Racing Report
Cosmic Crown, nee Juno, went to the gate for the first time Saturday in the 13th race at Calder. The preponderance of the field was first-time starters so when the doors opened it was every horse for herself and Cosmic Crown got banged around a bit in the early going, sacrificing position. She pulled steadily forward, however, eventually catching the favorite who was leading most of the way and passing her in the stretch, only to have that horse come back in the middle of the racetrack and beat her a half-length at the wire. Juno finished second, 1 ¼ lengths in front of the third horse. If you bet her across the board, you did alright—she went off at longest odds of the eleven in the race, 38-1. We’re thrilled at the result.
Irana stood in for us at the race. She had the colors on and was already for her win circle picture. When Juno took the lead in the stretch, Irana headed downstairs for the ceremony, but alas, ‘twas not to be. This makes about the tenth time Irana has been there for a second or third place result. Cosmic Crown should improve with more distance and will come back at 5 ½ or 6 furlongs early next month.
Super Chief, formerly Wilson, worked a half-mile in 49.2 last Saturday, 5th best of 45 at the distance. Elf ships to Calder Monday. The whole circle game starts all over again next week when the yearlings ship off to start their own careers.
The Evil Dissipation Blues
Nothing new to report, getting old is a drag. Despite your best efforts, bad stuff keeps happening to your body. After 70 years of no back problems, now I’ve got back problems. For about three months now, minor glitches have been appearing. If they’re bad enough, I take time off from lifting weights and just run at the gym. I tried that the other day. I was walking on the treadmill at a pretty good clip and I noticed I was breathing a little harder than usual so I thought I’d shake it up and start jogging—only about 5 mph. If this seems dumb to you, realize that walking at 4.5 mph requires more effort than jogging at 5 mph. Anyway, after a few minutes of this, some lower back muscles became cranky and started going into spasm mode. I grabbed the bar on the front of the machine and dragged myself off. Okay, I thought, I’ll go downstairs and get into the Jacuzzi, that should help. Maybe it would have if I could have managed to get my shoes and socks off, but no luck there. Then I couldn’t even stand up to get back to the car. I had visions of living out the rest of my life in the gym locker room while friendly members brought by the occasional sandwich. At least they have TV. Eventually, agonizingly, I got up and out of there and made it home with my car seat adjusted to a unique position. Now what?
Siobhan’s massage guy, Gordon, has been helping her with her frozen shoulder with good result so I tried a session with him. If you have visions of structural massage being an hour-and-a-half of pleasant back-rubbing, you haven’t met Gordon, who is not exactly a rolfer but is not there to play patty-cake either. I felt better upon leaving but was a long way from being fixed. Oddly, most people with back problems get some relief in bed. That was the worst place for me. I got to where walking around was okay and sitting with back support was tolerable but I couldn’t lay down for long—or move around in bed—without it killing me. Fortunately, I have Percocet and Vicodin left over from a couple of kidney stone bouts two years back so I used them to sleep for the first two nights. Not wanting to become a hopeless pain pill junkie like Doctor House, I switched to Robaxin, a muscle-relaxer, the third day. I’m doing stretching excercises, which help, and will report to the physical therapy people next week. Meanwhile, I’ve started back walking at the gym, but slowly. I’m up to a half-hour at three mph. Big whoop.
I’ve also got more wonderful skin cancer removals scheduled, as mentioned earlier, but I don’t have any arthritis yet. That’s reserved for Siobhan, who knits to keep it at bay. If anybody needs any socks, please let us know because they are piling up in the hallway. I’m hoping I never have to resort to knitting because the results of my work will be unidentifiable.
At least we’re not as bad off as our neighbor, Allen, who requires frequent botox shots to keep his eyes from blinking incessantly. Or other friends with various forms of cancer or heart disease. I guess we can put up with a few back problems, a little arthritis, but we’d much prefer to go back to being 25 again. Or even 50, for that matter. Short of that, I guess I’ll just have to wait for one of those beneficent UFO’s to pick me up and take me to a planet where you never age. Kinda like Hollywood.
Larry, The Fedex Man (And Sink Inspector)
Siobhan’s big webinar was a smash hit even if YOU didn’t watch it so now we’re getting thousands of blood samples a day to analyze. Well, maybe not thousands, but lots. They come in from everywhere (even Snohomish, Washington) and by all means, mail, UPS, whatever. And, of course, many of them are delivered by Larry, the Fedex Man, who has become pretty much a member of the family. The other day, Larry showed up when we weren’t home and was greeted by Siobhan’s visiting brother, Stuart, and his wife, Mary. Larry, who reads his blog religiously, asked how the sink installation was going, so, of course, Stuart (the installer) brought him inside to inspect his handiwork. To the best of our knowledge, Larry asserted his approval and went on his way.
We think Larry has a pretty good job. He gets to drive around town and schmooze with his customers and he gets a pretty good salary to do it. And lately we’ve noticed Larry has been getting a lot of days off. “You would, too, if you worked for Fedex for a hundred years,” says Larry, who we believe to be exaggerating a smidge. When Larry doesn’t come by, the substitute drivers do a perfectly good job of delivering our packages but we don’t get any enlightened conversation on the Gators, politics (Larry is a Ron Paul man) or the universe in general. Worse even, China, our Rottweiler, does not get her daily Larry biscuit. On these occasions, she looks at me with that forlorn look that only Rottweilers can provide, and wonders “Where the hell is Larry?” Here at the Ellison/Killeen/China household, we don’t take our favorite delivery man for granted.
Famous In A Small Town (Lambert & Howard)
They say life is so much sweeter
Through the telephoto lens of fame.
Around here you get just as much attention
Cheerin' at the high school football game.
I dreamed of going to Nashville,
Put my money down and placed my bet
But I just got the first buck of the season;
I made the front page of the Turnertown Gazette
Every last one, route one, rural hearts got a story to tell.
Every grandma, in law, ex girlfriend
Maybe knows it just a little too well.
Whether you're late for church or you're stuck in jail,
Hey words gonna get around;
Everybody dies famous in a small town.
Let's go on down to the quick stop,
Wear your yellow shades
And I'll put on my tight jeans
And we'll just spend the weekend burnin' rubber
And we'll let em point and stare in disbelief.
Every last one, route one, rural hearts got a story to tell
Every grandma, in law, ex girlfriend
Maybe knows it just a little too well.
Whether you're late for church or you're stuck in jail,
Hey words gonna get around;
Everybody dies famous in a small town.
Everybody dies famous in a small town.
A Day In The Life—Visiting Williston
Among my many arduous daily tasks is that of nightly gate-closer. We have an electric gate which is kept open during the day because of all the blood deliveries so someone has to go out each night around seven, push the magic button and close the gate, lest infidels creep in, invade Siobhan’s lab and purloin all of her valuable microscopes. It could happen. We originally thought that China might be an infidel-discourager and she would, too, but the price would be too high. As illustrated in an earlier episode, China’s appetite for wandering armadillos, raccoons and possums would create a bloody morning panorama for Bill and Siobhan to clean up if she were left out at night. Anyway, I usually jump into Siobhan’s truck (which always has the keys inside) to go and close the gate, as I did this particular night.
Next morning, the truck wouldn’t start. You know whose fault THIS was going to be. Even though Bill has faithfully turned the key to the off position for 25 long years, it must be his fault.
“You know how this relationship works,” Siobhan says. “If anything goes wrong around here, it’s your fault.”
Anyway, we put the truck on a quick charge and drove to Williston to get hay, groceries and some form of hardware. Williston, about 2500 souls strong and ten minutes away, is the nearest town to our house. Our bank is there as are three hardware stores, a McDonald’s and a Subway, not to mention two grocery stores, Hitchcock’s and Winn-Dixie. When we got to the hay place, I told Siobhan to turn the engine off so we could see if it would start up again. If not, we had bright, shiny jumper cables and there is always somebody at a hay place to give you a jump. The truck started up right away. We drove over to the Winn-Dixie, went in and got our stuff. Turned the key this time and nothing.
Now, one of the advantages of living in a small town is that if you have a problem, everybody wants to help. Like Eddie the plumber. Eddie is a middle-aged bald guy with a long Santa Claus beard. I knew he was “Eddie The Plumber” because it said so on the outside of his van. In Williston, you won’t find businesses like the ”McCorkle Plumbing Contractors,” for instance. In Williston, you get Eddie the plumber. Unfortunately, despite Eddie’s best efforts, we couldn’t get the truck started. Eddie and I moved the jumper cables everywhere. Eddie revved his engine. Eddie surveyed the situation with a serious eye. And Eddie finally pronounced, “This battery ain’t worth a damn. It’s not just run down, it’s run out.” Hot damn, this must mean it’s not my fault, right?
Fortunately for us, right next to the Winn-Dixie there is an auto parts place. And, if it is not too complicated an endeavor, the auto parts place will come right out and put on your new windshield wipers or install your new battery. Halfway through the jumper cable adventures of Bill and Eddie, Siobhan made off for the auto parts store. Patience is not Siobhan’s strong suit, which is a sad fact because she never got to hear Eddie’s opinion of her years-old battery. While I waited for her to come back, no less than half a dozen people, noticing the hood up, came over to offer assistance, render opinions or just hang around while their wives shopped. Most of them knew one another so they renewed acquaintances around the disabled vehicle.
“How’s your son doin, Herbert?”
“Mighty fine, Cedric. He’s over there in th’ Koo-wait. Not drawin’ any fire, though.”
“Good to hear.”
Siobhan came back with Wally in tow. Wally was pushing a cart with a shiny new battery on top and several socket wrenches scattered about. “Howdy, Wally,” greeted everybody in the crowd.
“Howdy, boys,” replied Wally. Things went okay for a couple of minutes, whereupon Wally discovered that somebody had removed a couple of wrenches from his cart. This can make a battery-repair man very cranky, but fortunately the boys in the crowd were prepared.
“Need a socket? What number you need there? I got that over in my truck, hold on, now.”
And that’s how things get done in small towns. Wally promised to check Siobhan’s battery for general worthlessness and I told him I’d call him in fifteen. When I did, he confirmed Eddie’s earlier opinion. “Deader’n the Georgia football program,” he said. I quickly relayed this important information to Siobhan.
“You paid him off,” she said.
This hurt my feelings. “You know,” I told her, “if it weren’t for the hot monkey sex, I might just pack up my stuff and mosey on down the road.” She regarded this remark with a sneer.
“Be quiet,” she said, “and eat your banana.”
That’s all, folks….
