On our quest for Boggle Bragging rights, we endured many hardships. First, the confusion of finding our way into the parking garage. Then, our confusion of actually pulling the car into the parking space.
We were a bit flustered by the time we got into the registration line for the Boggle Tourny. With our "Swag Bag" of breast cancer paraphernalia in hand, we switched our focus to staking out our table.
Once we settled into a promising spot, we headed for the much bally-hooed snack bar (I always wanted to use that word). There were cookies of many types. There were chips. There even was a cool "energy mix" of peanuts and candy corn. There was turkey jerky. I had to try it. I nearly broke a tooth. Clearly it was a ruse to keep us from competing against the other 27 teams.
Returning to the Boggle arena, our ears were filled with the music of a dulcimer. And there around the corner, was a woman just hacking away at that thing. She really put the "dull" in dulcimer with her tune selection. This wouldn't have been too bad since I'm sure it was well intentioned sharing of her musical gifts. However, once the competition began, she played for us then as well. It was a bit distracting. At least to me. When I said something to Sue about it, she said, "there was music?" Yes, and not just the dulcimer, she had her mandolin and zither as well. At one point, in the midst of the 10 minute 6x6 challenge, she played "Turkey in the Straw." It was a moment reminiscent of prisoner torture by speed metal bands.
Last week was tough for Pat. I won't go into details, but it was clear that drastic measures (beyond a giant pickle) would be needed to get her out of her funk.
Enter Halloween Bingo. Bingo cards were created online. Optimistically, I made enough for all of us to play three games, but we barely finished one. Now...I thought we were playing traditional across, up and down or diagonal bingo...but Pat pushed for the coverall, hence the need for only one card.
Lynne bravely volunteered to drive. Pat managed both her card and Lynne's. Brad and I just sat in the back seat with giant pens. That's not code.
Sadly, Halloween decorations seem to be down this year. Or maybe we bingo'd prematurely. That's happened to me before and boy is it embarrassing.
Anyway, we drove around Alger and Ada scanning the streets for orange lights or other indicators of Halloween decorations.
"To the left" we shouted and Lynne executed a perfect three point turn and off we went. We stopped in front of the decorated houses and started calling out the scene: "Happy Jack O'Lantern" "Pumpkin totem pole" "Graveyard".
Then we gleefully marked the boxes on our bingo cards. Pat of course manned both hers and Lynne's. Who says a parochial school education is worthless?
We took a break midway through for Brad and Lynne to chase kittens. Again, not code.
We exhausted the lawns of Alger and Ada, but still no winner emerged. I needed a Mummy and a couple other things. Brad was in search of a dracula. All Pat needed was a spider made from lawn bags...but no luck.
Finally, worn out from the excitement, we decided that whoever had the most was the winner...and here she is (yes, I did make that hat for the winner. Remember, I'm the crafty one.)
...superglue her fingers together in an attempt to re-adhere the truck's rear view mirror to the windshield. At no time would the cats be helpful in this scenario.
....paced the aisle of a local grocery store for five minutes as she agonized over purchasing instant Jell-o pudding or Swiss Miss pre-made (she bought neither).
...listen to hours upon hours of bad radio dramas.
...become obsessive with the crockpot and crockpot blog, which has resulted in a freezer full of homemade tomato soup (see previous post on garden bounty) and homemade applesauce from reject apples cast off from the neighbor's orchard (and you thought there were only cornfields around here).
...be a reference point for directions on how to get to the local junk yard (and you thought there were only cornfields around here). Passing motorists know to "ask that lady in the pumpkin hat walkin' all them dogs."
...wear a pumpkin hat too much (could there be such a thing?)
...send a book of devotionals and a tomato to a man in an effort to flirt (see future updated post of "Why are we still single?")
Zumba, for those of you don't know, is an aerobic fitness program designed by some dudes in Miami. Or at least that's what Wikipedia tells us. A combination of Latin and other international music, it's draw is loud music with irregular dance steps. It also involves lots of jiggling.
When the music orders, "Shake that thing!" the wrong things on me are shaking. Some moves involve serious hip thrusting, which I have not mastered an I'm on the fence as to whether I want to. As Rachel said, "I don't know whether to just move what I can or just go for it." I compensate with lots of head bopping. My favorite move is the daring Shirley Feeney come-hither-my-Carmine.
Still, we keep up, and there's now a respectable contingent of over 40 somethings (and even a 30 something) keeping up with the 20 somethings.
I have two goals zumba work out. The first is don't flail too much and hurt a fellow zumba-er. The other is don't fall down. Most of the time, it's mission accomplished.
During our most recent zumba workout, a thought occurred to me, "zumba is like marching band." Let me explain. I knew a guy who gathered with his high school buddies each Thanksgiving morning and had a "Turkey Bowl" of tossing around the pigskin like old times. Nearly every activity can be continued in some form beyond high school and college. Even former yearbook editors continue their interests of layout, design, and posting photos of all their popular favorite people on such things as, say, Facebook (not bitter, nope).
And then there's marching band. Who gets all their marching band buddies together, finds a field, and they spell out "Ohio" or weave intricate patterns as the trombones play? If you were in the Marching Band, your glory days have been left on the field like so much stale popcorn.
And so it is with zumba. It is a group activity that could be repeated at fraternity parties and night clubs only if you are with your fellow zumba-ers. Don't worry, I will not be among them. Which reminds me, I do not know any of those people in that picture.