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Weekend wrap-up

My Mother's Day massage was blissful.  Melanie the massage therapist even gave me some homework.  To stretch out a tight lower back, sidle your butt up to a wall, lie on your back and put your legs up on said wall so your body achieves a 90-degree angle.  See my self-photographed demo, which required the use of many core muscles to take, by the way:
     (You needn't assume the position nude; I had shorts on.)  Here's a much better demo. 
     I came home all woozy to find that my husband (forced to take a break from the kitchen project due to rain), had unearthed the turntable I bought him 3 years ago - the one that turns cuts from vinyl records into mp3s.  Suddenly, we have 400 new albums of music to listen to AND transfer to our iPods.  Project! He pulled Bonnie Raitt's "Home Plate" which he claims I played 1000 times in 1975.  Really? I hardly remember that, I say.  He put the needle on the record, and I magically recalled every word of every song, both sides. Such great music. Bonnie reminds me of Idol's Crystal Bowersox,  Or, shall I say, Crystal reminds me of her.
      Jamming to records (ah, the rich sound of crackling vinyl), I decided to make a dish from my new cookbook, the Poor Girl's Gourmet - Pasta with Ricotta and Prunes.  I know, right? Sounds like unpalatable fare from the nursing home, but not so!  It was actually very tasty, and the bacon I threw in there didn't hurt either.
   Today's column is about underwear or my spouse's lack thereof.  Not to be confused with 'going commando'.  That's another subject on which I could write volumes, but another time....


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