Andy showed us his Pulgas Ridge hike, with an off-leash dog park in the middle.

Andy told us about a hill in the park that he and the dogs run up. It's an insane hill. They run up, rest, walk down and run up again. Last week was a slow week, they managed only two sprints up the hill. Their record is five.

I'd be happy with one.

Shadow and Kris

Bella and Blue

Blue and his indestructo disc

As I exited the shower this morning, Kris looked at me and asked, "Did I do that?" pointing to the quarter-dollar sized bruise on my back side where I couldn't really see it.

After some amazing acrobatic maneuvering, I finally saw what he was talking about. "Probably not, they're all over the place. Here, look here. And here." I showed him my slew of bruises.

"Back to that again, are we?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

I wish I knew why things like this happened. I have times when it seems I'm nearly covered in bruises, where touching something makes me bruise, and other periods when I can practically break ribs and not have a mark on me.

I wonder if it's diet related.

Given the amount of yard work Kris and I have, I decided to host a Tom Sawyer event of sorts: less trick our friends into helping us with the yard, and more bribe them into helping us. We sent out an email inviting everyone over for $20 an hour to help us with our yard.

Only Crystal and Shirley took us up on that bribe.

They were the only two we needed. They rocked.

Recalling the front and back yards are all foot high grasses and weeds, and that we needed to remove the rocks we put into the parkway last year at our toil of tears (references to which are oddly missing here and in my photo album), because car doors open into them when parked next to our curb. The weeks were certainly the biggest task.

I went with James to a composting workshop, so, as Crystal said, I was the smartest woman ever: I organized a work party, then left before I had to do any work. I brought back a compost bin, which we used at the end of the day. Shirley and Crystal pulled weeds from the front yard, the back yard, the garden and the side yard. They pulled up so much green material, we had enough for two compost bin and two ginormous compost piles. Well, maybe three.

The highlight of the day was when I asked Shirley to help me turn the compost pile. I explained what we were doing, rotating a bin that's been going for two weeks, and building a new one. When we rotated, however, we were going to remove the grubs that were in the middle of the pile. After I had pulled out three, Crystal came over to help us with the rotation. A few moments last, Kris came over to watch, and help with the grubs.

We collected a lot:

Shirley and Crystal were good humoured about it:

Kris commented that the mass of squirming grubs was alternating a vision of the apocalypse and a train wreck. In neither case, could we really take our eyes off of the mass.

It was gross.

As close as I can remember the conversation:

"Hi, Megan!"

"Hi, Kitt!"

... the usual pleasantries ...

"For communal dinner, I brought over those tiny little sausages."

"Oh, I don't recall them."

"Well, don't throw them out!"

"Heh, I won't. "

"Well, Mark is coming over tomorrow for some show. I was wondering if you could coordinate the sausage transfer with him."

...

"You want me to coordinate the sausage transfer?"

"Yes."

"That's a great post title. You know, I might have to change my blog name to 'Coordinating the sausage transfer.'"

Normal body temperature is 98.6° The problem with "normal" however, is that normal is a guideline, and very, very few people are truly normal. I never truly wanted to be normal except for a couple of seriously misguided, adolescent years, when "normal" meant having friends. Being extraordinary means you have a life worth living.

There are, however, expections to the desire not to be normal. Body temperature may or may not be one, I haven't quite decided.

My normal body temperature is 97.6°, where "normal" in this case is defined as the temperature I get most often if I check my temperature when I'm not sick, not exercising, not just waking up and not eating. Having done this measurement a half dozen times, all with the same result, I feel comfortable in saying my normal body temperature is 97.6°

So, when I had my second migraine of the month today, I thought about raising my body temperature to see if that would help speed the thing away.

I arrived home from class around 3:30, and noticed the light in the living room was a little odd. I didn't think much past that thought about it, which cracks me up in retrospect. How many times have I gone blind with these things, each one starting the same way? How many times have I thought, "Huh? The light looks odd?" or "Everything is in really sharp focus?" or "WTF? The door is f***ing open!" Oh, wait, that last one was just one time.

At 3:45 I was half blind, sending a note to Kris that I wouldn't make practice that evening, and stumbing to the bed, dragging Bella with me. If I was going to sleep, I damn well sure was going to have a warm dog in the bed with me.

I woke up two hours later, and tried to do something, anything productive, only to have spots reform at 6:45. My first thought was, go to sleep, avoid what's coming. My second thought was, stop, this is a learned response. The shivering, the chills, the shudders, all of these I've learned over the years suffering through migraines. How about trying a proactive approach?

One of the beliefs around migraines is that the headache is caused a constriction of blood vessels which causes blood to leave the extremities, only to rush back into the head when the blood vessels later dialate. If I can heat my hands and feet and head, the theory goes, the blood won't rush back, and the pounding headache won't trigger.

Of course, lots of pain killers can do the same trick.

I took a bath as hot as I could stand the water, then turned it up higher. I started with a shower and a closed drain, sitting down and switching the water once I was standing in 4" of water. After staying in the water, only half of which I could see at this point, for about fifteen minutes, I stood up, toweled off, and left. The visual symptoms didn't disappear quickly, but I had successfully stayed awake through an entire aura.

I'll take the small victory.

When I checked my body temperature again, I was feeling feverish. Clearly I had succeeded in raising my body temperature, but by how much? Did I manage 100°? How about 99°? Even 99° would be good, I thought.

My temperature?

98.6°

I was finally normal.

Of course, a lower body temperature has been linked to a longer life span, so maybe I should stop worrying and accept my body is helping me in my quest to live to 120.

I really wish, however, we could figure out the true cause of the aura. Those are what I hate. I can't trust my eyes. Seeing is not believing for me. If it were, then I have front row seats into regular rifts of the space time continuum.

And people, they're pretty for only so long.