March 28, 2011
For some reason, Spring has decided to take a hiatus.
Mother Nature must be fighting hot flashes again.
-15 C when I took the dogs out yesterday morning.
It was so cold that when Frankie stood still, I could see steam coming from his nose.
And Tikka barely got off the step before she did her business and ran back to the front door.
-13 C this morning.
Yesterday, after meeting and grocery shopping Stephen and I decided to go for a walk downtown.
In scarves, hats, mitts, long johns, three pairs of wool socks, sweaters. . . .
Nonetheless, the brisk, frigid wind coupled with Stephen's I-am-6-foot-4-inches-and-have-legs-at-least-4-feet-long-and-set-a-pace-that-makes-your-little-2-feet-legs-struggle-to-keep-up-taking-three-steps-to-my-one meant an invigorating walk.
And sore muscles today.
Hence a longer, slower yoga session this morning.
While Stephen lounged in bed, snoring.
Seems unfair, doesn't it?
Lifestyle changes are difficult.
When you've been doing something for as long as you can remember it is challenging to just stop.
My biggest challenge with Simply for Life has been carbs.
Cookies, breads, cakes, muffins, pastries. . . .
Anything with flour essentially.
For Stephen, I have come to accept, his nemesis is night time eating.
What I like to refer to as the "fourth meal."
Being a night owl doesn't help.
Most nights, he falls asleep at his desk amid his papers and books.
Chin resting on his chest.
If I wake up to use the facilities, I'll move him from his desk chair to his bed.
The latter is, hopefully, more comfortable.
Some night, however, sleep eludes him.
But his appetite doesn't.
The other night/morning, around 3.00 am, I am dreaming of food.
In particular, fried eggs.
I can't stand fried eggs.
Hardboiled, I'm your girl.
Scrambled with a nice rare steak, call me up.
Fried. . .you can keep them to yourself thank you very much.
The question is, then, how come my dreams are permeated with thoughts of fried eggs?
Because Stephen was in the kitchen, cooking them.
Thinking, erroneously, that because I was in bed, he could get away with it.
I said nothing.
Hid under the duvet, and hoped I could return to slumber sans the stench of fried eggs.
And that the kitchen wouldn't reek when I got up.
But the night eating is proving to be a hurdle.
Perhaps a lock on the fridge?
Saturday we celebrated Earth Hour with yoga-by-candlelight.
But not before we enjoyed a meal of chicken with rice soup and a very delicious homemade pizza at the nursing home.
And then a nice visit with my mother, the highlight of which was watching the 24 hour CTV news channel, which is usually the only time I get to watch the news, and of course there was a rather lengthy story of the upcoming federal election.
My parents, as I may have mentioned before, are die hard Conservatives.
My mother's uncle was Hugh John Flemming, a former premier of our province.
Politics is one of those topics, along with religion, war and the role of the military in contemporary society, that we avoid at all costs.
Nonetheless, after watching this news feature, my mother commented upon who she was going to vote for. . . .
. . .as if we didn't already know. . . .
and how useless the other two candidates were.
She's not entirely wrong.
Except she forgot to include the other useless candidate.
I don't know who I will vote for.
Except that I feel as if I am trying to select the lesser of three evils.
There will be no peace until the election is over.
Because I am positive my right wing conservative parents are still trying to figure out how she ended up with a left wing, feminist daughter.
And I wonder how come Stephen Harper doesn't make them feel as nauseated and scared as he makes me feel.
Parents and politics.
A lethal combination.
Yoga by candlelight. . .right. . .
Very, very nice.
Even more relaxing than yoga by dim lights.
I think we'll try it again.
And just hope that Reilley or Goblet doesn't think it would be fun to hop onto anywhere there is a candle.
Yoga in burning living room doesn't strike me as anywhere near as enjoyable. . . .
Stephen wouldn't be calm for the rest of his natural life.
Title Lyric: Hello in There by Bette Midler
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