But I logged on to Blogger over an hour ago. Uploaded pictures from my sister's incredible Canon Rebel DSLR camera. Attempted, several times over, to upload photos from Girlfriend II into my iPhotos on this here Mac, but it appears that a) a problem exists with the interface between my two beloved Apple products, or b) I'm wholly inept at troubleshooting computer problems. For sure, selection 'b' figures in there at LEAST a good 69%. (Um, YES, I did pick that number because of its divisibility by the number 3 . . . and with this being my birthday month and all, 1969 IS the year of my entry into this world.)
So, where was I? Oh. Yes. Pictures. In such a procedure, once the upload is completed, then comes viewing the shots on this gorgeous expansive-expensive monitor, along with a foray into editing. At some point, I nod off, in and out . . . and in and out . . . of wakefulness. The house is entirely too quiet. What with Hank snoring on the couch; Panda deep into her elderly dog dozing; my ailing husband sound asleep in our cozy bed; and, Quill-kitty snuggled in the corner chair of my writing room. No TV or guitar or stereo filling the air waves. One daughter in Germany with her husband of 7 1/2 months; my other girl out with her boyfriend of 4 years, playing darts and doubtless enjoying a few cold ones; and, my boy at wrestling camp at his high school, probably passed out in physically exhausted sleep after an afternoon and evening of intensive boot-camp-style practice, with another day of the same tomorrow at 6am. It's entirely too easy for my own fatigue to creep in past my defenses of 'intent to write and post' and settle into my mildly arthritic fingers and this irritating funky left shoulder.
I managed to shake myself out of the intrusive stupor with help from Quill, who arched her flexible self into consciousness and padded across my desk for a scratch-fest before heading to her litter box. Then it was the downloading of the JPG images sent from my phone to e-mail that tripped me up. One of the socially relevant headlines on the MSN homepage heralded Kirstie Alley's revelation of her one true love-of-her-life: of course I had to quickly click on that. Turns out it was John Travolta. I was pretty neutral about the news. Hurricane Sandy's mounting damage tolls in both human life and property had a more profound impact on me.
Which leads me -- in a rather awkward segue that I'll blame on foggy 11:30pm brain -- to the picture series o' the night. You'll see the connection in a hot minute. Hang in there.
It's been a big week for my son and tens of other SHS boys hoping to join the wrestling team. Because of the large turnout this year, the kids must try out. Cuts will be made. So, after school tryouts have been in progress from 3:15pm to 6pm every night, culminating in the overnight I mentioned earlier. Those boys are burning calories at an enviable rate and sweating buckets to boot. The boy has already lost 7 pounds that I didn't think he could spare. I've done my motherly best to ensure he's not denying himself necessary nutrition in the process -- a difficult task when my only son has a mental block against taking ANY advice I have for him. How could I possibly know anything about sports nutrition or exercise? Hmmm.
As booster club VP, it falls upon me to aid in the planning and execution of supplementing such events with food and service, along with the other officers and parent volunteers. Tonight, I pre-cooked 16 pounds of spaghetti per orders from our galvanizing president for a simple meatball/pasta/salad/ drink meal for the hungry candidates (we realized that was about 10 pounds more than we needed). Still, those 2 hours spent filling huge pots, salting the water, boiling, stirring, lifting, draining, rinsing, hand-tossing with olive oil, repeat times two, were enjoyable. I had the system DOWN to a cooking science by the final noodle. And not one steam burn to show for it. A toddler could have taken a bath of sorts in the mass of boiled and cooled semolina strings I hauled to the school cafeteria!
If anyone ever asks you if you've ever seen 16 pounds of spaghetti, you can now honestly answer in the affirmative. Glad I could help you scratch that off your bucket list.
This couple is from New Jersey. Their little family has been in the 'Boro for a little over a month. They just missed the storm of the century in their home state. Most of their family lives up there. Fortunately, though loss of power and other inconveniences have been a problem, no one lost their home or property or life. I think they have mixed feelings about being away from the epicenter as communication with their loved ones is still spotty. They dove right in to volunteering for our wrestling club, coming from a region of the country where wrestling is as important, or more so, than football. That rather large stainless steel crock pot was full of homemade meatballs courtesy of this mom!!!
Some of these boys are cutting weight while others are trying to maintain their present physique. Us noodle servers accommodated as best our tongs would allow! It's difficult for this mama to watch her son use portion control when I know he's grumbly in the tumbly. I promised him a huge dinner at his favorite steak joint AND an entire blackberry cobbler with ice cream at the end of his season.
I'm pretty sure, more than fairly certain, that this man has something to do with the positive attitude of his team. Coach Ramsey cares for the boys and as much as he'd love to see them win, win, WIN, he's even more concerned about their propensity to become productive citizens. He's a teacher first, AP History, and a coach second. Refreshing, I tell ya!
A week of intense practices, with an entire night and next day yet to go, has these boys taking advantage of whatever rest they can squeeze in to their scheduled evening.
You KNOW you're tired when you can sleep on school cafeteria tables and seats!!!
I'm tired all over again just remembering their final workout before dinner . . . UGH!!!
After a rousing round of wrestling 'chess,' the boys huddled up in anticipation of a meal and respite.
Why-y-y, yes-s-s, that IS my son in the Santa boxers. And he calls ME strange?!
I couldn't resist capturing this grin. And what a head of hair. Fresh from the shower and ready for round two, banana energy in tow, not tired one bit . . . or so he said. His face seems to concur.
I saw my son's face go from expressionless to grinning when I walked up and started snapping of iPhone shots of his coach with an ice pack on his foot. I believe coach was asking Zachary something along the lines of, "Your mom takes pictures of everything, doesn't she?"
Tomorrow morning I'll return to the cafeteria to dole out pancakes and bacon and eggs and juice to our fearless wrestlers. I can hardly wait to check out the air quality of the room after an enclosed night with 30+ perspiring teenage boys . . .
How could I leave you without one last shot: this here is three generations of Valdez men, enjoying one another's company on the occasion of my brother-in-law's 40th birthday. That's him on the left. Zachary, of course. Big Jim, the patriarch. And my handsome hubby on the right. Good guys, all.
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