Seriously. When I look out the patio door I see blue sky between the clouds. It should be sunny, right? When I look out the front door (where the sun is) the clouds are much thicker and obscure the direct light of the sun. *sigh* I need sunshine, people, need it. Today I'm putting the OttLite that Durwood got me for Christmas down by the sewing area so that even when I'm beavering away down there I'll have a few sun-like rays to keep me from slumping into total sadness. Today's going to be an organizing day as far as how I want 2013 to go. I'll be making soup for lunches, that won't change, but I'll be shifting mental gears as to what I eat with my lunch soup. No more "extra" courses, like candy or a double-handful of pretzels, to derail my food plan. And I WILL be hopping on the stationary bike for just a short jaunt today. I have to keep telling myself that I don't have to do it ALL at once, I can sneak up on it a bit at a time. I'm not a totally sedentary person (ask Durwood who constantly scolds me about not sitting down and relaxing enough... relaxing, bah) but maybe all my activity isn't aerobic enough or focused enough or has a long enough duration to actually do any good. Yesterday I took down the burned out florescent light fixture in the sewing area and replace it with another Hank-rigged fixture from another part of the basement where it wasn't really needed. I figure I'll use the Dad-adapted ones (he's got the wires from the light joined with wads of electrical tape to a random cord and plug) until they fail (or start a fire) and then I'll buy real ones with factory installed cords. I got all sweaty doing that... get the ladder, climb the ladder, take down the broken light, move the ladder, take down the working light, move the ladder, go upstairs (carrying the broken light fixture) for a Swiffer duster to remove a decade's worth of sawdust on top of the working light, go back downstairs, dust the light fixture, climb the ladder and install the light, put the ladder away, go upstairs for a longer extension cord, move sewing table, plug in cord, get ladder back out so I can reach the rafters to coil the cord so it drops at the right spot, go back upstairs for the first extension cord so that the light plug reaches the extension cord socket where I want it to, go back downstairs, climb back up the ladder and weave the cords over and around the rafter braces so that they meet where I want and don't dangle in my face, put the ladder back, go upstairs into the garage for the little vacuum, carry it downstairs, vacuum, empty the dust cup, vacuum again... all the while paying attention to the laundry that had piled up to mammoth proportions over the last couple weeks and then sewing up a couple travel trays from the extra bits I cut out last month. So does that count as exercise or not? I say it does because I got all sweaty and a bit winded just like I would have if I'd have been on the Exercycle, I just got something accomplished while I got all sweaty and winded. Today I have to, HAVE TO, go out back to fill the birdfeeders and spread the birdie tree with peanut butter and sprinkled seeds and maybe melted suet and seeds. I promise that I'll wear my snowshoes which will ramp up the aerobic-tude of the activity too. Cross my heart.
January 6--Thomas Cole, The Titan's Goblet. The sun was low in the sky as we drove west. The rays were like lasers even though I wore good sunglasses. It was my turn to drive and I could barely see the road. Since I'm too short for the visor to shade me from the sun, I had one hand on the wheel and the other shading my eyes. Don was bent forward twirling the radio knob. After hours of static the station from Silver Gate, Montana suddenly came in clear. Some middle-aged-sounding cowboy sang "I Just Don't Look Good Naked Anymore." I frowned and glanced down at the radio as if looking for an explanation. Don muttered and punched the "off" button. I looked back up at the road just in time to swerve around a dog or coyote in the road. The tires hit the gravel shoulder and jerked the steering wheel in my hands. I felt as much as heard the tire blow and I fought to slow down safely. We coasted to a turnout and I turned on the hazard lights. "Somebody'll come along soon," I said, pulling my cellphone out of the console. I flipped it open. No Service. "Well, maybe a trucker or a rancher will be by soon."
Yeah, that totally didn't happen. Not even close. Can you hear the Deliverance music? I sorta can even though that movie was set in rural Appalachia not the wild west. It's a metaphor for isolated places, right? And the sun's shining! Excuse me, I have to go out and play now.