My new heroine is Olga Kotelko. I want to do the long jump and throw a javelin and the hammer. Olga did those things . She did them this year, 1914. She was 94 when she died this past summer.

She is the star of Bruce Grierson’s book, What Makes Olga Run? released this year.

I’ve never had this urge before. Why now? I’m not 94 or near it. Both my parents died at 96 but i never caught them throwing the hammer. But then, they didn’t live with me. Perhaps when they were alone…. Olga sometimes (often) entered eleven events at the Master’s Races. Those are meets for people over 70.  She won over two hundred  awards for being the best in her age group.

And scientists are keeping track of some super adults over 80. But you have to be free of any of the major downers: heart disease, cancer, Alzhheimer’s etc.

Well, I could lie. And change my medical records.  Hmm….

my backup to my hard drive, is not connected. I always hope it will work anyway. I do a little voodoo dance, put some feathers on my head and mutter some helpful curses: “May your teeth fall out if you don’t copy my data; may your Mother turn into a Dodo bird and become extinct; may your father have invested all his money with Bernie Madoff.” That kind of thing.

It doesn’t work. I have to plug it into one of the USB ports. I want to save those ports for when I want to plug something in. You know, my ipod (which I haven’t used since August) or my camera (I can download pictures, but then what?) or my new weather station.

Long pause.

First of all, it doesn’t plug into a computer. It would probably help it a lot, but no go. Second, I want to do something to my LaCrossetechnology weather station, but it’s more along the line  of smashing-it-under-my-foot.

Stop right there. All will be well. my son will be here at Christmas and he will make it all better. Yes, he will.

Meanwhile, I’ll plug in my Replica. Calm ensues.

I never knew how important they were. If I’d known, I’d have practiced taking them in m youth. And middle age. Etc.

Now that I need them , I don’t have them. Catnaps, I mean. I could copy LB Johnson and WInston Churchill. They would take their clothes off, put on their p,j’s and go to bed for an hour or so. And slept.

But such a bother–cats don’t do that.

I want to nap like Salvadore Dali. He’d sit in his chair and hold a spoon in one hand that would be hanging off the chair. He’d fall asleep, the spoon would hit the floor, he’d wake up and be refreshed.     Do you believe that?  He was always a showoff. but resting…that’s good. That’s me.