Estimated reading time: 6 minutes
OK, you got me! It’s 177 days until Christmas!
Today marks the official launch of our highly classified, deeply serious, borderline Olympic-level preparations for the soirée celebrating our country’s 250th birthday.
Before voluntarily submitting ourselves to Peak Performance and their cheerful squad of fitness goblins, we gathered like true patriots: clutching coffee, inhaling our early-morning protein, and plotting our Saturday readiness strategy with the intensity of generals planning a beach landing.
There were schedules. There were snacks. There was mild panic. The republic may or may not be ready, but we are caffeinated.
We are invincible!! Mary whispered, “Watch those hands there, big boy!!”
The plan includes:
- Cleaning the BBQ
- Setting up the tables
- Bringing in and cleaning off the patio chairs
- Finishing decorating.
- Doing the marketing
- Setting up the ice chest/getting ice
- Setting the tables
- Trip to the liquor store
- Making the garden ready to visit and pick
- Getting the pool ready
- Straightening up the patio
It was time to go get beat up—also known as “working out”—, and as I turned the corner toward the garage, there stood Mary, ready for battle.
“I am ready!” she announced.
I had to gently explain that she was, in fact, three days early for whatever event she thought we were attending—and that for today’s punishment, she needed to go back inside and put on the official uniform of suffering: the warm-up suit.
MARY! That is not your exercise outfit!
We got to the gym right on time, sprinting toward the stationary bikes like the Tour de France had called and said, “We’re desperate.”
We mounted those bikes like professional cowgirls and cowboys, and I immediately yelled, “Giddy-up, old steed! Let’s ride the range and catch those no-good rustlers!” at the exact moment a group of high school kids walked by.
There was a long silence.
So naturally, I pointed at Mary and shrugged, as if to say, “She’s been like this all morning.”
After riding five whole miles to absolutely nowhere, we then endured sixty grueling minutes of being pushed, pulled, stretched, twisted, and folded by the staff and their impressive collection of medieval torture devices disguised as exercise equipment.
And that’s why, on Mondays and Wednesdays, I never eat Rice Krispies for breakfast. I want to be certain that any snaps, crackles, or pops are coming from me—and not my cereal.
After the workout, we went to the market and filled a basket with goodies for Saturday. We were excited just thinking about Saturday! One year ago we were all dressed for the event!!
Remember last year! Robin, Dianne, and Dr. Mary from last year!
OK! Groceries are put away—well, at least the cold stuff, because we’re responsible adults up to a point.
Then we changed clothes and headed to Huntington Beach for the every-two-month ear-lowering ceremony, also known to civilians as a haircut.
And today, in honor of this glamorous occasion, we took Precious… because nothing says “fresh trim” like arriving in a fire-engine-red car that looks like it’s either headed to a parade or fleeing one.
We arrived at about 12:30 pm, so we have about 90 minutes to indulge in their specials, since their happy hour runs all day! We decided to sit at the bar and watch all the activities from our perch.
It is located next to our hair salon!
We, being simple folks, settled for a glass of wine to enjoy with all our goodies. We shared stuffed mushrooms, spicy meatballs, a caprese salad, and something with veal!
The Black Trumpet has quite a selection of drinks!
After the meal, we were tempted by the dessert tray as the waitress passed it under our noses. My palate went for the chocolate cake, and Mary shared it with me.
We could NOT pass up dessert!
Then the alarm went off, and we went next door to get clipped.
Just us! I need longer arms when we do a selfie!
I went first, then made the highly strategic decision to return to the Black Trumpet for one more glass of wine and a comfortable chair—because after a haircut, a man needs recovery time.
I spent the next hour with my head buried in my electronic book, serving alongside a Navy team on a missile cruiser somewhere near Central America. We were fighting insurgents, which seemed like a productive use of time compared to, say, folding laundry.
By 3:30 pm, it was time to head home and get ready to go out again. Today was officially a go-go day. We freshened up, performed a record-setting eight-minute turnaround, and headed off to the Elks Lodge, where the Elks would investigate Lee for membership.
Mary and I both vouched for Lee as an excellent candidate, which was brave of us, considering we’ve known her long enough to have evidence both for and against her. Then Lee was taken aside for a private interview with the investigator, while Mary and I did what any supportive sponsors would do: we went to the bar.
There we ran into Bill Capps, who was also sponsoring a new member. We found a table for six and settled in for a fine Elks meal. Lee had steak and a baked potato, while Mary and I split one meal between us—apparently under the mistaken belief that Elks portions are designed for humans and not a small construction crew. We took plenty home.
Lee and I go way back. We were high school friends, and in fact, we went to the prom together sixty-three years ago! At this point, the Elks weren’t just investigating her membership—they were practically dealing with historical archives.
Hello ladies!
Lee and I have kept in touch all this time. Sue and Lee became good friends. Lee joined us at the Elks for many dances. After Sue passed, I introduced Lee to Mary, and that has been fun ever since.
At the Elks!
It was dark when we headed home, and upon arrival, we found the TV room and almost finished the series entitled The Last Ship. At 11:00 pm, we had only three episodes left, but the Sandman won the battle.
What a day! We were on the go continuously for twelve hours straight.
