Go for the bronze!
Beautiful weather for the first time in two months, and what am I doing? Sitting inside and watching the Olympics. Don't worry- I'll go outside soon. But it's just so easy to get sucked in to competition after competition.
I've been a little troubled this Olympics by a lack of enthusiasm from my friends and family. I personally blame the British. I have never heard so much complaining about what an inconvenience hosting the Olympics have been. I also blame hot weather, midsummer slump, and too much hype.
I, however, love the Olympics. Not so much to watch my country dominate the medal count or to get angry about political connections. I watch the Olympics for Oscar Pistorius, who was born without fibulae and runs with cheetah blades, who has fought for four years with people calling his blades an advantage. He qualified for the semifinal, and got some serious respect from his fellow runners even when he didn't qualify for the final.
Or Chad le Clos, also from South Africa, who started swimming when he was eight because he saw Michael Phelps on tv. Twelve years later he qualifies for the finals in the Olympics and finds himself in a lane next to his hero. Then he became the last man to ever beat Michael Phelps in the pool. He also got to geek out to Phelps as they were leaving the pool.
So unlike a lot of American professional sports, the Olympics isn't about a bunch of testosterone junkies hitting balls and each other to see who can make the most money in their career. It's a different kind of athleticism that inspires a different set of emotions, from patriotism to pure admiration to sympathy. Plus, it only happens every four years.
I've gotten a bit done while the Olympics have been done. I missed the opening ceremonies for a camping trip with friends, where I knit a washcloth in four hours. I finished the accursed Eye of the Tiger socks. Now I am knitting a stuffed bunny for my cousin's little girl. I will write more about that when I'm done, to help me decide if I will ever do a stuffed animal again.
The garden is now basically on autopilot. A diligent gardener would be out weeding and pruning and deadheading every day. See previous post on whether or not I am a diligent gardener.
But produce continues to roll in. We have now had pink fried potatoes, pink mashed potatoes, and pink baked potatoes can't be far behind. I have had honest to God carrots. And the beans have started to roll in. Expect me to drown in them later in the year.
I've been a little troubled this Olympics by a lack of enthusiasm from my friends and family. I personally blame the British. I have never heard so much complaining about what an inconvenience hosting the Olympics have been. I also blame hot weather, midsummer slump, and too much hype.
I, however, love the Olympics. Not so much to watch my country dominate the medal count or to get angry about political connections. I watch the Olympics for Oscar Pistorius, who was born without fibulae and runs with cheetah blades, who has fought for four years with people calling his blades an advantage. He qualified for the semifinal, and got some serious respect from his fellow runners even when he didn't qualify for the final.
Or Chad le Clos, also from South Africa, who started swimming when he was eight because he saw Michael Phelps on tv. Twelve years later he qualifies for the finals in the Olympics and finds himself in a lane next to his hero. Then he became the last man to ever beat Michael Phelps in the pool. He also got to geek out to Phelps as they were leaving the pool.
So unlike a lot of American professional sports, the Olympics isn't about a bunch of testosterone junkies hitting balls and each other to see who can make the most money in their career. It's a different kind of athleticism that inspires a different set of emotions, from patriotism to pure admiration to sympathy. Plus, it only happens every four years.
I've gotten a bit done while the Olympics have been done. I missed the opening ceremonies for a camping trip with friends, where I knit a washcloth in four hours. I finished the accursed Eye of the Tiger socks. Now I am knitting a stuffed bunny for my cousin's little girl. I will write more about that when I'm done, to help me decide if I will ever do a stuffed animal again.
The garden is now basically on autopilot. A diligent gardener would be out weeding and pruning and deadheading every day. See previous post on whether or not I am a diligent gardener.
But produce continues to roll in. We have now had pink fried potatoes, pink mashed potatoes, and pink baked potatoes can't be far behind. I have had honest to God carrots. And the beans have started to roll in. Expect me to drown in them later in the year.
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