little tummy roll that has helpfully crept over the bottom of the iPad, so that it might help you type?
Anne Lamott, from a Facebook post on November 25, 2012:
Quickly, and probably with lots of typos: I am beginning to think that this body of mine is the one I will have the entire time I am on this side of eternity.
I didn’t agree to this. I have tried for approximately fifty years to get it to be an ever so slightly different body: maybe the tiniest bit more like Cindy Crawford’s, and–if this is not too much to ask–Michelle Obama’s arms. I mean, is this so much to ask? But I had to ask myself, while eating my second piece of key lime pie in Miami last Sunday, and then again, while sampling my second piece of Crete brûlée in Akron, if this is going to happen.
For the record, I do not usually eat like I do in hotels while I am on book tour. But I have a terrble sweet tooth and I am just not going to be spending much more of this and precious life at the gym, than I already do, which is at best, three times a week, in a terrible shirking bad attitude bitter frame of mind. I go for three one-hour hikes a week. I’m not a Lunges kind of girl.
And even if I were, I’m shrinking. I’m not quite Dr. Ruth yet, but I used to be 5’7, and now am–well, not.
But the psalmist says I am wonderfully and fearfully made. Now, upon hearing that, two days after Thanksgiving, don’t you automatically think that “fearfully” refers to your thighs, your upper arms, the little tummy roll that has helpfully crept over the bottom of the iPad, so that it might help you type? [Read more…]
Kids: “Dad, People just don’t do that. It’s weird.”
Dad: “Listen, I’m not People.”
Kids: Eyes roll. Whispering to each other, don’t we know that.
My text message is sent to the neighbors the night before.
“…Will Anya be free to come out to play in the morning?”
Text message comes zipping back.
“…Of course. We’ll leave the door unlocked, and the leash by the door.”
This has become a weekend routine.
She now knows what’s coming when the leash is by the door. She hears the car pull up, its daybreak. I walk up to the door, there’s a soft “woof” – she’s been waiting. I can hear the pitter patter of her paws on the wood floor. I open the door and she bounds out, ready to join her new BFF.
When you lose your dog, when the wounds are still fresh, and you haven’t / can’t replace your dog, what do you do? You borrow the neighbor’s Dog, of course. It’s not weird, it’s a bloody necessity. 0.5 Wolfpack is better than no Wolfpack at all. [Read more…]
She started it.
With the taunts. The insults: “Jelly Belly.” “Man Boobs.” “Sad.”
This being Daddy’s Girl.
Daddy’s Creation. I built THAT.
She’s 2x younger. Or better stated, Dad’s 2x older.
And, then, she threw out the bait.
Dad: “Let’s compare daily step counts. Download this App. Maybe we can get that (pointing to the belly) in better shape.”
So, it has become a Father-Daughter ritual.
Each night, before bedtime, we check our step counts via a text share.
Week 1 was a partial week and a ramp up week – – and her gloating.
Week 2 is the first full week and both sides are in full stride.
She shares her report tonight. Her steps are shown above – along with her step count each day for the last 7 days.
My response: “Not bad Honey. 🙂”
I then reciprocate and send her my daily report. (Below) [Read more…]
Source: Indexed by Jessica Hagy – Aim for 10,000 Small steps a day.
The train pulls into Grand Central, and clears. I sit. And wait.
The conductor walks up the aisle gathering tickets.
I cue up a Paul Simon playlist and walk.
The platform is empty. Stragglers amble toward the exits.
I nod to the armed guard, and slip through the open door onto 42nd, passing a conga line of yellow cabs. Not today gentlemen, not today. We’re walking Cross-Town.
Good morning America.
Dawn in Manhattan.
Sun Power lights up the skyscrapers, they lean in from the shadows to warm.
A wisp of a breeze cools, a welcome cut of the ever-present humidity, and a respite from the simmering trash and the marinating urine.
The electronic horse walks.
There’s a skip in the step this morning, loaded with a full night’s sleep, and boosted by Sun’s Solar Power. Beast and Beast. One up Top. One on the ground. Duo is Un-freak-ing-stoppable. [Read more…]
“Yoga sensation Rachel Brathen (aka Yoga Girl) has inspired others to grab a yoga mat and get going—including her baby goat Penny Lane! Last Christmas, Brathen received the adorable creature as a present from her husband. Together, they’re dedicated to running an animal rescue. “All she wants to do is sit on our laps and watch TV and climb things … and chill on the couch looking cool with her underbite,” writes Brathen, referring to Penny Lane.”
Don’t miss the full story and additional photographs here: My Modern Met
“What are the winter months?”
The cab driver chuckled. “You’ve not been to Anguilla Sir?” He paused and continued. “There are no winter months, Sir.”
Who you callin’ Sir? Aha. Old and stupid. 18° 15′ North – standing on the Equator. No seasons.
That was a week ago. It’s 6:10 am. 52° F. We’re trudging up a severe incline at Mianus River Park in Connecticut, back to reality. It’s Christmas Day. 391 acres. No humans, no superficial chit chat – ISTJ magic. Squirrels, Zeke and me. He’s at my heels, the clanking of his steel tags breaking the morning silence. He’s panting. I’m heaving.
It was a week ago. It was 82° F, gusty, the fronds on the palm trees slapping. Anguilla’s beach, fine white sand sifting through your toes, walking on cotton. The sea is warm, clear, the white sand carpets the ocean floor. I’m floating on a thick foam mattress, the tropical winds sashay the hammock. Wispy clouds, paintings, lazily pass overhead. If there was heaven….
That was a week ago. It’s a muddy track from the rains. Footing is sloppy. The Sun is working to burn through the clouds. Mist is rising from the earth. I’m over layered, overdressed and overheating during this December heat wave. And there’s Anguilla. Ever present. But, could you live there? [Read more…]