Exercise, anyone?

Why, oh why, is it so hard to get oneself to exercise? It's good for you - even better than peas and carrots combined. Eish, but I don't likey...I'd rather eat that plate of spinach, or go hungry altogether, than run or bike or step myself into a sweaty mess. But I also know that no amount of nuts or salad will do to your body that which a good work-out will. There's no way around it...

So it started this week when I decided to weigh myself after coming back from another holiday which always includes a lot of restaurant food and no time for exercise because of all the sightseeing, boat cruises, driving from town to city, booking in, checking out, packing, unpacking - totally exhausting!

The bathroom scale is one of those ornaments in the house that you don't display along with the glass vase from Venice or the miniature perfume bottles on the bathroom counter. So after locating it from underneath the layer of dust  - like I said : it does not form part of the dusting routine of other ornaments - I had to figure out how it actually works...electronic and all, this particular one.

It was not a pretty picture. Yes, I did not see figures on the scale but rather a boatload of chocolate bars, piled mile high, laughing at me from the tiny screen of this fancy-schmancy electronic scale. Of course this is untrue but it was my mind playing tricks with me - where in the world would you get a scale with cartoons, seriously. Although it would be a good idea to scare people right into a gym membership if the scale could stick out its tongue at you or roll its eyes at you. Now that would be something...

I immediately started a treasure hunt in my closet to find my yoga clothes - it's been a while since I've seen or used them. Alas I found them - they did not make it to the charity bin after all - and lo and behold, found a pair that still fits my current state. Tightly, but not bursting at the seams, yet...I figured that the only way I would start doing any of the moves they call "exercise" I need to be comfortable at all hours of the day, so that whenever I feel the need (like right after eating a cookie or watching the Food Channel) I can just fall down there and then and do a few sit-ups or squats or tummy rubs...

It's just so hard! And so boring. And it hurts. And makes you even hungrier. And grumpier. Which means I must do something wrong because everytime my husband finishes one of his marathon long runs on the treadmill, he tells me he feels GREAT - that exact word. Great. While he's breathing like an oxygen-deprived lab monkey - don't ask me what this means, I made it up - and gobbling down water like a camel in the Sahara desert, and gleaming with sweat like a cast member from "Jersey Shore". Maybe that's it: I don't like the "face" of exercise - it's not very becoming.

This change of pace and rationing of food has another downside for me. Another contributing factor to my sleeplessness: the growling noises from my stomach prevented me from falling asleep last night. Just lying there, listening, wondering if I should get up and read a magazine (which would inevitably have a food section and ads of perfect bodies in bikinis) or go to the computer to write this blog, or ignore my own body's needs for food in exchange for it's need to sleep, 'cause once I'm asleep, the torture will be over till tomorrow morning when the squatting and rationing starts all over again.

Well, eventually I fell asleep and now it's a new day. I'm here, sitting in my yoga gear (I'm a poet and I don't even know it) for what it's worth. A little stiff from yesterday's initiation squats. But I will not quit - not for the moment though, but I'll let you know, about my new glow, before the first snow in early No' (November, that is) - I'm trying to kill time here people...it's either this or the treadmill.

Till next time - happy running!

It's time for a king size bed...

It's not a matter of waning love. Or selfishness. Or a bad mood. It's simply a matter of sanity...because if I can't have a proper night's sleep, well, let's just say, someone may get hurt. It's usually not pretty.

For years I could wiggle my legs and arms this way or that way to try and find room somehow on the bed in order to get a proper night's sleep. I've even made peace with the seam of the mattress more times than not, even when I didn't go to bed mad. But lately I just can't handle my numb right arm anymore. The numbing feeling is starting to become more often and for prolonged periods of time since it serves as a cushiony pillow most of the night for some people...

The thing that made this whole situation unbearable lately, is the fact that I can't seem to fall asleep anymore. I really struggle and almost nightly still look at the alarm clock way after midnight. I've started surfing the web in the wee hours of the morning or read a book for which I can't find time during the day etc. But it's not supposed to be this way. I'm not a happy camper if I don't get my 8 hours of sleep, and me being grumpy is working against the benefit of all around me. Maybe if I can sort out my issues with Wee Willie Winkie, I would be more equipped to absorb this inconvenience.

What's holding me back though, is the fact that all the beds in the house currently, are queen size, which means that all my bedding are the same size as well. I therefor have quite a collection of sheets, duvets, comforters, pillow cases etc. made for queen size. Upgrading, or rather upsizing the mattress to king size would not only mean buying a new mattress, but also a bigger headboard, and base, and bedding, and maybe even new nightstands, and chest of drawers, and, and, and...We're talking a small fortune here.

All these factors make me rethink this whole new venture. At least I have a bed to sleep on, and someone next to me. Warm sheets. I'm otherwise healthy - apart from the stiff joints in the morning as a result of less than desirable limb positions during the night and grumpiness as a result of not enough sleep.

So I'm back to square one: should I rather spend the money on a holiday where the hotel room will have a king size bed??

A word of advice Kate...

If you tie your hair, you would actually have both hands to attend to your dress. Calgary is a windy place...

You must be kidding me!

It's happened again - like too many times before!

They've discontunued another one of my favourites. And this time it's a perfume. According to the lady behind the counter, it happened two years ago already - just like that. No warning, no survey, no reason I can think of that would justify this treacherous act - by my standards that is - just gone, forever. I usually have a spare bottle of all my perfumes but now that this special fragrance of mine has been running low, I started looking to buy the next bottle or two to last me the next year or two. Just to be told: it's been discontinued. I almost started to cry right there and then in the middle of the store. She must be mistaken, this salesperson, or misinformed, or mis-something. But alas, after asking at another store the next day, the salesperson dared to tell me that she's never even heard of that fragrance - how dare she! I'm at a loss without this fragrance - truly the most beloved smell I've ever known. And of course I have lots of other bottles of perfume, but none as close to my heart as this one. This smell has become part of my identity. The smell my husband knows me by, with which memories are called upon. That smell and I were one. And now it's gone.

Maybe I should phone Charlize Theron and ask her if she can't find me a bottle of this - she should have some contacts since she is the face of the perfume. And not the golden bottle - the SILVER one please.

The reason why this news was met with such an extreme reaction from me, is the fact that it was just one more thing I love, that disappears, with me not having any control or say over it. It's so sad that it's almost funny and my family is starting to joke about it even. Every dish I love in a restaurant gets taken off the menu sooner or later, depending on how much I love it. The more often I visit the restaurant and the more attached I get to the meal item, the higher the probability gets of the item being removed from the menu as if it never even existed.

I write e-mails, I beg them to bring back that specific meal item every time I go back there, I surf the web for the recipe, I cry and bemoan my fate to everone who takes the chance to listen to me, but no way - it's gone!! "Hardly anyone ordered it ma'am". But I ordered it you fool - every time I came here, and I couldn't have come every day of every week just so there would be a big enough demand in your estimation to keep the item there!!!

Why do they keep doing this?? What have I done wrong? Seriously. Who informed the "track-your-favourites-so-we-can-take-it-away" police to follow my every move? Because they sure are diligent in recalling everything I like. They know just who to contact in order to discontinue the restaurant items, potato chips, perfume, cooldrink, jackets (or blazers if you will) and whatever else I like. It's creepy crazy. Or do I have a singular taste, in that I am the only person on this planet earth, buying the things I do and that no one else shares my sentiment about certain things and therefor the demand is not big enough so the manufacturer/restauranteur has no choice but to quit production. The old principle of supply and demand which goes against everything I believe in. If I have great taste, why should I be penalised because not enough people catches on to my preferences?

I can almost replace each and every favourite thing in The Sound of Music song by the same name, with things that have been my favourites but no longer exists!

The other thing that bugs me is the fact that when I do find a thing I like - just before "they" stop production of that thing too, my size is ALWAYS the one that's sold out - at ALL the stores who carries this thing. You see what I mean? They have it in for me - big time. Just can't figure out why.

I'm at my wits end. I may just as well throw in the towel. What the heck - they're probably already tracking down the next thing to quietly tuck away in the vaults of  "favourite things never to be seen again".

Wear yourselves out people! I'm quitting!

Yes, I am a beaver!

The beaver is quite a prominent figure on many a thing in Canada - a national symbol. From money to flags, even my favourite beer, you name it, it's there.

It just so happens that the beaver can wreck quite a bit of havoc in springtime since they are constantly trying to block the flow of every creek and riverstream in order to build themselves a cosy home. This habit of theirs is the cause of many a flooding even in our little neighbourhood since we have a creek running through our subdivision. It became such a big problem that the County - our municipality - is still sending their people almost daily to come and have a look at our creek and break down any barriers built by these little creatures overnight.

Let me state it clearly: I am a much bigger fan of the beaver than the ant. The ant may be busy but the beaver even busier. And the ants wreck my garden, every flowerbed and piece of lawn are invaded by them - in their thousands, I may add! They are very low in my esteem at the moment. They're even eating away at my house's foundation since our house is built almost entirely with wood - how I do miss a brick house now... Don't see much use for them either. Seriously, what precisely are they doing or contributing to society or nature in general? They don't make honey like bees, or eat mice, or catch mosquitos (another one of nature's nuisances and annoyances) or control the balance of certain other species.

But the beaver is a different story. They have the cutest little faces. And I do admire their swimming abilities - you have to give it to them: with a body built like that...Although I do not quite condone their constant chomping off of trees. They should be rationed in this regard but until we can find a way to communicate with them in a way that would be constructive, I can't see this happening soon. But on the other hand, how should they otherwise keep those pearly whites of theirs, sharp?

Which brings me back to me. In this house, I am being called "the beaver". And it's not because I have prominent front teeth or because of my agility in water (which I don't have, by the way)...It's because I am constantly busy - building a home, chomping off trees, rearranging the wood, swimming to shore, collecting some more, attending to the family - all proverbially speaking of course.

What is it about us that we feel we must constantly attend to something. Not to be caught for even a second doing just nothing, or reading a book, or taking an afternoon nap, or sit on the deck for some much needed sun. Oh no, we have to keep moving! This still needs cleaning and that can be re-organised to look even neater, and those need some replenishing and before you know it, it's time to start with supper, but then you need an ingredient or two for such supper, so it's in the car, buy it, speeding back and on you go!

Maybe it's because of the enormous guilt of not having to work - at a salaried job - that I feel I have to work twice as hard during the day to earn this privilege of staying home. Not that it was a choice of my own choosing - life just turned out that way for me. I do admit of feeling a bit envious when seeing people in the rush hour to and from work, dressed and stressed, and excelling in what they do, but I am also quite aware of the trappings it also brings. I decide every day whether I want to dress up or down, wear make-up or not, and yes, sometimes I clean the house in a Calvin Klein dress! I am working, ain't I? But the boss of me, is I!

I just need to stop feeling as if someone is watching over my shoulder and keeping tabs of everything I've done today. Of giving report at the end of the day - or everytime my husband calls during the day - of every detail I've accomplished and what will still be done before the weekend comes. Although, in this job, the work never really stops - no business hours here. Over weekends the wheel keeps turning, the beaver still runs, or swim, to keep head above the water. To keep the nest intact.

"Ledigheid is die duiwel se oorkussing" has way too much leverage over us. And then comes Proverbs 6 that promps this beaver-like behaviour of mine even more when it says: 6:4 Permit no sleep to your eyes ¹⁴or slumber to your eyelids. And further  - 6:6 Go to the ant, you sluggard; ¹⁷observe its ways and be wise! continuing with - 6:9 How long, you sluggard, will you lie there? When will you rise from your sleep? ²⁰6:10 A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to relax, ²¹ 6:11 and your poverty will come like a robber, ²² and your need like an armed man. 

^{This weighs heavily on me, and my Calvinistic tendencies do not permit me either to put these thoughts on the back-burner, even for a little while. So I keep moving, fervently and sometimes annoyingly, ruining everyone else's peace and quiet. But I'm working on it - putting a task on hold here and there, but only until I drive past that creek again and see my namesake, the beaver, going at it at his usual pace...}

Where did Wee Willie Winkie go?

The sandman that is. The guy who is supposed to take you to the land of Nod. Who carries the fairy dust around. Do you now know whom I'm talking about? Klaasvakie for short.

Well, I have a problem with him. He has been short-changing me lately. Or skipped my house altogether on his  nightly rounds. Without sending me a notice that he will be taking a leave of absence. Or move to a different zip code. Or just telling me where he was the previous few months. Not a very considerate guy if you ask me.

He ignores some people deliberately if they had too much coffee before bedtime or ate too much. This I can understand - if nothing else, he is quite temperamental and sometimes just plain mean. Where I have a problem with him is when he stays away when I'm really tired or really worried. He refuses to knock on my door in these circumstances.Surely he has some issues he needs to deal with , but not on my watch please.

Little kids fight any form of sleep with all their might. The words they fear most at night, are: it's time to go to bed. As adults we long for that extra hour of sleep and consider it a luxury to be in bed before 23h00. It's a constant battle in this house to actually go to bed. My husband always has one more piece of work to do, one more program to watch, one more article to read, or one more cup of coffee to drink. Me, I can go to bed right after supper, I don't care about the heartburn or the fact that the moon is not yet out. There are antacids and curtains for those things.

I am just so damn cranky when I don't get my 8 hours of sleep and therefor in awe of people who can function on 4 hours of sleep per night. Or am I really? I just not quite believe them if they say how effective they are and that if they sleep more than this they will not get everything done. I get it that life is short, but my friend, I'm sad to say, but it is going to catch up with you, and not in a nice way. You get out what you put in, and if you keep depriving that work horse of a body you have now, it's going to ask for payback sooner or later and usually not in a fun way.

Our minds move at warp speeds during the day (it takes quite a bit from you to make plans on how to change the world and everyone else around you...) and would it be so interesting to know how many thoughts run through this hard drive each day. If I feel wiped out at the end of the day, I can't even imagine about you guys who actually have a real job - it must be quite a party in there. It's precisely because I think too much that I just can't seem to find the "off" switch when I lie down at night, and this is where my battle with WWW - yeah, that guy - starts. Isn't he suppose to help us - not to make it even harder than it already is, right?

Ecclesiastes 5 says: "The sleep of a labouring man is sweet, whether he eat little or much: but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep". Am I just not pulling my weight enough each day? Will I sleep better if I shop even more and run quicker from store to store? Vacuum the house at a faster pace? Peel the potatoes with more enthusiasm. Organise my closet more often.  I'll have to make some changes. It seems that my best efforts have not been good enough to earn a good night's sleep and get the attention of Winkie that I so desperately need - somehow doesn't measure up.

 Maybe I should start cutting back on the excessive thinking and worrying, and then some more thinking and worrying: about the state of the world and my soul, the plight of others less fortunate than me, the safety of my loved ones. Then at the same time feeling the guilt of lying in a warm bed with a stomach so full that the 2 pillows and 3 antacids don't even counter the heartburn one teeny bit, then counting my blessings,  and so on and so forth. Staying busy while waiting for Winkie. Don't dare to waste a minute on doing nothing.

So whether you want to call it beauty sleep, or restoration of mind, body and soul or an inconvenient interruption of a perfect day, don't short change your own health to prove to others that you're somehow superhuman and doesn't need as much sleep as us mere mortals down here. You're not, my friend. We're all cut from the same cloth, so I'm saying this to you just once: "It's time to go to bed now!"

Are you a realist or just a plain pain in the ass?

What is more annoying than being around someone who ALWAYS see the worst in any situation and in anything? You're right - nothing!

I'm sure you must know someone who always sees the glass as half empty, or dirty, or made of unsafe materials, or heaven forbid, cracked or stolen. Feel free to fill in any bad thing you can think off associated with something as simple as a glass. Now imagine this scenario with EVERY little thing you encounter on a daily basis. Joy killers, they are.

These types always expect the worst thing to happen - and act almost satisfied if it indeed happens as they predicted it would be and almost a tiny bit disappointed if it doesn't. Something bad is always imminent to happen according to these types but for the most part it never does. Now of course I know everything in life involves some kind of risk, but I am of the school who argues that I will deal with the worst WHEN and IF that ever happens - not a moment too soon. Of course one has to have a plan and be responsible and take precautions where needed and blah-blah-blah, but for goodness sake, just lighten up a little, will you? Life is way too short to make provision for each and every scenario whether it's going to happen or not. I've got things to do and places to see and shops to visit and laundry to do. I cannot sit around making plans for your every fear.

These types don't want to leave the house for fear that the house may burn down in their absence or a pipe will burst or any number of disasters you can name. They don't want to eat by candlelight for fear that the smoke alarm will be triggered. They don't want to try a new restaurant because of the remote possibility that it may not have a good chef. Or go on holiday in June since there's an odd chance of a hurricane then. Or take up golf in the event that they may not be good at it or worse even, start liking it too much. The list can just go on ad infinitum.

Let me tell you, I do not have the imagination these types have to think up all the reasons and causes for which things can go wrong and how, and it's the kind of imagination I'm glad I'm lacking.

The saying goes: if you're not living on the edge you're taking up too much space. And by this I don't say I am the most adventurous person out there - I'm not, but I am also not going to confine myself to the "known", the "predictable" and the "safe". One limits oneself too much already as it is and don't need any more reasons not to do something.

I've just finished watching a docu-series by Shania Twain titled "Why not?" in which she questions what to do and what not. She says one always has to ask the question Why? or why not?  and the trick is to know which one to ask when.

I may not be the one to preach on this topic since I am mostly the one who needs preaching TO, but like they say: don't do as I do, but rather do as I say.

So my question really is: when are you a realist and when are you just a plain pessimist? You decide.