry with a word beginning with the letter "C"
- Wednesday April 4 - include four words starting with the letter "D" in your entry
- Thursday April 5 - base your entry around the letter "E"
- Friday April 6 - your entry should contain the words "flight", "forlorn", and "fog"
- Saturday April 7 - begin and end your entry with a word beginning with the letter "G"
- Sunday April 8 - free choice - no requirements for your entry. Alternatively, for an added challenge, see how many words beginning with the different letters of the alphabet you can include
- Monday April 9 - include four words starting with the letter "H" in your entry
- Tuesday April 10 - base your entry around the letter "I"
- Wednesday April 11 - include three words starting with the letter "J" in your entry
- Thursday April 12 - your entry should contain the words "king", "kestrel", and "key"
- Friday April 13 - begin and end your entry with a word beginning with the letter "L"
- Saturday April 14 - include four words starting with the letter "M" in your entry
- Sunday April 15 - free choice - no requirements for your entry. Alternatively, for an added challenge, see how many words beginning with the different letters of the alphabet you can include
- Monday April 16 - base your entry around the letter "N"
- Tuesday April 17 - your entry should contain the words "own" and "orient"
- Wednesday April 18 - begin and end your entry with a word beginning with the letter "P"
- Thursday April 19 - include three words starting with the letter "Q" in your entry
- Friday April 20 - base your entry around the letter "R"
- Saturday April 21 - your entry should contain the words "silent" and "slinks"
- Sunday April 22 - free choice - no requirements for your entry. Alternatively, for an added challenge, see how many words beginning with the different letters of the alphabet you can include
- Monday April 23 - base your entry around the letter "T"
- Tuesday April 24 - your entry should contain the words "unsure" and "unknown"
- Wednesday April 25 - include three words starting with the letter "V" in your entry
- Thursday April 26 - begin and end your entry with a word beginning with the letter "W"
- Friday April 27 - see how many X's you can include in words in your entry
- Saturday April 28 - include as many words beginning with the letter "Y" as you can
- Sunday April 29 - free choice - no requirements for your entry. Alternatively, for an added challenge, see how many words beginning with the different letters of the alphabet you can include
- Monday April 30 - base your entry around the letter "Z"
Sunday, April 1, 2012
I Come from Where Palm Trees Grow
My brother Gus is "the guy" who is in charge of our family's genealogy. Some might call it obsessive but not me. He is all kinds of good crazy. Let me tell you how far Gus goes to get our history. But first, I must tell you a bit about my family. My mother, Silvia is the kind of woman people write stories about; whether as a protagonist or antagonist is still up in the air. But no one can deny she has led a most colorful life. She has been married twice. Once to Pedro Marinello and later, to Alfredo Villate. She had eleven children. TECHNICALLY, five children were with Pedro and the others were Villate. The truth is there was a whole lot of explaining to do later in life when almost all of my brothers looked like my father Alfredo. Gus, along with my other brother Peter, and sister Sylvia (who died in Cuba) were the only true Marinello children that we can tell. But I believe that none of us really ever thought of ourselves as anything else than true brothers and sisters. My sister Maria, has a completely different father but that is another story for another time, as is the fact that I believe my blood type does not match my father's. Different story again.
Back to Gus. He loves to find out where we came from. And in doing so has had us all swab our DNA to trace our maternal lineage back to the dinosaurs but more interesting is that he travels to Cuba often to visit relatives and obtain documents from our life back in Cuba. He has taken pictures of our homes, plantations, Sylvia's grave, the beaches of Ciudamar Yacht Club. It is all so wonderful and sad to see what I know in my mind must have been such a beautiful country be so destroyed. And yet, I can tell you without a doubt that there is no one more proud of their heritage than a Cuban. Even a Cuban who has never stepped foot on it's soil.
So that pride is what gets a guy like Gus to go to the Marinello museum in Cuba (Yes, there is a museum named after the Marinello family.) and without really thinking things through, he proceeded to stuff pictures of our family in his pants while his cousin stood watching in shock. Now, it seems a funny story but if he was caught, Gus would have been way up a huge Communist prison creek with no American embassy paddle. In telling the story, Gus simply said he saw a picture of our family. My mother, Piry (Pedro) and such that used to be in his house growing up. He was furious that these Communists pigs would take it and than use it for their socialist museum. I get it. Really. I do. But it was hard not to laugh at how things spiraled when the curator of the museum came up to Gus (with pants full of photos) and asked what he was up to. Gus, who is the funniest man I know, isn't sure of what she had seen so decides to play the only card he can. He tells the woman that he is a Marinello and wants to speak to whoever is in charge. The woman tells him it is her. He than proceeds to berate her over the "poor conditions" of the museum and how upset his uncle and father would be over the wall color, tiles etc. The woman is now all apologetic and Gus leaves with a limp because one of the photos is running down his leg.
So now, I have this wedding photo of my mother at seventeen. I see so much of me in her. And I see the resemblance in my niece and daughter too. It's amazing to have these memories that were stolen from such an awful dictator so many years ago. And if you want to know what my brother Gus' smile looks like, you just have to look at the brothers. I see it most in Zoilo in this picture. Gus looks a lot like him.
For most people, genealogy is not so hard to obtain. You just need to make it into your nearest Mormon website and start. I am thankful for Gus for doing a lot of the leg work that was required for the missing documents in Cuba.
One day, I will go to Cuba. Since I was a very small child I have heard the stories over and over again that I feel I was actually there. Thus, my blog title, "I Dream in Cuban." Once, someone asked me if I dreamed in Spanish or English. I was going to say Spanish but what subconsciously came out was I dream in Cuban and I never corrected it because it is true. In the first lines of Guantanamera the words say, I am a sincere man who comes from where the palm trees grow. I guess that is where my roots begin and where the tree ends is still a story unwritten.
Back to Gus. He loves to find out where we came from. And in doing so has had us all swab our DNA to trace our maternal lineage back to the dinosaurs but more interesting is that he travels to Cuba often to visit relatives and obtain documents from our life back in Cuba. He has taken pictures of our homes, plantations, Sylvia's grave, the beaches of Ciudamar Yacht Club. It is all so wonderful and sad to see what I know in my mind must have been such a beautiful country be so destroyed. And yet, I can tell you without a doubt that there is no one more proud of their heritage than a Cuban. Even a Cuban who has never stepped foot on it's soil.
 |
| My mother in white on her wedding date with Pedro Marinello |
 |
| Zoilo and Pedro Marinello, brothers. |
So now, I have this wedding photo of my mother at seventeen. I see so much of me in her. And I see the resemblance in my niece and daughter too. It's amazing to have these memories that were stolen from such an awful dictator so many years ago. And if you want to know what my brother Gus' smile looks like, you just have to look at the brothers. I see it most in Zoilo in this picture. Gus looks a lot like him.
For most people, genealogy is not so hard to obtain. You just need to make it into your nearest Mormon website and start. I am thankful for Gus for doing a lot of the leg work that was required for the missing documents in Cuba.
One day, I will go to Cuba. Since I was a very small child I have heard the stories over and over again that I feel I was actually there. Thus, my blog title, "I Dream in Cuban." Once, someone asked me if I dreamed in Spanish or English. I was going to say Spanish but what subconsciously came out was I dream in Cuban and I never corrected it because it is true. In the first lines of Guantanamera the words say, I am a sincere man who comes from where the palm trees grow. I guess that is where my roots begin and where the tree ends is still a story unwritten.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Triplets at 10 months
I can't believe how much the babies have changed in just a few weeks. So much personality. So different from each other.
Beau has grown three teeth in 1 week. (2 bottom and r side incisor) She and Gigi added "Dog" to their repertoire.
Gigi enjoys using the word dog to call out to every animal and to her father. Very funny to see him correct her and than, almost as if joking, she says dog again and laughs.
Carlos, still my lover. Likes to give kisses and eats using his whole fist to push food in while his sisters use two finger, fine motor skills.
They know what it means when I say " No se toca!" Don't touch. But Gigi, my troublemaker, looks at me and laughs before she goes right back to the naughty business. There is routine to the day, but it doesn't mean it is any less non-stop.
A man on the phone yesterday let his true thoughts slip yesterday when he said, "So you just stay at home, right?" I didn't even feel bad about it. It IS what I do, REALLY. It was just, that I know what he imagines my day to be and how different it really is from that image I will try to tell you.
One day:
6:15 Beau wakes up. Feed her. Change her diaper
6:30 Gigi and Carlos are up. Feed and change them.
7:00 Golden and Eva get up for school.
7-8:00 Change all babies diapers again because they like their morning constitutionals.
Put lunches in back packs.
Get dressed.
Get older kids dressed, teeth brushed, hair brushed, dog fed and taken out
8:00 Get three babies in jogging stroller and walk two older kids to school while going over spelling words while holding project on stroller
8:15 -9;15 Jog with babies
9:15 Put babies down for nap
9:15-10 laundry and clean kitchen
10:00 one baby will wake up.
10:00-10:30 Other load of laundry, try and answer any phone messages, pay bill etc., Prepare baby lunches
10:30-11:00 baby play time. Change diapers
11:00-12:00 Babies eat lunch
12:00-1:00 Get babies changed out of clothes, Change diapers and Baby play time
1:15- 1:45 (or 2:00) Baby nap time. Fold laundry. Clean house. Go to bathroom first time today.
Put dishes away.
2:20 Change diapers. Load babies in stroller to pick up big kids at school.
2:20-2:45 Walk to and back from school
2:45-3:30 Baby snack time. Help big kids with homework at same time.
Make lunches for next day. Clean kitchen from lunch and snack time.
3:30-4:45 Change diapers. (and think how much poop can a baby make?) Take big kids to ballet, piano, activity etc. Or Play time at home with babies.
4:45-5:30 Prepare dinner. Feed babies, big kids and husband. Fold more laundry.
5:30-6:30 Baby bath time. Feed babies snack
6:30 Beau goes to sleep
7:00-7:30 Carlos and Gigi make it to bed.
7:30-8:30 Spend time with big kids, reading, playing.
8:30-9:30 Go to grocery store to replenish all the food devoured by said children.
9:30-9:45 Spend a few moments of alone time with my husband before we crash in a coma.
12:00am- Feed Gigi, who still likes a midnight snack.
4:00am -4:30Feed Beau who decides she wants to play for awhile
6:15 Start this all over again.
The days change but the routine doesn't change much except to add more things into it. Like I don't even mention all the carrying of babies and nursing that is still going on.So yes, I stay at home and I dare that man to try and do it. He won't last 30 minutes.
I love this video of Mike. It shows how he lost to a 10 month old.
 |
| Can any girl love him more than his sister? |
 |
| She makes bars look good. |
 |
| My future baller |
 |
| I love this series of Beau at the glass door. |
 |
| Can any man love me this much? |
 |
| Can you see her three teeth? |
 |
| The girls play peek a boo |
 |
| Gigi |
 |
| My Romeo |
 |
| Gigi has the best toothless grin I've ever seen. It's hard to ever get mad at her. |
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| Carlos and his favorite brush. We call him "Vidal Sasson" |
Monday, March 12, 2012
Writing Experiment
So, I was late with my entry into a writing contest. But I already had my mental diarrhea and felt it a waste to just toss it. Instead, I will place it here just in case another writing contest asks me to write a 200 word essay using the words "bridge, rust, and wet hair."
The Robin's Light
Thomas’ bloodied leg was a small
price to pay to be alive. Both he and the girl leaned against the rusted gate
catching their breath. He couldn't explain why he had saved her except that
something in her eyes reminded him of home.
Pushing the wet hair from her face, Marina stole
a glance at her opponent. She thought he must be the worst soldier she had ever
met, for he spent the better part of an hour battling her only to save her from
certain death in the river rapids. She sighed as she looked around at the
remains of the Astor Bridge. "No better place to
die," she thought. Running was futile. No Robin had survived this long.
"Will you kill me now, Robin slayer?"
When the initial magnitude of her
statement had registered, Thomas did not respond with words. Instead, he put up
his palm to her revealing the warm blue light. Unable to hold back her tears,
she cast her own azure light back at him. At this moment she was sure of two
things; She was not the only Robin who survived past the age of eighteen, and
hope had been restored in her heart.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Friday Night Dating....the Harris Way
After a long week of triplet doody duty, I was ready to be wined and dined Friday night. I was looking forward to a large popcorn at the movie and maybe, if I was lucky, a smoothie with my man. That is why I was a bit disappointed when he told me he had been asked to be the doctor at an amateur MMA fight at the Hilton. Do you know how desperate I must have been for any activity outside of these four walls to agree to watch grown men beat each other? But, I will tell you how a change of heart occurs.
First, I met Mike at the Hilton where we had a nice sushi dinner before the fight. I love me some raw fish and was immediately in a good mood. When it was time to go inside, there was a huge line to get in....except for us. We had VIP passes around our necks and glided past the masses into the arena which consisted of a bunch of tables around a ring like we were seated around a dance floor at a wedding reception.If there was fighting at a reception, maybe a Kardashian wedding. In the very back there was a partition for the standing room only crowd ( or poor suckers as I lovingly called them). But we had really great seats. We were literally sat at the ring. I could lean in and touch the cage, and I mean cage, this is not an exaggeration. If you don't watch MMA, the fighting is in a circular arena that is fenced in just in case the fighters...oh, I don't know, slam each other against the fence. When I attend ballets and musicals, I like to be up close to see the footwork and appreciate the costumes. Here I was probably going to get a front row whiff of their BO and splashes of their sweat and blood. Then I met Travis, the fight promotor in charge, who asked me if I was ready to step in as the doctor if Mike was not able to. I laughed and, with a false bravado, said, "Yeah, I am more prepared than he is." The rules are that the doc has to examine each fighter immediately after a fight while they are still in the ring, before any further fighting can occur. Tonight there were ten fights scheduled.
From the very first match, I was captivated. Really. My husband does Jiu-Jitsu and I have a rudimentary appreciation for the art of it but here, in the ring, it was a combination of a bar brawl and ballet, if both opponents had just enough knowledge of wrestling, Jiu-Jitsu, and hand to hand combat to make the fighting seem.....beautiful. The fighters were mostly young, zero body fat specimens with 50 % testosterone and 50% adrenaline fueling them on. It wasn't just a fight of braun. Eventually, the guy who had the actual technique of Jiu-Jitsu down and applied it, won. Simple as that. And at the end, Mike would go in and check them out. No problem! Wrong.
During the third match, a fighter was pulverized by his much younger ( 19 yo) , first time at the show, opponent. The day before, at weigh in, Mike said that the 19 yo didn't make weight and that the opponent said if he ran around for an hour he would fight him if he lost two pounds to make it. The youth went out on the beach and ran his heart out while the veteran laughed with Mike about how he was psyching him out, getting him tired for the fight. The newbie did in fact, lose the 2 lbs and was allowed to fight. I don't think the veteran will make that mistake again. I guess you forget that teenagers are just a mystery of self reproducing energy. Mike and I both went back to the lockers to treat the veteran who developed intractable nausea and vomiting from the numerous blows to the kidneys and abdomen he received. I think he must have lacerated his spleen or kidney and was sent to the ER.
The rest of the matches were intense and Mike had to go back to attend to a fighter with a broken jaw. Travis asked if he could proceed with the fight with me there. I figured Mike could bag and tag the guy to the ER pretty quick and said, "Sure." A minute and a half into the fight. The winner submitted his much stronger and faster opponent in an Americana arm bar. "SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!" I thought to myself over and over. I was wearing stiletto sling backs and a peasant blouse. Did I really belong in the ring with these men I would have purposely have crossed the road to avoid? The answer was yes. I grabbed my gloves and checked out both fighters. A nice man with a braided goatee helped me into the cage and another brick wall of a man helped me out.
When the next fight began, Travis came and sat next to me. "I want to stay close for this one. These two have been going at it all night and I almost had to call the police back there. There is a lot of bad blood." I scanned the room for Mike and only found a crowd of spectators. To make my nerves go to high alert even more, these two fighters were the ones Mike had said impressed him the most in the physicals. They were in the super heavyweight category and Mike needed to tape the blood pressure cuff around the fighter with the braided mohawk. "I could wear his watch on my bicep."is how he described the smaller one. The other guy looked like Magilla Gorilla and Fat Albert had a baby. It was almost comical to see this guy in the ring after all of the other fighters. He must have supplemented his diet with yoohoo and ding dongs to get his shape. I thought I knew how this fight was going to end. I was wrong.
The bell rang and mohawk ran like a freight train straight at FA and both of them flew into the cage right in front of me causing me to do the really cool move of lifting my hands up and screaming like a little girl. Travis found this hilarious. Next, FA pushed mohawk around the ring until he stumbled and FA simply fell on him. If I wasn't worried about mohawk's actual ability to breath, this scene was really funny. All you saw was FA splayed over mohawk, not moving at all, while poor mohawk's little legs scissored back and forth. Travis said that this was FA one and only move. That by simply crushing his opponents he would win. So much for training. But just when you thought this was the stupidest fight you could ever see, FA actually pulled his leg over mohawk and put his arm in an arm bar causing him to tap out. I couldn't believe Mike had missed this. It was amazing. But wait, oh crap, I have to go in there, don't I?
I girded up my loins and made the walk into that arena where FA was screaming into the camera and mohawk laid motionless on the floor. The MC, in typical fighting voice said, "In the ring is DRRRR. Sylvia Harris." I walked over to mohawk and felt like this is the feeling people must get when they come across a beached whale in the ocean. He was huge. Unlike a whale, he was all muscle. A whiny, muscular whale. He said he couldn't feel his right arm. "No lie! Hagrid over there just ripped your arm off, dude! What do you expect?" As I crouched there in the ring, Mike showed up and said I couldn't have looked cuter in my heels and capris leaning over, examining the guy. Thanks hon.
What I did come away with was a new respect for cage fighting and like every activity in life I had to find a lesson in it. The fighting was very much a representation of the kinds of people in life. There are the people who fight and fight and fight, expending all their energy and never doing much with their lives. And then there are the ones who take the time to educate themselves and realize life is not always kind to the hard worker but the educated one. They win using the muscle between their ears.
Mike thinks he would like to try his hand at a fight. In all honesty, knowing his knowledge of Jiu-Jitsu, I know he could win but the difference is that all of those fighters last night had nothing to lose. That makes them dangerous....to me at least. But I wouldn't mind being the doc at another fight. I think all the girls there need a better role model than The Girls Next Door. So at the next fight I will parade around the ring in my bikini, holding my doctor bag over my head instead of a ring sign. I will have to really do some self examination of why I loved it so much. But that is for another day.
First, I met Mike at the Hilton where we had a nice sushi dinner before the fight. I love me some raw fish and was immediately in a good mood. When it was time to go inside, there was a huge line to get in....except for us. We had VIP passes around our necks and glided past the masses into the arena which consisted of a bunch of tables around a ring like we were seated around a dance floor at a wedding reception.If there was fighting at a reception, maybe a Kardashian wedding. In the very back there was a partition for the standing room only crowd ( or poor suckers as I lovingly called them). But we had really great seats. We were literally sat at the ring. I could lean in and touch the cage, and I mean cage, this is not an exaggeration. If you don't watch MMA, the fighting is in a circular arena that is fenced in just in case the fighters...oh, I don't know, slam each other against the fence. When I attend ballets and musicals, I like to be up close to see the footwork and appreciate the costumes. Here I was probably going to get a front row whiff of their BO and splashes of their sweat and blood. Then I met Travis, the fight promotor in charge, who asked me if I was ready to step in as the doctor if Mike was not able to. I laughed and, with a false bravado, said, "Yeah, I am more prepared than he is." The rules are that the doc has to examine each fighter immediately after a fight while they are still in the ring, before any further fighting can occur. Tonight there were ten fights scheduled.
From the very first match, I was captivated. Really. My husband does Jiu-Jitsu and I have a rudimentary appreciation for the art of it but here, in the ring, it was a combination of a bar brawl and ballet, if both opponents had just enough knowledge of wrestling, Jiu-Jitsu, and hand to hand combat to make the fighting seem.....beautiful. The fighters were mostly young, zero body fat specimens with 50 % testosterone and 50% adrenaline fueling them on. It wasn't just a fight of braun. Eventually, the guy who had the actual technique of Jiu-Jitsu down and applied it, won. Simple as that. And at the end, Mike would go in and check them out. No problem! Wrong.
During the third match, a fighter was pulverized by his much younger ( 19 yo) , first time at the show, opponent. The day before, at weigh in, Mike said that the 19 yo didn't make weight and that the opponent said if he ran around for an hour he would fight him if he lost two pounds to make it. The youth went out on the beach and ran his heart out while the veteran laughed with Mike about how he was psyching him out, getting him tired for the fight. The newbie did in fact, lose the 2 lbs and was allowed to fight. I don't think the veteran will make that mistake again. I guess you forget that teenagers are just a mystery of self reproducing energy. Mike and I both went back to the lockers to treat the veteran who developed intractable nausea and vomiting from the numerous blows to the kidneys and abdomen he received. I think he must have lacerated his spleen or kidney and was sent to the ER.
The rest of the matches were intense and Mike had to go back to attend to a fighter with a broken jaw. Travis asked if he could proceed with the fight with me there. I figured Mike could bag and tag the guy to the ER pretty quick and said, "Sure." A minute and a half into the fight. The winner submitted his much stronger and faster opponent in an Americana arm bar. "SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!" I thought to myself over and over. I was wearing stiletto sling backs and a peasant blouse. Did I really belong in the ring with these men I would have purposely have crossed the road to avoid? The answer was yes. I grabbed my gloves and checked out both fighters. A nice man with a braided goatee helped me into the cage and another brick wall of a man helped me out.
When the next fight began, Travis came and sat next to me. "I want to stay close for this one. These two have been going at it all night and I almost had to call the police back there. There is a lot of bad blood." I scanned the room for Mike and only found a crowd of spectators. To make my nerves go to high alert even more, these two fighters were the ones Mike had said impressed him the most in the physicals. They were in the super heavyweight category and Mike needed to tape the blood pressure cuff around the fighter with the braided mohawk. "I could wear his watch on my bicep."is how he described the smaller one. The other guy looked like Magilla Gorilla and Fat Albert had a baby. It was almost comical to see this guy in the ring after all of the other fighters. He must have supplemented his diet with yoohoo and ding dongs to get his shape. I thought I knew how this fight was going to end. I was wrong.
The bell rang and mohawk ran like a freight train straight at FA and both of them flew into the cage right in front of me causing me to do the really cool move of lifting my hands up and screaming like a little girl. Travis found this hilarious. Next, FA pushed mohawk around the ring until he stumbled and FA simply fell on him. If I wasn't worried about mohawk's actual ability to breath, this scene was really funny. All you saw was FA splayed over mohawk, not moving at all, while poor mohawk's little legs scissored back and forth. Travis said that this was FA one and only move. That by simply crushing his opponents he would win. So much for training. But just when you thought this was the stupidest fight you could ever see, FA actually pulled his leg over mohawk and put his arm in an arm bar causing him to tap out. I couldn't believe Mike had missed this. It was amazing. But wait, oh crap, I have to go in there, don't I?
I girded up my loins and made the walk into that arena where FA was screaming into the camera and mohawk laid motionless on the floor. The MC, in typical fighting voice said, "In the ring is DRRRR. Sylvia Harris." I walked over to mohawk and felt like this is the feeling people must get when they come across a beached whale in the ocean. He was huge. Unlike a whale, he was all muscle. A whiny, muscular whale. He said he couldn't feel his right arm. "No lie! Hagrid over there just ripped your arm off, dude! What do you expect?" As I crouched there in the ring, Mike showed up and said I couldn't have looked cuter in my heels and capris leaning over, examining the guy. Thanks hon.
What I did come away with was a new respect for cage fighting and like every activity in life I had to find a lesson in it. The fighting was very much a representation of the kinds of people in life. There are the people who fight and fight and fight, expending all their energy and never doing much with their lives. And then there are the ones who take the time to educate themselves and realize life is not always kind to the hard worker but the educated one. They win using the muscle between their ears.
Mike thinks he would like to try his hand at a fight. In all honesty, knowing his knowledge of Jiu-Jitsu, I know he could win but the difference is that all of those fighters last night had nothing to lose. That makes them dangerous....to me at least. But I wouldn't mind being the doc at another fight. I think all the girls there need a better role model than The Girls Next Door. So at the next fight I will parade around the ring in my bikini, holding my doctor bag over my head instead of a ring sign. I will have to really do some self examination of why I loved it so much. But that is for another day.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Triplets at nine months.
Stats at this time: Lbs Hgt
Gisele 19.56 28.50
Beau 18.31 27.25
Carlos 18.38 29.00
It's amazing they survived with how well we manage their hygiene.
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