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I usually try to keep my entries within the scope of what life is like as a foreign spouse. After all, if this were just the life of David L., then no one would stop by to read.
But I'm going to break that guideline today just to rehash a bit of the weekend, so feel free to move along and come by tomorrow if this isn't a good way to kill 10 minutes of a Monday. No offense taken.
When I left you all last, I was going to the Kentucky Derby, and Natalie was preparing to walk 39.3 miles for the Avon Walk. We both survived.
Though Natalie was a little more battered than I was. Here, she and her sister, Mindy, recoup after the first day of the walk on these foot-massagers.
They finished on Sunday and it was a great tribute to their mother.
While she was doing this, I was taking in my first Kentucky Derby experience.
Oops. That is actually also from Natalie's walk. The closest I got to seeing a horse was this:
The guy wearing red in the center of the picture is a jockey on a horse. I don't think this is one of the racers, but it could have been. But I didn't go to the race hoping to see horses. I've seen horses. I've been to horse races before. This was about experiencing the atmosphere of one great bit of Americana and probably the most important weekend in my home state.
For the record, I didn't win anything, but I have only myself to blame as I broke two rules about gambling.
The first is to go with your gut feeling. The day before I left, my friend already in Louisville asked me to print out a list of the horses, odds and gate. I went to do this, but my printer ran out of ink, and I was very busy, so I just glanced and made a few mental notes. When I met up with him in Louisville, I told him what happened and added that one of the horses with better odds was posted in Gate 4, which traditionally has been a very good starting gate for Derby runners.
Did I use this little bit of info when I wagered? Nope. Instead, I bet on horse number 5, Line of David (had to go with my name, after all). Instead, horse 4, Super Saver, won the Derby. My friend wagered $2 on Super Saver to finish first or second, and walked away with $17.50 on that bet.
While at Churchill Downs, I bought a giant pretzel for a vendor, and said I throw in a tip if they gave me their advise on the race. The woman said she really didn't have any thoughts about the horses. But when I pushed a second time, she asked for the program, looked at the listings, and pointed at horse number 2, Ice Box. I thanked her, gave her the tip and went to go wager on Line of David and made my second mistake. My second horse (I only get on two of them) was to follow the advise of an ESPN analyst who liked horse number 15, Mission Impazible.
Instead, Ice Box finished in second. My error - asking for someone's advice with no intention of reallying listening. Otherwise, I could have come home with a little money in my pocket. In our group of 10, only the small $2 wager won any money, so it wasn't like I was the big loser of our group. In fact, one guy bet on 10 different horses (I believe 20 raced), and he lost on all of them.
It was a great expierence, and I'm glad I had the opportunity to partake in the event. I'll wrap things up with a few images from the trip.
So you'd think that acquiescing to being a foreign service spouse would guarantee one a spot among the Pantheon of great husbands. And surely, throwing an awesome surprise party to mark the occassion of A-100 graduation would seal the deal.
The dirty secret is that these benevolent acts only serve to equalize some of my terrible shortcomings, such as what I'll be doing to my wife this weekend.
Today is Natalie's birthday. Tomorrow morning, I'm leaving her in D.C. while I go to Louisville with my best friend and a group of his friends to partake in the party of all parties, the Kentucky Derby.
That doesn't seem too bad. In fact, I'm actually delaying my arrival in Louisville by one day so I could celebrate her birthday with her. The rest of the guys will be a full day ahead of me.
The real clincher in this heinous act is that while I'll be at the party, she will be doing the two-day, marathon-and-a-half walk for breast cancer. By the way, I'll will call your attention one last time to the link in the left hand column beneath the picture of A-100 graduation. That link will be disappearing after the weekend, and it takes you to Natalie's donation page and includes the story about why she is walking.
Most likely, I'll be in Churchill Downs' infield portion for the derby, which is kind of like where spring break meets a bachelor party. Except, from the way I understand it, you're more likely to see a horse at either spring break or a bachelor party then at the infield during the Run for the Roses.
But that's beside the point. As a native of the Bluegrass State, I've always wanted to attend a Derby. I feel obligated to do so. It would be like being from South Dakota and never visiting Mount Rushmore. In terms of attractions, Kentucky doesn't have a whole lot to offer tourists, and this is the one time every year the Commonwealth demands national attention. To paraphrase the illustrious Veep Joe Biden, "This is a big effin deal." (I'll never tire of including that sentence in my blogs.)
Meanwhile, Natalie will be walking. A lot. 39.3 miles, to be exact. I was there when she did this walk two years ago, and after the first day and 26.2 miles, her feet were covered with blisters. Her blisters had blisters. I remain shocked to this day that she was able to walk the final 13.1 on the second day.
Both of us are going to be hurting Sunday morning, but for entirely different reasons. She'll be raising money and awareness for a noble cause. I'm going to be donating money to Jim Beam and Kentucky public schools - and only through the fraction of a fraction of a percentage of every gambling penny that is taken from Churchill as mandated by law. She'll be suffering physically and emotionally as she does this walk in memory of her mom. I'll likely have no memories, other than those caught on camera, at all.
So, sure, at times it might seem like I'm a great, accommodating and understanding husband. But other times, I'm more like the television husbands such as Al Bundy or Homer Simpson.
