by Laurie Wagner | Jul 14, 2014 | Blog
And so, after a couple of fairly unproductive days of writing – or – not writing – as the case was – days where I’d meant well, had made a little nest on the couch, surrounding myself with not only a pile of bills, but a list of writing assignments and essays I’d started, but which were going nowhere. After all that, I found myself jogging in my town with a little group of work out buddies from my gym. Most of us aren’t real runners, we just take orders from this horribly fit man named Nate who has no fat on his body, and who we pay to push us around. Yesterday he told us to run five times around a hot, city block, lift heavy weights – sometimes running with those weights – do planks, crunches and an assortment of other horrible things – all of it culminating in something called a burpy, where you throw yourself onto the ground, do a push up and then jump – no – leap into the air and clap your hands like you’re simply delighted, when in fact, you really just want to throw up. We did this like 25 times. So there I was running and feeling sorry for myself because I’m certain I’m not built to run, and my middle aged legs feel heavy, and I’m huffing and puffing and tears are leaking out of my eyes, and I’m hoping that all this hard work will pay off so I can fit into these dresses which I want to wear for these upcoming weddings. And then...
by Laurie Wagner | Jul 1, 2014 | Blog
“Come on Gal! Hit the ball! God dammit!” This is the sound of my 77-year-old Mother shouting at herself during her tennis lesson this morning. “No! No! No!” she screams as she slams the racquet into the ball. “Move it!” she shouts, rushing to the net. She’s not actually playing with anyone, just hitting with Dan, the pro, an easy going guy in his early 60’s who stands at the net hitting balls to my Mom. “Suzy,” he says, lobbing her another ball, “if you do all the talking I’ll have nothing to teach you.” My Mother is hardcore. She’s broken her nose three times in adulthood – twice on the baseball field while playing catcher – and once when an apple fell on it when she was up in a tree. She brings her mitt to the Dodger’s games, and has actually caught the ball three times. She’s nobody’s fool, doesn’t mince words. A couple of years ago I was Christmas shopping for her and she called me as I was entering the mall. “I’m just about to go into Chico’s to find a nice holiday gift for you,” I said sweetly. “Chicos!” she shouted! “Don’t you dare get me anything from fucking Chicos!” She got a lovely pumpkin colored jacket from fucking Chico’s that year and she wears it all the time. Back on the court I’m kind of astounded that she’s so rough with herself. “What if you shouted ‘YES” instead of “NO” when you hit the ball,” I suggest, ever the positive thinker. “Maybe you wouldn’t...
