Yesterday was my big Ping-Pong match against Alex #4858493 at work, as part of a big Ping-Pong championship we're having for no reason whatsoever. She and I decided to have a practice round at lunch, before our 2:30 game. After, I emailed Ned. "Even though I've practiced with other people at work, Alex #4858493 and I had a good rhythm going. We hit it back and forth a ton of times, rather than once and losing the ball. We knew each other's moves. It was like good sex."
"That's wonderful, June," said Ned, who is over me thinking everything is like sex. "But perhaps what you didn't know is the point of Ping-Pong is to beat your opponent, not hit it back and forth a bunch of times."
"But it's more FUN to hit it back and forth a lot!" I said.
Anyway, at 2:30 I naturally had a work thing I had to finish, and I.am.sure., but at about 2:40 we headed down there. A coworker managed to film some of the riveting events of the afternoon.
Wow, did You Tube just give you EVERY VIDEO I'VE EVER MADE? Because that's annoying. Just watch that first one. You can barely see me, I'm such a blur of athletic prowess. The second one is something I recorded for Marvin's benefit, as the guy singing was being the instruments, and I used to tell Marvin not to do that all the time. We'd be in the car and some song would come on and he'd start going, "Chh-ch-ch-chhh.." and I'd be all, "Don't be the cymbal." Or "boom boom boom boom boom." And I'd be all, "Don't be the bass."
Anyway. My point is, I lost 5-11, 5-11 and 6-11. Which, you know. Shut up. Everyone's bracket was right; EVERYONE had me losing to Alex #4858493. Which is disappointing. Like bad sex.
In other news, and then I will get to Freaky Friday, this is happening.
That? Is not snow. It's all ice pellets. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? With the weather already. They canceled work altogether, so I can't weigh in at my Fat Club meeting, but I did weigh myself on the scale at work, which coincidentally is a Weight Watchers scale, and it said I lost another three pounds. I was so excited that I went over to The Poet's cubicle, where she had chocolate coconut cookies, so I ate one.
Anyway, I'll log in to work email, but I feel like today there's gonna be a lot of this.
FREAKY FRIDAY STORY
My grandmother MaMa (pronounced maw maw) and I were very, very close. I was the oldest granddaughter, and she was the first person I would call whenever there was something going on in my life. MaMa was one of the kindest, most loving people I had ever known and would go out of her way to make you feel special.
She was diagnosed with ovarian cancer shortly after my first child was born. Being a nurse (even a 21-year-old, fresh-out-of-nursing-school nurse), I knew it was bad. So did she, although she underwent extensive treatment at the insistence of my mother and her other children. We would have long talks about the things she would miss after she was gone, and one of them was seeing her future great-grandchildren. She died in December of 1990...one of the absolute worst times of my life.
In 1992, I had just given birth to my second child, Holly. While it was obviously a happy time, part of me was sad knowing MaMa wasn't there to see her. She had been on my mind a lot since we had brought Holly home.
We had been home from the hospital for two days. When we got ready for bed, I put the baby in the bassinet at the foot of our bed and covered her with a blanket. Around three in the morning, I was jolted awake--not by the baby crying, but the feeling of a presence in the room. I immediately looked to the bassinet...and there was MaMa, leaning over and looking at my newborn. I watched her pull the blanket off Holly so she could see her from head to toe. MaMa had such a look of love and wonder on her face, and it sounds totally crazy, but I could smell her in the room! I just stared with my mouth hanging open for a moment (although it could have been much longer), then I said "MaMa?" When I spoke, she turned and looked at me and smiled...and faded slowly until she was gone. I got up to check on the baby, and the blanket I had covered her with was in the floor about two feet from the bassinet. MaMa's smell permeated our room. It was magical. Thinking about it now makes me tear up.
I have never seen her again, except in my dreams. It's funny, every time I dream of being in a house, or being home I dream that I'm in MaMa's house. The people in my dreams may change, but it's always her house.