"Don't panic."

That was the title of the workshop on Packing for the 3-Day that I attended at the 3-Day Expo on Saturday in King of Prussia.

(Sidebar: I happened to spend 4th through 6th grade living in Valley Forge, about five minutes from the hotel where the 3-Day Expo was located. I've driven around there since I've lived in Delaware, but still ... it was cool.)

But -- I have to say: now that I've been to the Expo, which was actually pretty cool, I'm totally panicking. A lot. Seriously.

And let me tell you why.

First, because I'm afraid that now that my back is a hot mess, and preventing me from walking as much as I should be -- at least till I get dosed with another round of steroids injected into my spinal column (and no, that doesn't make me nervous ... should it?) -- that I'm going to DIE midway through Day 1.

Hopefully the injections will get scheduled soon -- my appointment with the pain management doc is on 8/3, and I'm not sure how I'm going to make it till then. I was completely unpleasant to be around at work today, 'cause taking the big drugs at work makes me not-so-alert, and I've got shit to do. In the meantime, while there's shooting pain running down my right leg and my back is throbbing, steer clear.

[Note: I managed to herniate two discs a little more than two years ago -- May '07 -- and had very successful 'selective nerve root block' injections in September '07. They're wearing off -- but I'm totally lucky that they've lasted this long: the doc said at the time that they might only last 6 months!]

Second, I'm now terrified of blisters. Have you had any blisters, you ask? No. But still. The doctor giving the presentation on 'Be Kind to Your Body' scared the living daylights out of me. You're supposed to do *something* with Vaseline -- only as much as you would put on your lips -- but I'm not sure what. Rub it on your feet, perhaps, which seems ... gross.

Third, I do *not* have the equipment I need for this expedition. I need a large duffel bag, capable of holding my sleeping bag, sleeping pad, clothing, toiletries, etc., which must weigh in at no more than 35 pounds. I need more walking attire. I need more socks, many more pairs of socks. I need a visor. I need some 3-Day attire -- I don't even have anything pink!

I also should apparently be getting used to drinking Gatorade -- which I hate -- alternately with my water while walking. Gatorade tastes like sweat. Seriously. Ugh.

So -- and I'm sure this is normal: I'm now TOTALLY FREAKED OUT about walking 60 miles in three days, less than three months from now.

I still have a little bit of money left to raise (please click the widget at right to give, and if you've already given -- you're awesome, and thank you!), but mostly, I am now officially terrified of what I probably should've been worried about all along.

When cooler heads prevail, remind me to tell you more about having dessert on Saturday evening at Betty's Speakeasy in Center City, Philadelphia -- a fabulous new bakery & confectionery that Josh's roommate Susan works at. Liz, the owner, is lovely, and the fudge & treats are amazing. Try the lavender mint fudge, and ask what Susan's 'scone of the day' is!

Things I know ...

- that dark chocolate mini Reese's cups exist, and are FAR superior to their milk chocolate buddies.

- that Jane Austen is far better with a side of zombies (Seriously. You've got to read 'Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.' OMG. It's high-larious. Seth Grahame-Smith is the mastermind behind this work of hysterical brilliance.)

- that pearls aren't so much a punchline when you rock whatever you're doing while wearing them.

- that chocolate chip pancakes and Dawson's Creek are sure to cure most anything that ails you.

- that I really, really (did I say 'really?') want to open a bakery, even more so after seeing J.'s great photos from The Bombon Cafe in Chicago's ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood.

- that I've walked so much over the past few months that the 10-mile walk on Saturday morning before the 3-Day Expo in King of Prussia is not deterring me from making plans to wander around Philly later that afternoon.

- that I need more sleep than I'm getting currently.

- that two years is a fabulous amount of time for the selective nerve root block injections to last in eliminating pain from a herniated disc, and having to think about another round of them is not that stressful.

The most to say ...

Why is it that when you (and yes, by 'you,' I really mean 'I') have the most to say to someone or about something, the best that comes out is 'I don't know?'

But I *do* know. I have a whole dissertation on the topic! Geez, Katie, just spit it out already!

In emotionally unrelated news, my back hurts after my walk this morning. I think I twisted funny or something -- though, after the herniated disc drama of 2007, it doesn't really even take a twist to cause a potential problem. I'm hoping that being quiet & gentle (despite the shopping for group home decor that I need to go and do) -- and taking Advil like it's my job -- will get me back on track, without the need for more advanced intervention.

But first -- a shout-out to Walt's Flavor-Crisp Chicken and their amazing sweet potato pie.

Alright -- going to get that shopping done. Yuppie holy trinity: Target, Pier One & IKEA, here I come!

Wow.

So -- June was not an exceptionally chatty month here on the old blog ... which is funny, because I feel like a) there's been a lot going on, and b) I've had a lot to say about it. 

The 'Wow.' in the title, however, refers not to the suspicious lack of postings (and btw, Jen Lancaster was weeks without posting, too -- so there! Definitely check out her link to 'why George R. R. Martin is not your bitch,' while you're over there.) and your presumed happiness at my resurfacing, but to the eight-mile training walk that I rocked this morning.

I've been fairly decent about keeping up with my walking, but have definitely drifted somewhat from the schedule (because, you see, of the lots of things going on). I was totally worried about the walk this morning (and almost convinced myself to skip it -- twice), but I thought that at the very least, I'd show up, and see how it went. 

It was great! I really, really like walking with other 3-Day walkers, especially women who have done the 3-Day before. It's great to hear what the experience was like for them, and it's also totally reassuring to meet people who have *done* this, and are doing it again.

But -- let me say this: eight miles is a long way. Depending on how you might know me, let me break this down into different geographic examples for your reference.

- Eight miles is roughly the distance from Chicopee to the Orchards Golf Course.

- Eight miles is roughly the distance from my mom's house to Stone Belt -- via a very circuitous route through town on Tapp, then Walnut, then 3rd Street, then up the by-pass.

- Eight miles is approximately the distance from my house to the Christiana Mall (Delaware's finest tax-free shopping!). 

- Eight miles is just slightly less than walking from the Philadelphia Art Museum to the IKEA on Columbus Blvd.

At any rate -- and hopefully you get the picture -- eight miles is more than we typically think of as 'walking distance.' But it was totally great.

And I'm doing six more miles tomorrow. Meet me at Delcastle! :) Oh -- and please: click on one of the widgets at right, and give your spare change to help me reach my goal and help Susan G. Komen throw money in the right direction -- toward finding a cure!

Needing to say ...

something.

I generally like to post happy, heart-warming things, thus sending a little more good humour and kindness out into the universe. And I have a few of those things to mention. Later.

Right now, though, I'd like to climb up on my soapbox, and yet again say how very disappointed I am in the Board of Directors of the Girl Scouts of Tulip Trace Council. I am overwhelmingly disheartened by their too-little, too-late approach to involvement, stewardship and oversight, and completely disgusted by the board president and her utter disregard for the well-being of the girls served in those 11 counties in southeastern Indiana.

That doesn't even begin to capture how I'm feeling about these people, some of whom I've known for years, and had a lot of faith in, and their actions over the past 90 days (and inaction over the past three years) -- but I guess as Forrest Gump would say, "that's all I have to say about that." (*puts soapbox away ... for now ... *)

In happier news, I finally picked my books for my co-worker's baby -- Make Way for Ducklings by Robert McCloskey, and If I Ran the Circus by Dr. Seuss. These are both childhood favorites, and I found a particularly compelling quotation from one of my favorite writers, Anna Quindlen, to add to the inscription in the Seuss book:

'I would be the most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.'

Speaking of which, I need more. Bookshelves, that is. 

And Dr. Seuss.

I'll close here with one of my favorite passages from my very favorite Dr. Seuss story, If I Ran the Circus.

'Ei! Ei! What a circus! My Circus McGurkus!

My workers love work. They say, "Work us! Please work us!

We'll work and we'll work up so many surprises

You'd never see half if you had forty eyeses!"'

Don't you wish *your* workers felt that good about their jobs?

A proper celebration

My friend C. is experiencing a bit of an existential dilemma. Faced with a difficult and unexpected transition, she's having to carve out a new plan for herself, and that's definitely made the last few months stressful. Last night was the night-before-her-last-day at her current job, and being nothing if not helpful, I had decided several months ago to cheer her out of any pending gloom by providing the ultimate in late-90s-women's-college-celebratory-traditions, tickets to an Indigo Girls concert.

[Disclaimer: okay, so my motives were not *entirely* unselfish; cliched or not, the Indigo Girls happen to be my very, very favorite musical group, and it's been awhile since I've seen them live ... and they just happened to be performing at Wolftrap in Vienna, VA -- a hop, skip and jump down the Beltway from my dear friend's home.]

However -- no matter the reason (my heart or my shoes, and what-not), as we headed to Wolftrap last night, both of us were exhausted from work, and just generally feeling not so much like being out late on a school night. Because we're old. We were totally talking ourselves into going and being excited about it. 

But ... we got ourselves to the show, and I can speak for both of us in saying that we are so glad we did. First -- Matt Nathanson was the opener, and he absolutely rocked. He's cute, funny & chatty -- all of which are highly desirable in an opening band -- and he started off by dedicating a song to Miley Cyrus, and asking the ASL interpreters if they would sign dirty things. Love it.

Somewhere in the middle of falling in love with Matt Nathanson, the skies opened up and it started to rain. And then it started to pour. Cats, dogs and giraffes. Giant, ridiculous, Midwestern-style thunderstorms. Wolftrap is an open-air pavilion with pavilion & lawn seating. We had front orchestra seats, but as the storm kicked up and the rain started to blow in, it felt more like we were on the Maid of the Mist than sitting in a performing arts venue. Luckily, we were sitting by some pretty terrific folks who were better prepared for the elements, and let us scoot to the middle of the row, from the aisle. 

I've got to say -- Indigo Girls fans are a fiercely loyal bunch, and very few people gave up and left -- even those hale & hearty souls sitting on the lawn, huddling under ponchos and umbrellas. The Indigo Girls themselves were awesome -- and their new accompanist, Julie Wolf, is insanely hot -- their new music is great, and they played enough of their old standbys to keep me happy. 

Most importantly, though, I think for a few minutes, C. and I both forgot that we're grown-ups with serious, important lives, and remembered what it felt like to be in college, so sure that everything would work out for the best, and not beginning to imagine what life would be like at 30. For a few minutes, we were 19 again, just lost in the music, singing along and feeling full of hope and happiness. We forgot that change is hard and transition can be sad, and just enjoyed each other's company, and the company of the thousand or so other happy, singing-along fans.

That, my dears, is what I call a proper celebration.

Panic at 0620

My phone rang at 6:20 this morning. It wasn't my work phone, and jolted out of a dead sleep, I recognized the ring-tone, being one of those vaguely lazy "I like to know who's calling before I bother getting up" (okay, totally lazy) folks that sets ring-tones for most of the frequent callers in her life. 

It wasn't someone who should usually be calling at that hour. (Is there anyone who *should* be calling at 6:20 on a Saturday morning? I think perhaps not.)

Of course, I instantly went into crisis mode, assuming the worst and trying to figure out how quickly I could get to Bloomington (because of course something must be wrong with Mom. It's not. She's fine. She's probably sleeping. It's early still.). 

I called back immediately, not waiting for the voicemail to come through, and got the on-the-other-line beep for what seemed like an eternity. 

At this point, I'm wide awake, irritated as hell, and heading toward panic, for real for real.

I sent a "what's wrong?" text.

I continued the compulsive redialing.

Finally, I get regular ringing. The owner of the cell phone picks up. I immediately demand "what's wrong?"

Um, yeah. Her bag called me of its own accord. I'm touched. I'm flattered. I'm *going back to bed.*

Ah, the miracle of modern technology -- making our lives easier. ;)