Sunday, December 27, 2009

De-inflated Christmas

There's nothing sadder to me than inflatable Santas that are un-inflated resting on the lawn mournfully. I don't like inflatables at all, actually, because they seem moody that way and, for me, Christmas should be staunchly upbeat. There is one visible from outside my picture window and I hope it takes to the skies like a wayward kite and finds its way to another neighborhood.

It's December 27th and the live Christmas tree in the living room is starting to droop. We're past the point where gifts are universally infatuating and now looking at gifts like TLC's Clean Sweep show where they put three king-sized sheets on the lawn labeled "Keep," "Toss," or "Donate."

The homemade Christmas cookies are starting to get stale, but we're eating them anyway.

Early thoughts for New Year's resolutions:

1. Eat less
2. Exercise more
3. Write regularly and attempt to market said writing

Tuesday, December 8, 2009


The 7:15 pm interval aerobics class I normally take has morphed into a Yogilates class. The alternative is sticking with my old class that moved to 6:15 pm, which is peak dinnertime in my house and damn near impossible.

Anyway, this was my second time at Yogilates - before Thanksgiving, classes were shifted around and I gave it a whirl. We did a lot of slow poses that I found mostly funny, since I can't envision myself as a tree without giggling. I think I'm missing a microchip for dignity somewhere in my head. I never feel dignified. In the back of my head there's always a little voice suggesting my pantyhose may be tucked into my underwear, my makeup may have shifted into a Kiss-like mask or I may have misjudged the mirror in the morning, approached the day with childlike innocence believing my outfit was flattering, while in reality I look lumpy, bumpy and frumpy. Sometimes I look at photos of myself and am literally horrified, in particular there was the turquoise maternity top I wore to my shower, which I thought was graceful and flowing, but made me look like the mothership. But, I digress.

Since Thanksgiving I've not actually gone to the aerobics classes, savoring the leftovers - turkey, trimmings and desserts. One aerobics class evening, instead of attending, I went with my husband and daughter to Home Depot and bought a Christmas tree. The other was sheer laziness on my part. I operate under the belief that during The Holiday Season, which, to me, extends from around 11/1 through 1/1 most people spend the time cooking, eating, watching holiday specials on television and drinking with their friends and families. Clearly, I've misjudged this.

These Yogilates women are in incredible shape. Even the big one. They quickly flapped their legs in the air, while deftly doing situps with their front end. There was a lot of flapping, plus holding excruciatingly uncomfortable positions. The coup de grĂ¢ce, however, was this: laying on the side resting on the hip, with legs elevated and frogging in and out, while crunching with the top half, resting precariously on seemingly one rib.

If I hadn't seen it done, I would have thought it was like airbrushing on magazines.

It saddens me to realize that we are not all in this together. Everyone says we gain weight during The Holidays and I was fine with that. But, clearly there are people out there who are using this time to get ahead of the rest of us, so that by the time New Years rolls around and we are deciding to lose weight, they are already svelte and are working smugly on "toning."

Image from The Onion

Saturday, December 5, 2009


My Thanksgiving was really good. The best ever food –wise, for sure, since it’s so much easier to cook for 10 than 20.

There was bit of apprehension, though. I had thought Great Aunt Gloria and Great Uncle Warren would not be coming, because he had just had a pacemaker installed the day before. And the week before that, they thought he had TB and we visited him and had to wear masks, but they then decided it was “just” pneumonia and a kidney problem. So, I was pretty sure, we were setting the table for 8. The night before I called my Great Aunt, just to be sure. She said Uncle Warren had just been moved to rehab that day, but that she was going to “break him out” out of rehab (her words), against all of his doctor’s strong recommendations and warnings, because she thought it would be better for his spirits to be with family for that day. She would then return him back to his recovery room afterwards.

I played it off like I wasn’t disturbed, although inwardly it seemed to me that the place for him is somewhere where someone else is responsible for his well-being. I told Rob that they would be attending in a very offhanded way, as if it was no big deal. Rob started over-analyzing, as Rob does and wondered if he died in our house, if we’d have to move and pondered about whether my mother (who has saved 2 people’s lives who stopped breathing using CPR) would be able to do it a third time.

They came – he shuffled around and I tried not to watch him eat, because he is diabetic and Thanksgiving is a carb-hardy dinner. Apparently after the cranberry sauce he tested himself and his sugar was so high, he was shooting himself up in the stomach at the table (Rob saw this, I didn’t – I have to tell you, I was trying not to look, in general). After dinner, he needed to lay down in the guestroom, which is when I started to get very nervous. My great aunt pulled the shades and he curled up in the fetal position, with her coat over him (I would have given him a blanket, but when I checked on him he was out cold). I head a whispery sound coming out of his mouth and ascertained that he was alive. I did not feel well myself until he re-emerged in time for dessert. I’m happy to report that eventually they departed to drop him back off at rehab.

I made sure everyone left with a little bit of a Thanksgiving in disposable Gladware. And, I remain grateful that the only mammal dead in my house that day was the turkey.