A lazy morning

This is one of the joys of playing hooky, day 3.

I was half awake, lying in bed, when my son woke up and he wandered, sleepily into my room. I opened my arms and picked him up to snuggle him in my bed, just like the good old days when he was a baby and he needed was a good snuggle.

After a while, he fussed around, finally deciding my belly would make a good pillow and he lay there for the longest time, staring at the tree outside my window, listening to the leaves rustle.

Every now and then, he stretched his body, trying to force those last bits of slumber from his limbs. It reminded me a lot of when he was a newborn and he contorted his little body every which way to wake up.

He turned to me and asked, "Mommy, where are we going today?"

"Nowhere, sweetie," I whispered. "We have nothing to do today."

On the mend

I had the perfect blog entry planned for my stint at the Daytona 500 but then my stomach rebelled.
Or at least my stomach tried to fight against the flu virus that attacked it.
Then the flu won and three days later, I am still not quite 100 percent functional, hence my recent absence.
The good news is that no one in my family has this, which makes me suspicious that it was something in particular that I ate at the track.
The other good news is that I have a wonderful mother-in-law who has allowed me rest by taking care of my son for extended lengths of time.
You'll be hearing no mother-in-law jokes from me. Maybe never.

Odd couples

I love my job for the odd synchronicities that simply happen.

This week, I found myself writing two stories, related to auto racing, which both mention Elizabeth Taylor.

I would be hard pressed to find even one story, in my 12 years of full-time journalism, in which I had to mention the violet-blue-eyed, often married and often divorced movie star. Suddenly, I have two.

This Sunday, the "Great American Race" kicks off the stock-car racing season, so this week I had to do my semi-annual stint at the Speedway. That I know anything about restrictor plates or the rivalry between No. 8 and No. 24 is the result of my occupation, not any preoccupation of mine.

But I don't cover the sport itself, but the non-sports news around it. It's like covering the Olympics, not to tell people who won gold, silver and bronze, but to write about the host city, the economic impact of the Games, or the atmosphere of the Olympic village.

So my racing repertoire includes a story about a new documentary on the early years of NASCAR and a story about a new men's fragrance named after The Big Race (and, no, it does not smell like burning rubber though the top is meant to resemble a tire).

The documentary is produced by Liz Taylor's ex-stepson and narrated by her husband No. 6 (or 7 depending how you count Richard Burton). The fragrance is produced by the same company that sells her perfume.

Sheer synchronicity.

You can't make this stuff up.

Lounging at Nana's

Poor pooch

As this AP photo by Jessica Hill illustrates, blizzards are difficult.
I certainly don't miss having to struggle through THAT much snow.
Truth be told, my move to Florida was precipitated by the blizzard of 1996.

A hop, skip and a crawl

That about describes my mobility for this weekend.
And that is probably what you'd expect for someone with a sprained ankle.

If you knew me when, you'd remember there was a time in my life when I was very prone to ankle sprains. At least one every couple of weeks. But it was always my right ankle.

This time it was my left ankle and the ankle faltered during circumstances that will sure to grow into legend with each telling.

It was Friday night, during my Tai Chi school's Chinese New Year's Party. There was much stress leading into the event. After all, it is not easy to perform in front of 200 people, including some hard-core martial artists, wearing a purple outfit I have not worn in 8 or 9 years.

But the performance went well and I was deep into my party mode, since the boys stayed home. There were a few glasses of wine, more classic rock than I'd care to admit, and a circle of friends who were apparently just as drunk and just as eager to let loose. I had been dancing for at least an hour, I think, when I stepped backwards into the foot of one of the Kung Fu students. My ankle wobbled like jello and suddenly I was feeling a sensation I had not experienced in years.

Since then, I have managed to navigate around the house on my knees, all the easier to level with my three-year-old. I only wish that I had gotten my old knee pads out, to save me from the rug burn and the bruises. I have also spent a lot of time balancing myself on my right foot, which should hopefully make for an outstanding crane stance at the appropriate time. (If you don't know what that last sentence means, think the Karate Kid and his martial arts pose in silhouette.)

Hiatus

I think this is one of the difficulties of blogging - finding that right nugget of anecdote that will make the perfect web posting.
This explains why I haven't posted much in a while. I'm just sailing along in my life at the moment with my ups and downs, with no great revelations.
Just living.
The family's fine. Work is busy and I've been cooking some great meals.
I guess the biggest thing right now is prepping for our annual Chinese New Year celebration.
My martial arts school hosts a big party for the Lunar New Year, complete with a lion dance and a grand display of Kung Fu and Tai Chi.
So at the moment, I'm a bit preoccupied trying to perfect my routines for the big night.
Just going with the flow.