I am done. Fifty one. "One" and "Done" are rhyming words.

If this were a movie it'd be rated R, so in all good conscience I can't recommend it to anyone. Explicit sex scenes 'n all that ...

But still I had to read it to the end. He was Uma's husband after all ... and he did "acknowledge" her on the acknowledgements page.

Three things I'm thankful for:
1. Had another treatment on my pulled/pinched/tight/groin-ish muscle-nerve this evening. Holy cow. I am in pain tonight.

On my first visit the good doc stretched and pulled every muscle originating from the hip-thigh-groin area. Then he had me lie on my back, bend my knees with my feet flat on the bench, and drop my knees apart. My left, not-sore leg, flopped sideways easily. My right leg? Didn't move an inch. He gave it a pull, and it moved about an inch but I was gasping in horror. "Hmmm. So this is the problem... this one right here."

He slipped his hand under my baggy shorts and with a lotioned thumb, pressed down on the knot that was preventing movement.
"Uh huhhhh" I agreed. That was definitely the one. And this? This was embarassing.

He tried to stretch it but that appendage was not cooperating. Was the muscle really that knotted or was it me being a moron about having my legs flopping open with his hand in my shorts?

In the end, my steel trap legs didn't budge. This doctor, who does these Active Release Tricks on the Seattle Seahawks with noted success - couldn't get my legs apart. He had to get the laser machine out and use rays of red light beams to relax that muscle. By the time I left, his accomplishment was a whole 2 inches of movement.

I went back last Thursday, and had an appointment with his partner. A young pup. Maybe 22? He went through all the leg movements, but thought of a new one ... deep massaging the hip muscle from the TOP. So instead of sliding his hand up from the bottom of my shorts, he reached in from the top. How many ways can a person be mortified? Guess how much I wished I didn't have the extra stomachs resting on my thighs? (Well, when I'm laying on my back, the additional flesh just kinds rolls off and puddles on the table beside me.)

So anyway, back to today, and what I'm thankful for. I enter into the clinic and he is waiting for me, this eager young puppy-doctor. We walk straight to his treatment room and I lie down on the table, face up. He already has lotion (Keri) on, and before I have a chance to breathe, he has bent my right knee, and is pressing his thumb into the burning muscle while he pushes my thigh open.

"What's this? No friendly stretches on other leg parts?" I whine.
"No point. This is the one that is messing you up. Lets get it stretched."
Mama Mia. When a leg doesn't want to move, it doesn't want to move. He did his darndest to work that baby and I'm sure my groin/inner thigh are going to be all bruised tomorrow. But, I was out of there in 9 minutes.

Nine minutes.

And he thinks I'll be better after just a few more sessions.

People. For months I have had very limited mobility and shooting pains in that leg. And all I needed to do was get it stretched and thumbed?

Am I the dumbest blonde that ever lived?

Oh right. The point of this rant. I'm thankful for doctors.

2. I am thankful for bark mulch. What an easy way to clean up a garden. I love standing outside my front door and looking at how nice it looks. I'm shallow that way.

3. I am thankful for Clint. He's sitting in the garage, the newly cleaned garage, sewing. I taught him how to do a running stitch by hand, so he's repairing the rip in his snowboarding jacket's cuff. I love that he knew not to ask me... I'm so not a sewer. (He did ask if I thought Julie would do it for him. I didn't think she'd do it at 1 am, but ... if he could wait, she'd probably help him out.)

As I type out that last item, my mind is going back to when I was a teenager. And how I had an Ome (my dad's mom) who would come over a couple times a month and tackle any clothing repair jobs we had waiting for her. She could fix anything. And after that was done, she'd do the ironing. Right now, sitting here at 1 am, with a pusling inner thigh and a son in the garage - I miss her. And I kinda miss being a teenager. And the whole not-being-able-to-relax-my-leg-muscles reminds me of my honeymoon. Did I just write that?

Shalom,