It’s that time of year again. . .

sick woman1

Once again the cold season has reared its snotty head!

Am now into week two (since first sniffles) and so so very tired of hearing my pitiful moans each time I have to blow my nose—which is the ugliest shade of reddish-purple I’ve ever seen and trust me I’ve been doing plenty of bathroom-mirror-staring-up-the-nostrils since plugging up.

I keep thinking Man-Wonder has reached the breaking point in listening to my sniffing and snorting, and has waited until I fall into the daily dozen or so, half-sitting, foggy slumbers before sneaking in, and, lovingly (sure, sure), shoved wads of twisted tissue up my nostrils, in hopes of a few moments of silence.

The other though that keeps me checking is the thought that maybe I’ve sleep-sniffed so freaking hard I’ve sucked up my a shit-load of fibers from my drool cloth.

HEY! Don’t laugh!

Since the nose turned into a solid block of . . . ,  there’s been a lot of serious mouth-breathing. And, since I’m unable to sleep on my back, the drool have the perfect opportunity to make a run for it.

Colds are so disgusting!

Take coughing—mine is now a serious strain on my abdomen it’s causing more embarrassing moments. Like having to run for the washroom because the bladder has been coughed inside out.

Gotta’ go to the doctors? Or run out of cough syrup? Guaranteed the cough-fart, cough-fart, cough-fart scenario is coming up. And worse yet—since the nose is blocked, there’s no sense of smell.

You start a cough-fart session and you better start trotting  running away.

Never mind you’re doing a serious imitation of tugboat Annie as you propel yourself forward.

Never mind that your mouth is hanging open like a demented cat. Or that there’s a thin silver bubble dancing on the end of your nose.

Just go. . . G0. . . GO!

Yeah, I love colds. It brings one down to the humblest of places. I guess in some ways it’s good to get a cold. It makes one appreciate full body control and function.

And now, thanks to the daily pot of stinging nettle, green, and red clover brew, the dark circles under my eyes are slowly fading and the ability to hear the world around me is growing stronger.

Like the sound of Man-Wonder doing a lot of low-level throat clearing. . .

. . Crap, Crap, and double-crap—I do believe round two in the battle of the travelling mucus is about to take place.

WE DID IT— WE LEFT THE ISLAND!

WE DID IT! WE LEFT THE ISLAND!

Last week Man-wonder and I took a trip. For the first time in somewhere between ten and fifteen years we left Vancouver Island. Got on a ferry and motored across the Strait of Georgia.

We agreed to not act like googly-eyed tourists but we gave ourselves away minutes after boarding our first ferry and hustling up to claim front row seats.

Too bad neither of us noticed the crush of bodies flowing against us as we happily nabbed two prime seats. We plunked right down to enjoy the view. Of what we were leaving.

A. Leaving Nanaimo

Yeah. We had prime seats looking out the back of the ferry. . .

At least it wasn’t crowded.

After getting off that ferry we caught a second ferry, and this time we enjoyed stunning views of snow-capped mountains as we motored along side a number of small islands.

D. Gibsons (15)

Disembarking, we had a short drive to our first destination—lunch in a restaurant which used to be famous for being in a well-known and crazy popular Canadian TV show. (about a hundred years ago)

D. Gibsons (12)

 

Of course I had to take pictures. And I did keep the camera low. Too bad I didn’t remember to turn the flash off!

That’s when I gave up and began snapping off the shots like a monkey with a new toy.  I snapped a good one of the floor, one of the booth beside us, and finally one of the window overlooking the harbour before giving up because Man-wonder’s ‘oh my god’ sighs were getting annoyingly loud and people were staring.

Sunshine Coast Holiday

After lunch we found a well-trod path between the first row of homes and the harbor. Part way along the path we discovered a home with a chicken coop build alongside the walkway. Attached to the pen was a newsletter called The Chicken Coop and it was full of info about the girls. Like who was laying, who wasn’t, and who’d been feeling fowl. Too cute!

Of course Man-wonder and I both had to try patting the chickens.

C’mon.  Seriously? Have you ever tried to pat a chicken?

So, did I get a picture of any of the above? Of course not. I mean, a picture of chickens by the seaside? When there are restaurant floors to snap?

You know, maybe I should let Man-Wonder carry the camera for a while. . .

SOLIVTUR AMBULANDO: It is solved by walking

 

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Once again the wise words of St. Augustine of Hippo have been proven true.

I recently went through a week of growing inner turmoil. Why?

Was it because:

  • A birthday was arriving, meaning I was one year closer to my end rather than my beginning and I still haven’t gleamed the essence of it all?
  • Or because I’ve been pissing around instead of seriously writing again?
  • OR because there hadn’t been enough sun and my vitamin D level was in the toilet?
  • OR, because I still can’t whip the I want, I want mentality that burdens my spirit and I’m so so tired of it?

Whatever the reason, or combination of reasons, I was feeling like a frog on a sinking lily pad and I couldn’t shake it.

So, B-day arrives and when I opened my eyes I knew I needed to take a looong walk and, because Man-Wonder is always game to walk some anywhere, we put on our rain coats, opened our umbrellas, and walked to town in the downpour . . .

. . . And it was wonderful!

We had a quiet, swishy (thanks to passing cars) walk. We spent awhile drying off and reading magazines at the library, then enjoyed a classy lunch in one restaurant. After that (to shake off the class) we headed to a wonderfully, wildly eclectic coffee shop for a loungy cuppa before heading home in the never-ending rain.

Our walkabout took us six hours. We arrived home with tired feet squishing inside soggy shoes, and just slightly ahead of the dark. But most importantly, we were both smiling.

. . And my mind was finally at peace.

I out-walked my piss-ass mood. Somewhere, it fell away. Dropping into a muddy puddle where it belonged.

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Solvitur ambulando indeed!

Moving right along

The long, hot and dry days of summer are a memory now. They pull on the mind; like watching a sweet little fluff ball of a kitten scampering down the road. You want to reach out and pull in close, feel its cuddly warmth against your skin only you can’t because it keeps moving further away.

Yeah, I was doing a lot of sighing as I watched the rainy season blow summer off.

Then, fall took a nose-dive into winter and brought with it cold, crisp, sunny days. And Man-Wonder and I got the urge to get moving and so far we’ve kept the momentum up.

Yeah, I’ve been a wearing a surprised expression too!

We’ve even found a really cool walk in the middle of the city. It’s like a mini-forest, ringed with a single path around the exterior of it. That path is a city walk—traffic on all sides! But one you veer inside and start walking through the trail as it loops back and forth under a dense canopy of maples, firs and cedars you forget where you are. All city sounds disappear and you forget everything except the feeling that your toes want to reach up and kiss your face in joy and appreciation of the soft thick carpet of bark mulch and fallen needles beneath them.

The whole walk, around the woods and inside on one giant looping trail is only about 1 mile total but it’s not just a walk. No way! It’s also an exercise circuit—exercise stations are strategically placed along the trails; from monkey bars to pole climbs, from push up benches to posts for leap-frogging over.

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I’m proud to say neither Man-Wonder, nor myself, hurt ourselves on any of the three times we’ve done this loopy walk so far. . .

. . . and I’ve taken pictures of every single exercise stop we’ve quickly walked past.

Walking Idiots . . . or. . . Idiots Walking?

Morrell Nov 8 2014 (10)

Man-wonder and I have been wandering in the bushes again. Okay, bushes within park boundaries.

We decided it was time to retry our luck in Morrell Sanctuary—a skookum inner-city walking park wrapped around a small lake. The last time we walked it we accidentally ended up on the highest peak in the park. Which is not a place I’d go willingly, since I grew up in a small town built on a steep hill.

And, yes, once again we wandered off onto a wrong path. Our big clue this time, after long passing Morrell Lake,  was seeing the sparkle of another lake through the trees—a much larger lake, and one that didn’t belong to our park.

Or should I say, the park we shoulda’ been in? After getting ourselves turned around the right way, we had a fun walk back; kicking and crunching our way along trails thick with  leaves and marveling at how quiet, aside from us,  the park was.

Eventually, we arrived back at our starting point—and because we were finally  in a ‘let’s pay attention to the signs’ mode we caught the two we’d missed going in:

One reported recent bear sightings.

The other listed a cougar sighting from that morning!

. .  . . . . So what did we learn?

That either we learn to read every freaking sign OR we take up running. Because, at our normal speed, where we are regularly passed by the elderly with their walkers—what’s our chances of outrunning a wild beastie . . . ?

bear

 

 

 

 

Remembrance Day, and Grasping the Chicken—no—Bird’s Tail

th3J2ANQPKRemembrance Day approaches and I am indebted to those souls who served this country. Not only for what they gave, heart, soul and body during those horrific times, but also on a much more selfish, itty-bitty minded way as this year the day of remembrance falls on a Tuesday and that means our Tai Chi workshop misses a week.

For that I am most selfishly doubly indebted and grateful.

Many years ago I dragged Man-Wonder to a Tai Chi workshop. It was something new and slightly exotic at that time. The instructor wore a loose black uniform, long dark hair and had a small genetic relationship to the Oriental race. It was in a three words—shivery delicious and mysterious.

Too bad I couldn’t say the same for the workouts. I think I made it through most of the sessions (okay, more than half of them). Man-Wonder took to it like a frog to a lily pad and has practiced the form on and off ever since.

Two months ago our neighbor/friend, who belongs to a city club for seniors convinced me to join up and take the Tai Chi beginners course with her. Yes, I admit it — they let me join—musta’ been that wrinkle in my forehead that convinced them.

There was nothing mysterious or exotic about this class as the instructor is a delightful close-to-eighty-something woman with a long sense of humor. She would be making it almost enjoyable bearable—if it wasn’t for the moves. And while she is funny, she is also a first class big honking liar.

Three point two minutes into the first class and she says, “Now class, I’m going to show you the first move.” And then she whips through about six hundred mini-motions.

“Everyone get that?” she asks so sweetly when done. And everyone, except we two, nod like idiots on a stick!

Seriously, c’mon, how could anyone get it that fast?

And I suddenly remembered why I’d not fallen in love with Tai Chi oh-so-long ago. It’s a hell of a lot of work. Body and mind. Not only do you have to remember the sequence of steps within each named move but you also have to watch where your feet are going in connection with your hands plus you have to keep remembering which is right and which is left and that the instructor is moving opposite to you.

No wonder I come home cranky and needing a nap.

Only there is Man-Wonder eagerly waiting so he and I can go through the moves together. Yeah, he flows and I’m like Velcro glomping. . .

But I will persist. And even with my friend and I trying to remember the moves in the common area out back, and even with us making up our own names for the moves we sort-of remember, and even as Man-Wonder walks away shaking his head, I will persist.

Even if it means taking that beginner’s class over and over . . .

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. . . .and over.

Digging the nose out of books is difficult at times

Cripes, can you believe it—after almost two years of writing weekly, I forgot today was Wednesday. Totally and completely blew out of my head. Age? Gooberness? Nothing to say? Nah—just ask Man-Wonder about that one. . .

Truthfully, once again, I’ve been too busy reading—books, articles, blogs, cereal boxes—anything!

Like, I’m a fan of Cathy Johnson; her style of art and her blog; so when she talked about a book called breathing room, well, I had to check it out. She’s in the midst of clutter-busting and this book is a how-to of getting to the core of cluttering. But, not just physical clutter—it’s also about chucking up the emotional/mental clutter, opening up space in the heart so we can open up space in our living areas.

breathing room   is co-written by Lauren Rosenfeld and Dr. Melva Green. It’s a package deal of humor, real-life stories from people they’ve helped, exercises to do, and spiritual lessons.

I’m only up to chapter 15 at this point and already I’ve been requested by Man-Wonder not to bring it to the coffee shop because I keep interrupting his reading. Can I help it when I come across a part that I think he should hear.

Remember what I said at the beginning about never having nothing to say!

So far, this book is proving to be one of those books I’ve discovered right at the time I am needing it. In the last while I’ve noticed there is way, WAY more coming in to this non-mobile mobile home than there is going out, and it’s beginning to feel stuff-o-cating at times.

And, by the way, for those early morning, mid-day, or late evening coffee sits with dear husband, I’ve started taking along Annelise Ryan’s whodunits. They crack me up.  She is funny and fresh and clever.

So, trust Man-Wonder to complain about them too! He says my laughing  is interrupting him . . .

. . . any wonder I call him Man-Wonder ???

Waiting and Watching

sorry dog

Fall strikes me as a time of waiting and watching.

  • Waiting for the shortest day of the year to arrive and then watching the days grow back, minute by minute, until it’s—YAH—summertime again
  • Waiting for this year to end because it is so close now that 2015’s  fresh breath is tickling our senses.
  • Waiting for the leaves to turn their brilliant backsides of oranges, yellows and reds to us.
  • Watching the leaves fall until just the right moment when they hit the perfect crunch level. And then, when no one else is watching we kick our way through them and smile at that momentary spurt of youth again
  • Waiting for the first frost to knock the stuffing out of any flowers brave enough to still be hanging around because the gardening urge hit the compost pile about a month back
  • Hearing the frantic chatter of the birds as they dart here and dart there, finding less and less before they give up and flee in flocks from the coming cold
  • Waiting for the goofy squirrels in the park to stop moving their nuts from one tree to another and carefully watching for them as they have the oddest habit of waiting until a vehicle is rolling by before they make a mad dash in front of it. I often wonder if it’s squirrely suicide because they’re over-frazzled  from their nutty business.

But mostly, for me this fall, I am waiting and watching the pounds melt away. Eight so far. Yah for me as I switch back to better eating habits and more—okay honestly—some exercise. We’ve dusted off and pumped up the old bicycles and are trying for rides between the rainfalls and I’ve found a new twist-on-an-old-cliché mantra to murmur whenever drool-producing smell wafts too close;

If I keep doing the same old, I’ll be living the old same.

And who the hell wants to do that eh. . .

 

A week of oddball bits (sorry Man-wonder)

Man-wonder has been slowly losing heart as he de-mouse-s the sun porch.

De-mouse-ing in the sense of removing and replacing the ‘Mickey Mouse’ work done by previous owners of this mo-bile we now call home.

But, I think I’ve found a bit of motivation with this picture I came across.

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Now that’s a sun porch! And I plan to show it to him tomorrow. I figure it’ll send him heading down one of two paths—either he’ll realize how tiny our sun porch  is compared to this mammoth and he’ll strap on his tool-belt  with renewed vigor OR he’ll like it and decide we should rip down and redo bigger. . . Either way it should be a win-win situation. . .

On a completely different note I came across these little treasures during the week:

 

 

  •  A great short video where Momastery blogger Glennon Doyle Melton talks about finally owning her body as well as saying the f-a-r-t word out loud; http://momastery.com/blog/

 

What’s a pound anyway?

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“You have two months to get your blood pressure down to a normal state or you will begin taking medication.”

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“Awwwkk!”

An excerpt from my most recent conversation with my doctor. Nice person but one I try not to see more than twice a year. Mostly because I can find much more comfortable places to wait, and wait, and wait. . . Nor do I like sitting in a large room where a small percentage of the other ‘waiters’ are coughing up god knows what into little white tissues they hold in their fists like a child holds candy. And it is kind of terrifyingly fascinating to watch those poor souls who you just know aren’t going to be coming back for many more doctor visits while wondering if that will be your fate also.

Aside from those reasons, I find one visit to the doctor for a simple matter will always lead to two or three more visits because she/he is determined that since you are there they are going to check every freaking little and not-so-little part. They are going to poke and probe and tap and maybe, if they are lucky, they’ll find some rare or catastrophic disease in their hunt.

Not that I’ll ever admit it but I like her thoroughness. I just wish she could use a bit of physic ability and see into my energy fields for problems. It sure would save a lot of time and blood testing. . .

So, Man-wonder and I are embarking on our second time on the GI Diet lifestyle. This time it truly does have to become a lifestyle . . .

one pound of fat — A motivational image to keep us hanging in there.

 

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