ALNM: 501
exercise: walking on the beach

I was lying in bed this morning, awake but not wanting to get up, when Ken said, “For our walk today, let’s go to the beach.” That is so cool on so many levels, I can’t begin to list them all. Meanwhile, my abs really hurt today, so I guess we’ll be taking a break from those exercises today.

Our home warranty rocks. We added the pool to it this year, and had them send someone out to look at the pool filter. That cost $45, I think. The upshoot is, we’re getting a whole new filter.

Ken also sold three mirrors from his old bike for $125, so we’re definitely ahead. ;-)

We had a lovely walk on the beach in Seal Beach, to the seawall and back. I have no idea how far it actually was. My new goal is to do it without huffing and puffing. I’m so sadly out of shape. For crying out loud, I used to run 3–5 miles/day! This is just pathetic. Meanwhile, my abs have decided to hurt more before they get better. Still, they’re not as bad as one time in law school when I apparently ripped every muscle from the bottom of my ribcage to my hips. Ohhhh, that was bad. (It’s funny now, and really, it almost was then, too.)

Heh. We actually got a citation in the mail today for having an overgrown lawn. Now, it’s not terribly overgrown; it’s not even close to knee-high. But it’s admittedly raggedy. This is largely because we bought a lawn mower for $25 from a neighbour having a garage sale when we first got here, and it doesn’t work well. (It works better now that Ken has taken it entirely apart and put it back together, though.) I’ve repeatedly told Ken that if he starts it for me (because I just don’t have the upper-body strength to wrassle it into submission), I’ll happily mow the lawn. Gods know I mowed around acres of trees growing up, because I was allowed to only use the dangerous push mower, never the riding lawn mower. (Remind me to tell ya’ll about the time I slipped and fell, with the mower higher on the hill than I was. That was an adrenaline-pumping few moments.) Anyway, for reasons I can’t fathom, Ken hasn’t taken me up on the offer. He gets the mower started and mows our two small bits of greenery in front (we have a wide, semicircular cement drive) and the strip along the side (we’re on a corner). But not often enough for the lawn police. Or maybe we were busted by the crack house across the street, because they think we busted them for having cars on the lawn. (They usually have about 8 cars in various stages of disrepair.)

We have a truly lovely neighbourhood, except for the crack house. I’ll note that their lawn is always trimmed perfectly. I wonder if we’re becoming known as crack house II? Nah. We’re the weird people who leave the house early on Saturday mornings dressed in bizarre clothing. Who have an unacceptably unmanicured lawn.

Today’s Forgotten English Word: pooster: to splash among water; to toil in mud and filth. (1911)