It’s Day 3 since we got Wii Fit.  If you’re not familiar with this phenomenon, there’s this annoying fake-friendly talking animated Wii board that appears on your TV screen, and you check in with him/her/it every day, and you get a “Wii age” based on how well you do.  I think the thing is a guy, I can’t tell.  He is one snarky bastard, let me tell you.  The Wii Fit games themselves are pretty fun.  Josh and I have been playing a lot, and laughing a lot as we stand on the actual Wii board and jump on a virtual trampoline or take off on ski jumps, so that part is worth it.

It’s the daily check-ins and body tests that have messed with my head.  It’s that little Wii dude.

Day One, I did the balance test.  My balance was ever so slightly on my right foot, and the Wii dude said, “It looks like balance games are not your forte.  Do you trip a lot?”  Actually, no, you little turd.  Then, at its recommendation, I played this game where you dodge soccer balls, and I kept getting hit in the head with soccer cleats as I was trying to dodge the balls.   What kind of sick crap is this?

Day Two, I put on the pedometer and ran a mile just to suck up to the Wii, so I could transfer all that data and get cheap praise.  I’m not proud, cheap praise works for me.  No praise, except for some calories burned in my Wii “piggy bank,” which I now realize is a subtle insult, i.e., I’m a piggy!  For my weigh-in, I was holding the Wii handheld device, which I hadn’t done the day before, so that added nearly a pound.  The Wii guy added 7 more years to my arbitrary “Wii age” as punishment.  For my new balance test, I had to anticipate obstacles and lean the other way.  I hit a wall and the game abruptly ended.  Only after the fact did it say that you can’t hit the wall.  Who knew?  I was trying to dodge the bricklike obstacles.  If I’d known about hitting the wall, I wouldn’t have hit it, duh.  More snark from the Wii dude, who talks in a high-pitched voice.  “It’s Japanese,” Mark said. “Humiliation is a big thing over there, I’m just saying.”

Today, Day Three, I got up early and did the body check-in, before food or drink ever crossed my lips.  For the balance test, I overcompensated and put more weight on my left foot.  “Do you trip a lot?”  Argh!  Then when I weighed in, it said that I had lost 2.2 pounds, and I’m well on my way to meeting my goal, which is to lose four pounds.  Just as I was feeling all happy about that, the Wii dude added, “Yesterday, you weighed yourself at 1 p.m.  Most people’s weight fluctuates around 2 pounds a day.  Just thought I’d mention it  You should weigh yourself at the same time every day.”  Argh!  “Just thought I’d mention it!”  Picture the catty stewardess played by David Spade on “Saturday Night Live,” saying, “buh-bye.”  Snarky Wii!  And yet, today my Wii age dropped 27 years, from a ridiculous and offensive 57 down to a more appropriate 30.

Mark said, “That thing owns you.”

“Yeah,” I said.


This post and all blog content Ⓒ Copyright Janet Farrar Worthington.

News from around the old homestead:  Two coyotes and one mountain lion so far this week.  We’ve had some up-close-and-personal wildlife sightings this week.  All of them, oddly, have been in our driveway, which is kind of long and has woods on either side.  I think this is happening for a few reasons: First, this drought.  I can’t think of an adjective to describe how I feel about the drought; I hate it.  I’m scared of it, too, because wildfire season is here.  It’s been so dry for so long.  This is the time of year, up here in Arizona’s high country, that we should be seeing the creek beds running with melted snow.  But Flagstaff, to the north of us, didn’t get a flake of snow all January.  In Prescott, we didn’t get a drop of rain.  Since then, we have gotten a couple of events that can only be called “drizzling.”  Back East, we wouldn’t even have noticed.  But out here, we’re so grateful for anything that can be defined as “moisture,” any rain is a big deal.

Anyway, a few days ago I saw two coyotes.  One of them was smallish and full of attitude, looked right at me with contempt.  “No craps were given,” as our son, Andy, says.  The second was a lot bigger and just trotted past, no eye contact, headed for Willow Creek, which runs behind our house.  Our creek actually has some water, unlike many around here.  So that’s the second thing:  We have water in our back yard, which means we have birds, and bunnies, and javelina, and bobcats, and lynx, and deer, and rattlesnakes, and coyotes, etc.  Most of these animals fall into the “prey” category, so we might as well have a neon sign hanging up there, flashing “Good Eats!”  We also have dogs, which I don’t think of as menu items, but I’m afraid other species might.  Yesterday, I got home from taking Josh to school.  I was in the garage, and I let Molly, our Lab, out of the car, and went to let out Rusty, our Cocker Spaniel.  Molly was just standing there, facing me, and behind her, I saw a mountain lion crossing our driveway.  It seemed to have spots, so maybe it was a young ‘un.  It was Molly’s height, and longer than she is, but not as long as mountain lions get, which apparently is 7 feet for females, 8 feet for males (I’ve been doing a lot of reading up on mountain lions lately).  Like the coyote, it looked right at me — no attitude, just an acknowledgment, “yeah, I see you.”  Then it went on into the woods.   Thank God Molly didn’t see it, or she would have chased it, and that probably would not have ended well.

One mountain lion sighting, and I have become like Bill Murray with the gopher in “Caddyshack.”  I am obsessed.  “Who is the gopher’s ally, his friend?”   First thing this morning, in my jammies, I climbed up on our garden wall and secured the perimeter.  For the last 24 hours, I have haunted the deck, which overlooks the creek, scanning the terrain for any signs of movement.  I imagine tawny eyes staring at me, hidden behind brush, that bastard waiting to catch our innocent, sweet dogs unattended.  It creeps me out.

And then there’s my little azalea.  That’s the plant in the picture.  I bought it around Valentine’s Day.  It was gorgeous, with pink blossoms, and I had Spring fever so bad, I just wanted to get my garden going.  So I put it in a planter on the deck, and it promptly made every effort to kick the bucket.  It got down to three green leaves.  The rest was totally brown and dead.  I changed the soil, fed it, kept watering, and said prayers.  It looked like “The Last Leaf,” the O. Henry short story.  Clearly, a goner.   How could any plant come back from this?  But today, look what I saw — little leaves!  It is coming back!   So there’s life in them leaves, and there’s life in that creek, and where there’s life, there’s hope, and maybe we’ll get some rain someday soon.


This post and all blog content Ⓒ Copyright Janet Farrar Worthington.


Well, it’s Monday.  That’s about the only reason I can find for why annoying people, and even an annoying animal, seem to be coming out of the woodwork today — and it’s still morning!  There’s plenty of time for more of them to show up!  For example:  I went to Starbucks to get coffee for Mark, who was so tired when he left for work that he forgot to take his travel mug.  He needs his coffee.  He’s also allergic to milk, so I ordered a Pike’s Place with soy. “One Pike’s Place with cream, anything else?” said the girl. Yes, I said, it needs to be soy, not cream, and explained why. “And did you want another drink?” No, I said. “Well, when you kept talking, I thought you wanted another drink.” What the heck!  No, I just didn’t want to give my husband something that would make him sick…  To quote Bugs Bunny, “What a maroon!”  When I kept talking — who says stuff like that?

Then, I went to Fry’s, the West Coast version of Kroger.  I had just started to unload my cart, and the guy said, “Fry’s card?”  I was behind my cart, trying to get my groceries up on the conveyor belt as fast as I could, because there were people behind me.  I said, “Yes, just a minute.”  The man folded his hands.  Let’s just pause for a moment to reflect on how supremely annoying this was.  He refused to ring me up until I handed him my card.  He said it was store policy.  I know it’s not, because I shop there all the time, and they usually just start scanning away as soon as the groceries start rolling along toward the cash register.   And yet, there he was, with his hands primly folded in front of him like — I don’t know, a schoolmarm or something.  So I pushed my cart up a few feet, handed him my card, then went back to loading up.  What the heck!  

And then, the icing on the cake,  I pulled into my driveway, and just standing there, basically blocking the entrance, was a coyote.  He looked right at me, brazen as anything.  Such contempt!  Such sass!  If he’d had a middle finger, he would have flipped me off.  I moved my car closer, and he finally moved away and peeled off into the woods, but I’m even getting attitude from wildlife today…  What the heck!

Now, the refrigerator repairman is here.  So far, so good.  He seems to be pretty nice, and the only good thing about having so many failing appliances is that at least I know the guy, because he’s been here for the dishwasher and garbage disposal — both of which, like the refrigerator, turned out to be 13 years old, from when the previous owners rehabbed their kitchen.

Now, I realize that the actions of other people are their problem, not mine.  I know, I know … be the change you wish to see, I can’t change the world but I can change myself, poop happens, deal with it, turn the other cheek, look for the good.  But it’s hard to act like Jesus or Gandhi when I’m feeling more like Ralph Kramden on “The Honeymooners,” muttering, “One of these days, pow!  Right in the kisser!”  Or Moe Howard of “The Three Stooges” … “why, I oughta…”   I guess that’s the point.  It is hard, but I don’t want to sit around muttering all day.  So this is me, officially letting it go and moving on with what I hope will be a better day.

This post and all blog content Ⓒ Copyright Janet Farrar Worthington.