exercise with caution

The only reason I would take up jogging is so I could hear heavy breathing again.        Erma Bombeck

This posting is not for the faint-hearted.  The past two months have been spent dealing with reshaping or should I say rebuilding my aged frame.  I’m discovering that I’m not getting the results as fast as I would have in my younger years.  I’m not going to say that it’s a painful process both emotionally and physically, because that’s too mundane.  There is no hankie wringing here.  I decided to join a health club to ignite my slow metabolism. My lack of willpower for abstaining from Hershey chocolate and bottles of Bud Light is interfering with my endeavors to get buff.  Six pack abs are more important than being placed on statins.  Come on, just the word, statins, sounds so elderly.  So, what is it I have been doing to help my situation one might ask.  Well, I joined Pilates in an earnest attempt to build core strength.  But, for crying out loud, the instructor talked so fast and quietly while she walked the room with her microphone, I worked my neck more just looking for her. There were some other mature women in the group who suggested that I give ballet fusion a try.  This class involves an exercise bar that is held for an upper body workout, all the while executing a “fondu” (one leg lowers with the other one up, supposedly) then quickly “releve” (rising to the balls of one’s feet).  I’m concentrating to the best of my ability while hearing the instructor shout, “Ladies, I’m sorry if you have to buy a pair of smaller jeans.”  I will remain in this class not only because it’s “cool”, but I actually need to find my balance.  I’m still not satisfied, however.  Upon returning to the women’s locker room, I’m not sweating and breathing heavily like the others.  A cardio workout must be added to my regime.  Zumba, here I come!

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Happy New Year

I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.
Anais Nin

Three weeks into the New Year and I feel good. Christmas gift cards to a spa were given to myself and my daughter, so we made a highly anticipated trek to de-stress and rejuvenate ourselves.  I felt like a girl out on the town with my BFF.  When we arrived, we were taken to the sauna and vibrating machine room to “shake and bake” (according to another customer).  I was curious about the vibrating contraption that would provide a 40 minute workout in the span of 12 minutes.  However, we were warned not to go over the speed of 15. I must say this admonishment fell on deaf ears.  We both decided that we possibly couldn’t be thrown off, so we ventured into the unknown only to discover boredom.  It was an experience that neither of us need to repeat.  We ventured out in our spa robes to wait to be escorted to our treatment rooms.  Both of us were to receive massages of our upper bodies and feet along with a soothing facial.  I looked forward to this even though I don’t like people touching my feet.  We would meet after an hour and have lunch in the little Victorian room.  During the next hour I drifted in and out of light snoozes while being pampered with lovely scented oils and piped-in alternative music.  I was a new woman. I met my daughter for salad, tea, and sweets, while we chatted about our 2.5 hours at the spa.  Unfortunately, she was held captive by an esthetician who had an uncontrollable chortle.  But, that’s another story.

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Thanksgiving 2014

Thanksgiving is America’s national chow-down feast, the one occasion each year when gluttony becomes a patriotic duty. ~Michael Dresser

This year joining us for the turkey feast is the cutest butterball of all, our grandson. Master Charlie arrived sporting a navy blue pullover vest with an argyle design, light blue pin striped long sleeved shirt, and the all American favorite, a pair of blue jeans. He’s only 7 months old, and the kid already knows how to dress for dinner. It was so special to share his first Thanksgiving holiday, one for which I am so thankful and which will always be etched in my mind. Charlie’s winning smiles and big personality captured everyone’s attention and directed it away from my homemade cherry pie that resembled a Pop Tart, the turkey looking sun baked and weather worn, the spinach casserole excessively loaded with crunchy celery, and Gran imbibing in the customary bottle of wine. We all look forward next year when our tiny compatriot will be able to sample the fare in this traditional American celebration. And, Gran will omit the celery from the spinach dish.


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? years young

It takes a long time to become young.   ~Pablo Picasso

This past month, I, along with my husband, daughter, 5.5 month old grandson, and a big appetite, headed on down the highway to have a birthday lunch at a fifties-inspired diner.  We were enjoying the scenery on an unusually warm autumn day.  Our little grandbaby, smiling and laughing, was having a good time blowing raspberries for gramps.  No one could have orchestrated a better birthday celebration.  Throw a baby into the mix and suddenly, there is whole new meaning to this journey in life. Instead of downing a glass or two of wine in an over-priced restaurant, I stood in the crowded aisle of a small town truck stop among other diner patrons and bustling staff while holding a restless baby boy, as he fixedly stared at a fuzzy Halloween tarantula, dangling at the end of a taped string.  I don’t feel old, because I’m keeping company with a little man who will reach over, place his tiny hand on my arm, and direct a gaze as if to say, I like you, lady.

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sum, sum, summertime

“Time does not pass, it continues.”            ~Marty Rubin

My husband remarked this evening that I hadn’t posted in three months. And, there has been so much adventure. Even though this summer has seen a tremendous amount of rainfall and washed out roads, we managed to grab the sunshine and create new memories.  We enjoyed three bike trips on our Harley in which one included a feat that we never even listed on our bucket list, a ride to the top of Mount Evans, the nation’s highest paved road at 14, 240 ft.  To prove it, here we are in our moment:

twoofusonmtevansAfter a nerve-wracking, but inspirational, ride to heaven’s door, we posed  with quiet confidence, not wanting to think about the necessary descent to civilization.  All I can say is that I have never been so chuffed at seeing a tree line.  Also, I had the presence of mind to count the number of 180 degree switchbacks… 16.

Our next escapade was a week long sojourn to Northern New Mexico.  We carried with us a few changes of clothing in our soft leather bag that fits over the sissy bar and the smugness of two cocky teenagers out to rule the world.  Of course, the trip was broken into segments so our muscles wouldn’t get too stiff. We are cognizant of the fact that our bodies don’t match our attitude. Santa Fe was our destination, but before arriving there, we took an 80 mile ride around Mount Wheeler, termed the Enchanted Circle. Our country holds so many hidden treasures.  We finally arrived Santa Fe in 99 degree temps during rush hour traffic.

jerwithcowboy“Got my dog, got my horse, and now I got my cowboy.”

I just wanted to say that.  Anyway, Santa Fe is a beautiful artsy town.  If money were no object, I would have an array of sculpture from New Mexico dotting my landscaping.

Our next trip was to Cripple Creek for the 2014 Veterans Rally to honor those who have served our country since the Revolutionary War and to remember our POW/MIAs.  It is an extraordinary event with thousands of people and motorbikes from all over the country.

cripplecreek2014Cripple Creek after the parade

When we weren’t on our bike, we spent time with a special little person in our lives.  Need I say more?

charlieandgrampsGramps and Charlie at our favorite buffet restaurant

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