SEASONS GREETINGS
This year I think I broke the Guinness Book of World Records for The Most Sedentary Thanksgiving break held by middle-aged women. I clocked about 48 hours of sleep over the past four days, interrupted by three attempts to watch The Irishman in its entirety. I feel like I am lying when I tell people I have seen it. But. Have I really? Could I provide a plot summary? Mmmm, probably not.
Let's give props where props are due. I got the Christmas decorations up on Friday and went to the grocery store. How heroic was that? I should have donned a cape when I backed the Hyundai out of the garage and shopped for salad makings. (They're still in the fridge, unwashed in their produce bags next to the butter, a lime half from mid-November and a Tupperware of dark meat for the dog.) A salad is definitely on the menu today.
Yesterday I hit the neighborhood streets to support our local shops and kick start my shopping. As we walked from store to store I felt refreshed: this is what it's like to walk again! My hand cradled a tiny shopping bag with a pair of earrings in it, not the remote control; my feet felt the rugged terrain of a sidewalk, not the toe jam from fuzzy slipper socks; and the greatest of them all, I was actually wearing a bra, underwire and all. I was a functioning member of society, contributing to the local economy of a neighborhood I have only viewed from my blinds the past few days. Look at me!
The smells of pine and cinnamon perfumed the air of the shops. Chocolate covered coffee beans beckoned us through their holiday cellophane. Whimsical elfin throw pillows greeted us through window displays. It's Wine O'Clock Somewhere tea towels lay crisp on bakers racks with sprigs of holly. Antler ears just barely pierced my retina as I poked my head around the corner to get a better peek at an angry Ebeneezer Scrooge hiding in the corner. Our thoughts raced from the mundane musings of whether or not we should purchase the Rudolph cheese board with fake reindeer droppings to the more important agenda item of the day:
When are we eating?
Our reservation is for 4:00, and it's only 3:30. But can't we go now? I haven't eaten since breakfast, which was a country skillet from Sunrise to get the blood flowing. How could I not take my Marty out for breakfast when he's home? (Are those Nutella crepes on the menu?) And breakfast was like, I don't know, six hours ago! Yes. It's time to eat. Pepperoni and ricotta pizza, smoked gouda pizza, cream ales, a hummus plate. Let's do this. Because, well. Why not? 'Tis the season.
And now. Well. Let's not. My poor colon.
I just poured myself a glass of water in one of our Christmas Story glasses and lopped off a wedge of lemon. Slam dunk. How proud am I? I am drinking a glass of water! With lemon! It's time to pull it together. It's time to get some roughage moving through the system. Because five days from now it's going to start all over again. Every weekend on the calendar from now until the New Year involves cheese.
It takes commitment. But I can do it. I folded the blanket and placed it on the chair. Sprawled out rumpled next to the Duraflame stack, it would tempt me like a warm hug and a cup of cocoa. (Wait. I think I have Starbucks hot chocolate mix in the cabinet.) Focus. Green smoothies in the mornings, long dog walks after school, and water. Lots of water. We can do this.
Who's with me?
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