Ted Lasso Session Three Predictions

I love Ted Lasso.

I think it is the best things that has ever been on television, with the possible exceptions of Roots, which I was too young to see, and Breaking Bad, which I've never had the stomach to watch. Where the character Ted Lasso is a straight up hero, Walter White is an anti-hero, which can be just as compelling.

You haven't seen Ted Lasso because you don't have Apple TV+. Right. It is free if you have T-Mobile, otherwise it is $8 a month or something. The tricky thing is that you can't share the password with your family because it is linked to your Apple ID, which means whoever you give the password to can also download apps on their phone to your account. Or something weird like that. Anyway, cough up the $8, binge it for a month, then cancel.

My Predictions (not to be confused with spoilers) as of Episode 6

• Season 3--and series--ends with Ted going home to Kansas City to be with his son, Henry. The season opened with Ted and Henry at Heathrow. We watch Henry go down the escalator to get on his flight. I predict the last shot of the series will be of Ted going down the same escalator to fly back to KCMO. Initially, Ted moved to London to give his failing marriage some space. Now that his ex-wife has a new boyfriend who is acting as a father figure to Henry, Ted will follow his heart and want to teach his son to play darts and watch basketball together. In recent episodes, Ted has been thinking about all of the good times he had with his dad, who committed suicide when Ted was a teenager. 

• With Ted leaving, Nate Shelley will be the new head coach of Richmond. Nate will realize that Rupert is a dick and he can't work for an amoral asshole. Nate will humbly make amends to Rebecca, the coaching staff and the team for being a jerk. Rebecca knows her ex-husband Rupert is an asshole, so she takes the apologetic Nate back.

• Sam and Rebecca will get together. I have reason for this other than Jason Sudeikis uncle was George Wendt, the actor who played Norm on Cheers. The show is full of other television and film references, and I think Sam and Rebecca of Ted Lasso will get together like Sam and Rebecca in Cheers. The character of Ted Lasso even compared Sam and Rebecca to the couple in Cheers when they started dating in Season 2.

• Jamie Tart becomes the breakout star, and is a nice guy in the process instead of a smarmy, pompous asshole.

• Richmond wins it all.

Sweat & $1,000 Legos

I worked out Sunday night for the first time since my surgery. It was an easy-peasy 20 minutes on the recumbent bike at the gym. It was the first time I've sweat since my surgery. Tonight, I did thirty minutes on the elliptical to prove that Sunday was not a fluke. I survived! I was sweaty and I survived! My can feel the muscles in my quads starting to reform. I'll probably need to hit the weight room soon. I've been frustrated with my slow recovery, but it is better than overdoing it and regretting it later.

I am looking for a gift for Pedro for his birthday. He still loves Legos, and Lego continues to expands its marketing to wealthy adults. I am beginning to think Legos might be out of my price range. There was a $630 Lego set of the Eiffel Tower, and a $679 set of the Titanic. I texted Pedro a link and said "WTF?!?!" 

His reply: I wonder when there'll be a $1000 Lego set.

I bet soon enough. But what would it be? What would be the Holy Grail, the most coveted set ever that people would drop $1K. It could be weird and obscure, that super fans of something would any amount to get it, like women in their twenties are dropping whole paychecks (more or less) to see Taylor Swift in concert. Or would it be something practical, like a side table for your living room? A planter? A bird bath? Would it be something iconic, like the Eiffel Tower, but I can't think of anything more iconic. They've already done the Taj Mahal. A mountain, like Mt. Fuji, or Mt. Rainier? 

Mt. Everest?

I went to BrickCon one year and a woman made the Tiger's Nest Monastery in Bhutan out of Lego. It was super cool.

I bet the geniuses as Lego are working on ideas for the $1000 Lego set as I type.

The M Word

I have a friend from high school who hates her teenage kids and husband.

Okay, she really doesn't hate them. Rather, she has a high level of frustration and resentment towards their lack organization, initiative, and willingness to take care of themselves.

My dear friend is my age, and has been been visited by the M word, where the baby factory has shut down, closed for business. Estrogen is flowing at a slower rate, thereby reducing her sense of nurturing and maternal instincts. The lacks of hormones makes her see more clearly: she hates her family because they suck.

Of course, she loves them, but she would hate them less if they could literally and metaphorically pack their own lunch.

I have experienced such things, but I am fortunate to have been a young enough mother that my kids were almost out of the house by time I hit the change. Poor Pedro was in his last years of high school when I turned to Medusa, using my superpowers to call bullshit on bullshit.

Here is an example of me before and after menopause. Let's say I get in my car thinking there is a half a tank of gas, but realize when I get in that my then husband drove the car for the last week and left it empty. I go to his car, and discover that car doesn't have any gas, either. Like the lights are flashing and the GPS automatically tells you the closest gas station kind of low gas. The estimated range of miles left is zero. Let's say this behavior repeats itself on a regular basis, even when the said husband has been gently asked before to put gas in the car. To be fair, my ex is an adrenaline junkie, so he knows when the low gas lights flash you, you can still drive like 32 miles, but at some point, you will run out of gas unless the magic gas fairy comes and puts gas in the car, which doesn't happen.

My pre-menopausal response to the empty gas tank: I guess Jack must be really busy these past few weeks, so busy that he doesn't have time to fill the car with gas and he's too busy to tell me before I need to drive the soccer carpool. No worries, I can take care of it before I cook dinner.

My post-menopausal response to the empty gas tank: How can the same guy who runs half a hospital not figure out how to put can in the car? I can operate fancy life-saving hospital equipment but doesn't know how to use a gas pump? Does he expect me to take care of all of this shit? What do I look like, his servant? Does he not respect my time? Now that I think about it, he only puts gas in the car before he goes skiing and that's it. How come he can figure out how to use the gas pump when he has something important to do but ignores it when it isn't about him? WTF? How did he get to be such a self-centered asshole?

The gentle and docile behavior serves women well when they are raising young children. I wouldn't want to tell a toddler to change their own fucking diaper. That would be bad, and probably invite a visit from CPS. Things start to shift when kids get older, and little bit of that attitude can serve grown children well. Like, "If you want to drive, pay for your own fucking car insurance." See? That doesn't sound bad. That sounds like you are encouraging responsibility in your kids.

While this transformation wasn't pretty, it was necessary. I don't regret what I did, but I regret how I expressed my anger. I have a friend who says he wants his next relationship to have "no bullshit, no drama," which is fine. The hard part of that is it needs to start within ourselves first before we can expect our partner to change. I joined a twelve step program to understand and dilute my rage towards humanity, and to find a way to be true to myself and not be a full on bitch to the rest of the world. I am fully capable of being docile and gentle, but my tolerance for bullshit is very, very low.

So here is how I imagine the "no bullshit, no drama," playing out in the gas station.

Put gas in the car like a responsible adult (no bullshit), and I won't turn into a lunatic when I have to deal with the consequences of your actions (no drama).

Perhaps this explains why some late middle-age men like younger women. Maybe it isn't because these women are fertile, but because they are deluded and docile from excessive amount of estrogen. These older men should just hope they die before their new younger wives hit menopause, because unless the guys change, the same shitty relationships are going to repeat themselves.

Belly of the Whale

If I had a bar

I'd call it "Belly of the Whale"

Where people could reach their nadir

The Bottom

The Pits

Despair.

Where people could come back to life

Rejoin the human race

with peace and dignity and serenity.

I have been in the belly of the whale

for much too long

Afraid

Angry

Annoyed

and now I am coming out 

Awakened

Alive

and 

Grateful.

"Dinners with Ruth" and Moses

I am listening to a wonderful audiobook: Dinners with Ruth: A Memoir on the Power of Friendships by Nina Totenberg, the NPR correspondent about her decades long friendship with the late Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I am listening on my phone while I needlepoint in my craft studio.

I love this book with the themes of friendship between women, the power of women in the workforce and the beauty of marriage. I envy these women. "Dinner parties" were common in Washington, D.C. before the pandemic. A dinner party often wasn't massive, two or maybe three couples. People regularly hosted dinner for friends in their homes. I live in the other Washington, land of the Seattle Freeze, where dinner with friends isn't quite so common. I don't think the Seattle Freeze is a snobbiness. Rather, I think Seattle is city of introverts who aren't used to keeping the company of others.

As most Americans know, RBG was a tireless advocate for women's rights. Her main concern was that women be treated equal under the law. Nina's book delivers a fascinating look at the recent history of women's rights. Under the heading of "What the fuck?" was an Air Force policy back in the 1970s that said pregnant women officers were required to get abortions while they served or else they had to resign. I had no idea that such a rule ever existed. The female officer Susan Struck got pregnant, sued the U.S. government, and had her child. Ruth was on the team supporting the mother. The case was about to make it to the Supreme Court but then the U.S. military scrapped the rule, perhaps suspecting they were going to lose. 

Ruth I wonder what Ruth would have said to Moses about the Ten Commandments, specifically "Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's wife." Since this is directed at people who have wives, it is okay then for women to covet someone's husband? I would love to hear her take on it. I wonder if she would have told Moses, "I dissent."

Ian & Olivia

One of my favorite author's died this month. I really didn't think of Ian Falconer as one of my favorite authors until I saw the notice that he passed away. Ian was the author of children's series Olivia about a feisty, energetic, and precocious little pig.

The book was originally written as a gift for his niece, but a publisher saw it and the rest is history. The book nails the paradox of parenting preschoolers, who can be brilliant and beautiful and maddening and messy, all at the same moment. Olivia sings from a book of "40 Very Loud Songs" while dreaming she is Maria Callas. She paints her room in the style of Jackson Pollock. She dances like a ballerina in a Degas painting.

"I'm not sleepy," says Olivia at nap time while jumping on her bed. Her mother is exhausted.

My friend Michelle gave Claire-Adele a copy of Olivia and a stuffed Olivia pig for her third second or third birthday. I cried when I read it. I would say the book reminded me of Claire-Adele--which it did, but retrospect, the book touched an emotional nerve of the mayhem and magic of being a child.

Wordle and Rest

When I play Wordle, I treat it like it dictates my emotional, spiritual and intellectual state for the day. If I crush the word in two guesses, I feel like I am aligned with the gods and connected to the powers of the universe. When I guess the word in five or six tries, I feel like I am a chump, that my mental acuity isn't sharp, that I've lost the flow for the day, all from a ridiculous game on the internet. It is driving me nuts.

Why do I beat myself over a game? Why do I let it hold power and sway over me when it shouldn't?

I am also using Wordle to predict how I am recovering from my surgery, like it is tea leaves or a fortune cookie or a magic eight ball or the groundhog looking for its shadow. If I get the Wordle in three guesses or less, I am on a speedy path to recovery. If I sink it in five or six guesses, I feel like a slug and I'll never get better. If I get it in four guesses? "Try again later."

It is not as if Wordle has that kind of power over my life, but is it a barometer of my inner peace? My calmness? Clarity? When I am relaxed, I do play better, but I am still letting something external dictate how I feel about my inner peace. I mean, I have no control over the words they pick. Sometimes they sing to me, sometimes they don't. Spoiler: Today's answer was guano, like I use that word every day, although my friend said she feels batshit crazy all the time.

Last week, I was feeling really tired, both mentally and physically. I tried caffeine to perk me up. I tried walking to perk me up. I tried eating to perk me up. I tried fasting to slip into ketosis to perk me up. I tried all of my tried and true strategies to increase my energy.

Nothing worked.

I talked to a friend about this. Her advice: "Why don't you just rest? You had major surgery. You can't just fix this. Your body is telling you to rest."

Old Lady Tired & Richard Rohr

The big theme of my recovery so far is that I am tired. I don't have pain or discomfort, but I have low energy. Last night, I slept ten hours. Monday, I was so tired there was no amount of caffeine that could have kept me awake.

In a way, I suppose this is what depression feels like -- wanting to sleep a lot, not wanting to go out and do things, being a homebody. If I didn't know I had abdominal surgery two weeks ago, I would have guessed I was depressed. I don't think I am, or at least I hope I'm not. I know this is a hard and slow time as my body recovers. I feel like my insides are like a sea urchin who has been prodded -- they have all collapsed inside of each other, hiding and hibernating. I wish someone would have told me that the main effect would be fatigue. I'm also not feeling like the brightest bulb on the planet. There are several administrative tasks regarding my divorce that I need to wrap up, but I don't have the energy. I have the time, but not the drive. 

I was talking to a friend who had her gall bladder removed thirty some years ago, before laparoscopic surgery was invented. She spent months in pain recovering from her abdominal surgery. I am grateful that after two weeks the worst I feel is sluggish.

I imagine this is what it feels like to be very old or stoned all of the time. I really don't want to do a whole lot. My good friend Eleanor Owen lived to be 101, and she had lots of energy. She wasn't running 5K races or paddle boarding, but she was intellectually and spiritually alert.

I am also grateful that today is a beautiful day. I am sitting in the courtyard in the sun, writing and listening to the birds.

In the meantime, I've been listening to Richard Rohr, the Franciscan priest who wrote Breathing Under Water. Rohr's book relates Twelve Step programs to the bible and it is fascinating. This week, I've been listening to one of his old speeches on repeat. I love his concept of the ego and the false self versus the true self. We all have an ego, and the ego isn't necessarily bad. The ego causes problems when that is all we live for: praise, success, control, accomplishments, fame, money, fancy clothes, etc.. I like my shoe collection, but I am not who I am because of it. I am grateful for my surgeon, who removed my cyst, and I appreciate all of her training and education. Nevertheless, I hope when she goes home, she can leave her title and accomplishments at the door, and be at peace. 

Rohr believes that the destabilization of the ego is what causes emotional and spiritual suffering. This is different than pain. There is an old expression that pain is part of life, but suffering is optional.

What I am dealing with right now is a pain. I wish I was more mobile and active and had more energy, but I don't. Instead, I am grateful for my short-disability where I can keep my job. I am grateful for laparoscopic surgery. I am grateful for the sunshine and birds. I am grateful for the books I am reading and the crafts I am making. I am grateful for my friends who have brought me meals and taken me out for coffee.

New-To-Me Coffeeshops and My New Imaginary Boyfriend

I haven't been getting out much. This recovery from my surgery reminds me a lot of the early days of the pandemic where I am sitting at home waiting for time to pass, and it is kind of freaky. I am not in any pain or discomfort, but boy am I tired. I am not fully housebound, but I don't have a ton of energy. I mostly walk around my neighborhood, which is nice because I live near Pike Place Market. In the past two weeks, I've been to three new-to-me coffeeshops that are within a few blocks of my condo. As a friend said, I am lucky to live near such abundance.

Here are the three new-to-me places:

The Moore Coffee Shop on Second Ave -- Think pink. The place is painted pink and gold. There are even two Moore coffee shops--the main one and spin off. The main one is cute and cozy.

Freya on Western -- This Scandinavian place is next to my craft store, Ugly Baby. When the sales clerk was out, my friend and I stopped by Freya for coffee. Wow. The pastries here are to die for. My friend and I shared a churro cruffin which doesn't sound Scandinavian at all but is omg so delicious. Think a croissant muffin with a creamy center and covered in cinnamon. Freya is a sister to Haden Coffee. Pike Place Market doesn't allow chains--which is a good call--so stores that want to have more than one location give their shop in the market a different name. Ta da! Everyone is happy. There is one major exception: The original Starbucks is in the Market and they didn't need to change their name.

Last but not least is Armistice on First, the place where Tech Bros go to hit on the barista. Actually, it is a nice place, very clean. The barista is nice to everyone, not just the Tech Bros. The Tech Bro that was hitting on the barista was annoyed that the barista and I got wrapped up in a conversation about the Spotify playlist she was listening to and the streaming series Bridgerton. What are you going to do?

In addition to exploring my neighborhood, I have a new imaginary boyfriend -- Brett Goldstein who plays Roy Kent on Ted Lasso. I have tickets to see his stand-up comedy in a few weeks at the Moore Theatre, not to be confused with the Moore Coffee Shop, which is adjacent. Brett also writes for Shrinking, a new show on Apple tv with Jason Segal and Harrison Ford. I just watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall starring Jason Segal and Kristen Bell, which is actually entertaining. I think it is from 2007, the era when I had two small kids and rarely got out. I don't know -- maybe I should dump Brett for Jason? Hmmm. I'll need to think on that. Brett swears more than I do, which is an impressive feat. 

Anyway, I'm looking forward to rejoining humanity one of these days.

Craft Studio v Books

When I was recovering from my ACL repair surgery several years ago, I read a lot. 

Like, three or four books a week. One book I read in less than twenty-four hours.

Was it bliss, having nothing else to do but read? 

Meh.

It was nice, but hard to say.

In this recovery, I've almost sworn off books. I didn't want to read. Instead, I've focused on creating. I turned my home office into a craft studio where I make adorable little animals and whatnot.

Ta da!

This week, I got desperate and opened a book. The first three chapters were brilliant, simply riveting.

Then, I got to the flashback of the main character's mother's death, right before he gets his very damaged foot amputated.

Yeah.

Not exactly a beach read. Now I remember why I swore off books during my recovery. 

Part of me wants to go back to reading, as I imagine I've already hit the bleakest and most depressing part less than halfway through the book. The rest of the story has to be up from that, right? Could it get worse?

Eventually, I'll let you know. In the meantime, back to sewing...

Second & Settled

My friends who have seen me after the surgery tell me I look "fantastic." Not good, not great, not healthy, hearty and hale. 

Fantastic.

So why do I look so good? Because this cyst I had removed was about the size of a fifteen week fetus. Basically, I was walking around with a belly pooch that made me look like I was in my second trimester. One friend who saw me the week before my surgery and days after said my stomach definitely looked flatter. And this was with post-surgery swelling.

Sure, I have my own little belly flab that's there both before and after the surgery. Before that belly flab sat above the cyst, now that flab is trying to move south, and its migration is not comfortable. (I had thought about asking the gynecologist to remove some flab while she was operating, but that might not have been good form. Plus, she might have removed some of the fat unevenly, and I might have been lumpy and lopsided.)

The surgery I had isn't so common that the healing and recovery patterns are dialed in. With my ACL surgery, they could predict how I would be doing day-to-day. I've never had a c-section, but those surgeries are so common that the recovery is well documented.

Removing a 9.5 cm cyst? Meh. Give it four to six weeks to feel better.

This weekend, I was feeling good and I stopped taking Tylenol and ibuprofen. Yesterday, I felt a little bit sore in my belly. Today, I called the nurse. 

"You can expect to be up-and-down with this. You'll have good days and bad," she said. "Just listen to your body."

Fini! and Forty Days

I remember this odd habit of my mother's when I was a kid. I would be working on a craft -- like paint-by-numbers or Shrinky-Dinks -- and she would say, "Don't finish it! Save it so you will have something to do for later." 

She might have meant, "don't rush through it," or "take your time," but I was a perfectionist little kid who was painfully careful and afraid of making mistakes. I was not going to rush.

The funny thing about saving things for later is that often later never comes. My mom died, and she left behind a massive collection of nice soap, including Crabtree & Evelyn's Seashell Soap, which was a my favorite soap ever. (I don't know when it was discontinued, but I now am using the last little bit of what I snagged from my dad's house.) My mom would buy nice things, and then not use them because she wanted to save them, which is so sad because she never did use them.

As I have mentioned in my previous blog post, I have been stocking up on craft projects during my surgery recovery so I have something to do. Even this weekend, I went out and bought more crafts. My stash is impressive. (See my new local favorite craft store in Pike Place Market, Ugly Baby.) 

So, am I buying so many crafts that I will "always have some to do later?" Or, will I end up, as I did as a child, will dozens of craft projects started but never finished?

I am fighting the tide and I am trying to finish what I am starting, but the problem is I am always starting something new. I never want to be caught without a project in process. The blank slate might freak me out, but that is a problem I'll need to address in the future, not now. Now I need to get through the boring part of this recovery from surgery.

In the meantime, I finished a project today! Woohoo! Check out this little lion! Isn't she cute?

She has a bag for shopping, which she needs because she doesn't have any shoes. Hello, Nordstrom Rack! Or Julia's Footwear. Or Birdies. Or Likelihood.

Anyhow, I finished this little cutie pie.

Which brings me to Theme 2 of today's blog post -- forty days. My doctor tells me it will take four to six weeks to recover from my recent abdominal surgery, and I have the time off from work. My therapist thinks I will get bored and I will go back to work early. Damn it, I hope he's using reverse psychology on me, because right now I want to dig my heels in and say to boredom "Bring it on! I can handle it!" It is Lent right now, just before Easter. I can spend forty days in the desert, metaphorically, sitting in my apartment doing crafts. Who knows where this will take me? There was an 85 year old lady in Ireland who knits every day. She learned when she was seven years old and now she knit sweaters for the cast in The Banshees of Inisherin. Maybe one day my embroidery will be featured in a Jane Austen movie!

I need crafts because I get suicidal watching television during the day. I could avoid this problem by watching television until 4 a.m., and then sleeping until noon, if I need that much distraction to stave of the doldrums. 

Ha. Just kidding. It is almost 9:00 p.m. and I am sleepy. There is no way I am making it until 4:00 a.m.

I am not kidding here about daytime tv making me seriously depressed. I can't do it very often. I can watch short YouTube videos, but that is about it. I will make some exceptions. I would stream shows when I was recovering from my ACL. I'd do leg lifts while watching Bletchley Park. 

Speaking of shows, I have found a new one: Shrinking on Apple TV. It is written by the same team who brought us Ted Lasso. Harrison Ford plays a kind but grumpy old fart. Brett Goldstein (aka Roy Kent) is a writer on the show, so every other word is an f-bomb. I love it.

Also, my therapist didn't know that Ted Lasso Season Three starts in two days. Whoop whoop! Maybe I can make an exception to my daytime television rule for Ted. I can binge watch it two or three times before I go back to work.