Festivus is as Festivus be

There was a fine old family reunion awaiting us when we got to Rochester. Delta's sister had prepared a spread of food which put Thanksgiving to shame. Wine was flowing freely, and each time I paused in conversation to breathe, seems like someone topped up my glass. There were mothers and sisters and grandmothers and daughters, sons, nephews and cousins. The evening was even peppered with an airing of grievances and a sprinkling of tears. For what family reunion is truly a reunion without an airing of grievances.

We got to spend a considerable amount of time at home with Delta's mum, who is a living example of how old age should be. Any time you caught her when she wasn't aware of being watched, she would be dancing by herself to the radio in the kitchen. May we all age with such good cheer.

And we pulled on our wellies and sloshed through the snow in a nearby park. We followed deer and bunny tracks along the river, until our frost-bitten toes were shouting out for a toasting.

Overall, it was a weekend to warm the cockles, and we were filled with a sense of emotional repleteness as we arrived at the airport for our return trip home. And then, our hearts sank. There they were, people by the hundreds. All pulling their hairs out of their head, pushed to their limits with delays and cancellations. The flight boards told a morbid story. Delayed. Delayed. Delayed. Cancelled. Cancelled. Delayed. Cancelled.

We had just about resigned oruselves to a night at the airport, when suddenly an announcement was made over the PA system. Flight 137 to JFK will be departing on time. Ours! On time! In the midst of all this mayhem! I have no idea why it happened, or even how it could have possibly happened, but if our flight was set to take off on time, I wasn't about to question it. If I didn't know better, I'd have called it a Festivus miracle.

Today

Like Santa's footsoldiers, Delta and I set forth while it is still under cover of night. Early this morning, we fly to Rochester to spend the holidays with Delta's family.

While I am busy ploughing through all kind of gustatory delights myself, I wish you all happy holidays, fine wine, and presents that make you exclaim with joy (because at the end of the day we all know that's what the holidays are about).

An un-challenging resolution

I'd just got home from the bitter cold, put the kettle on, and settled myself comfortably on the couch for an evening of telly. I was just trying to decide between Law and Order and House, when suddenly I remembered the mat.

Last week, in a sudden burst of healthful ambition, I had entered a sports store and procured myself a yoga mat. Classic purple mat designed for the occasional spot of yoga at home. Brought it home, immediately rolled it up into a neat tight log and tucked it away in the far corner of the coat closet where I wouldn't feel compelled to make immediate use of it. Just owning the mat brought such a ring of satisfaction, I didn't actually have to even use it.

So this evening, just before I settled my posterior into optimal telly-watching position, I decided to make a go of flopping around a little bit on the mat. So I sat myself down with legs outstretched, and tried to reach my arms out towards them. I could barely reach past my knees.

I , recoiled, mortified by my own inflexibility. I'd never been like this before. Who was this person who couldn't reach her toes?!

I've always taken health and fitness for granted. Effortlessly, without trying, without practicing, without having to work at it. And now, all of a sudden, here I was, held away from my toes as though by a glass wall. So I decided to take a different angle, and tried to split my legs apart to see how deep I could split. I barely got half way down, when I was stopped, grunting and mid-split, by my own body's limits.

It was at that moment, legs mid-split, grunting exertions, muttering expletives, that I decided: It has to get better than this.

Voila my new year's resolution. In 2005, my resolution was two-fold: eat healthier; swear less. It took my three years to actually be able to perform these, so there were no new resolutions till now. But this year, I'm going to make one again. Not because I've particularly mastered the art of eating healthier, or swearing less. Just because, if I haven't got those two down by now, let's face it I'm never going to.

But a bit of flopping around on a purple mat at home each evening - now that sounds like a resolution which doesn't pose too much of a challenge.

Nesting

We actually spent the entire weekend absorbed in domestic chores like putting up shelves and blinds. Sorry, I mean window treatments (been watching HGTV). And by saying "we" put up shelves, I mean Delta did all the measuring, hammering, carrying, sanding and sawing. I hovered around helplessly, trying to generally stay out of trouble, and passing Delta implements when he needed them (think an operating room when the surgeon says, "scalpel please").

Delta would be balancing precariously on a footstool, singlehandedly holding up the curtain rod, with a measuring tape in his mouth, and the other hand hanging on to the window to prevent himself from falling, and he would ask me a small favour like "pass the leveller, please" and I wouldn't know what it was. I would hum and haw and generally buffoon around, leaving my husband hanging at the window, while I tried to learn what a leveller looked like.

That is exactly how little help I was this weekend.

But partners we are, when it comes to such tasks, and now at the end of the weekend, I'm proud to announce that we now have blinds on the windows and shelves on the walls.

Little steps. That's how it goes. Little steps.

Back on track

It's hard to write that first blog, after you've had a break for a while. It's like being the first one to break that awkward silence on a dinner date. No matter what you say, it sounds trite and irrelevant.

So having couched myself in trite irrelevance, let me plod on.

Over the past four weeks, I've been otherwise preoccupied with all of life's banalities which typically preoccupy the average bod. Work (and lots of it!), visits, dinners, friends and family. And a fair share of muddling through sloshes of snow, a skill which I somehow find I need to re-learn each time winter comes around. As though my body is on it's own personal strike against these wintry climes.

And, I have to broadcast with considerable pride, I've taken to going to the gym again. Each Tuesday and Thursday evening, I'm back to enjoying my biking routine, until that little screen tells me I've burnt 200 calories. That's exactly the time when Blitzer leaves and Lou Dobbs comes on the telly, and I have to hastily shut off the screen and jump off the bike so I don't have to listen. You wouldn't think it, but Lou Dobbs actually controls my gym routine.