We Grow Tubby Without Exercise

 (excerpted from)Teddy Bear

By A. A. Milne
 

A bear, however hard he tries,

Grows tubby without exercise.

Our Teddy Bear is short and fat

Which is not to be wondered at;

He gets what exercise he can

By falling off the ottoman,

But generally seems to lack

The energy to clamber back.

 

 

This is an excerpt from a very long poem about a teddy bear's efforts to get slim. Today, I was lucky to have a dear friend come exercise with me! Abe got her all set with lifting - there's just enough room for two women to flail about with free weights. We had a fine time, and my friend is coming back on Friday. With any luck, we'll be sylphs by summer.

 

Zig left for Tucson this evening - he hopes to have the house ready to go on the market by the end of the week. He works so hard...and I miss him badly when he's gone. 

 

No spinning, four rounds on Canopy Sock #2. Excellent day for food and water. 

 

I finished Jamrach's Menagerie last night. Wonderful book; resonating with me all day today. Now I'm starting Stone Arabia - no opinion yet.

  

January, 2012

January, 1795

By Mary Robinson

Pavement slipp’ry, people sneezing,

Lords in ermine, beggars freezing;

Titled gluttons dainties carving,

Genius in a garret starving.

Lofty mansions, warm and spacious;

Courtiers cringing and voracious;

Misers scarce the wretched heeding;

Gallant soldiers fighting, bleeding.

Wives who laugh at passive spouses;

Theatres, and meeting-houses;

Balls, where simp’ring misses languish;

Hospitals, and groans of anguish.

Arts and sciences bewailing;

Commerce drooping, credit failing;

Placemen mocking subjects loyal;

Separations, weddings royal.

Authors who can’t earn a dinner;

Many a subtle rogue a winner;

Fugitives for shelter seeking;

Misers hoarding, tradesmen breaking.

Taste and talents quite deserted;

All the laws of truth perverted;

Arrogance o’er merit soaring;

Merit silently deploring.

Ladies gambling night and morning;

Fools the works of genius scorning;

Ancient dames for girls mistaken,

Youthful damsels quite forsaken.

Some in luxury delighting;

More in talking than in fighting;

Lovers old, and beaux decrepid;

Lordlings empty and insipid.

Poets, painters, and musicians;

Lawyers, doctors, politicians:

Pamphlets, newspapers, and odes,

Seeking fame by diff’rent roads.

Gallant souls with empty purses;

Gen’rals only fit for nurses;

School-boys, smit with martial spirit,

Taking place of vet’ran merit.

Honest men who can’t get places,

Knaves who shew unblushing faces;

Ruin hasten’d, peace retarded;

Candor spurn’d, and art rewarded.

This poem could have been written last year, but it's a 217-year-old critique on British society. The more things change...when will we 99% be viewed as valid and deserving? Why does worth equal money?

It was hard to go to work today. Sanding trucks driving back and forth early this morning lulled me into believing in the possibility of a late opening, but it was not to be. So I hauled myself up and out to pick up doughnuts (donuts?) for the folks at school. I didn't eat even one - until 2:00 this afternoon. Bad me. The cake yesterday combined with today's lapse in judgement (do I REALLY want to waste points on a Dunkin' Donuts piece of #$@#$&^#? Yes, apparently...

Dr. Oz was talking about food allergies - I am almost completely sure that I suffer from lactose intolerance. Didn't have ice cream with my cake because of that suspicion. I might try Oz's suggestion of removing all dairy for a week. That would mean almond or soy milk. I'm not eating butter or cheese these days, and I swore off yogurt about 6 months ago because it bothered me so much, so it wouldn't be very difficult. Stay tuned...

Spinning: absolutely NO PROGRESS

Knitting: Canopy Sock #2 proceeds apace

Exercise: Weights and cycling yesterday, cycling today. Abe tweaked the weight routine to forestall the reappearance of thoracic outlet syndrome. My friend Johanna is coming here tomorrow to exercise with me!

Food/Water: Sunday was not healthy, nor was today's doughnut. Tomorrow...!   

Pinned!

winter bare branches

hold tattered cups of summer

empty nests trail twigs  

from Haiku Journey  

By Kimberly Blaeser

We had a bird's nest in our Christmas tree this past December. That has happened a number of times. We always save the nests and put them in the next year's tree. At this point we have four or five little nests that I hide in the branches each year.

Today we're having a small party to celebrate Abe's pinning ceremony. About ten of us will be eating lasagna and salad and cake and ice cream. He (Abe) was given the "Outstanding PTA Student" Award at the ceremony yesterday - he had no idea (nor did we) that he was being given any sort of recognition. His speech at the close of the ceremony was FANTASTIC - full of humor and wit and greatly appreciated by his fellow graduates. He OWNED that podium - he was the master of the pause! Go, Abe!

Not much knitting or spinning time this weekend - too much going on. Just finished cleaning the house in preparation for our guests. Now it's time to exercise.

Abe receiving his Physical Therapy Assistant pin and certificate

Pinning Ceremony

Canopy Sock #1

I Am Offering this Poem

By Jimmy Santiago Baca

I am offering this poem to you,

since I have nothing else to give.

Keep it like a warm coat

when winter comes to cover you,

or like a pair of thick socks

the cold cannot bite through,

                         I love you,

I have nothing else to give you,

so it is a pot full of yellow corn

to warm your belly in winter,

it is a scarf for your head, to wear

over your hair, to tie up around your face,

                         I love you,

Keep it, treasure this as you would

if you were lost, needing direction,

in the wilderness life becomes when mature;

and in the corner of your drawer,

tucked away like a cabin or hogan

in dense trees, come knocking,

and I will answer, give you directions,

and let you warm yourself by this fire,

rest by this fire, and make you feel safe

                         I love you,

It’s all I have to give,

and all anyone needs to live,

and to go on living inside,

when the world outside

no longer cares if you live or die;

remember,

                         I love you.

It's not snowing, so we will all see Abe "get pinned" at today's ceremony. He is the speaker - says his speech is about 8 minutes long. We are very very happy for him. 

Going to a comedy show at Infinity tonight, with dinner at the Bistro before. We need to laugh - in late January, EVERYONE in the northern hemisphere could use a laugh.

Canopy Sock #1 is off the needles; Sock #2 is still just yarn, but not for long! 

And everyone's favorite...

Jabberwocky

By Lewis Carroll

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

      Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

      And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

      And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

      He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

      He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

I remember this poem so well. We studied it in sixth grade English.

Our teacher didn't do much with it, that I recall, but I

rediscovered it when my own two boys were little, in The Random

House Book of Poetry For Children. We loved that book!

 

Down 1.2 pounds for the week! Woohoo! Slow and steady....

Peas...with honey?

I Eat My Peas with Honey

By Anonymous

I eat my peas with honey;

I've done it all my life.

It makes the peas taste funny,

But it keeps them on the knife.

No news today - just plugging along, at work and at home. January is wearing thin. It's my least favorite month - I think I've mentioned that before...

What is it, you ask? Why, it's a Yarn Meter, a Nancy's Knit Knacks product, purchased via Knitpicks. Why a yarn meter, you ask? Because I'm tired of trying to visually estimate the yardage in a ball of yarn when I need to divide it into two, for socks or mittens, say. This isn't a great photo, but basically you slide yarn into the two wooden slots on either side of the meter unit (not yet calibrated, obviously), then put the yarn into that slot as well, and start winding. Et voila! Accurate measurement.


I have always been DELIGHTED with any NKK product - they are well-made, thoughtfully designed, easy to use, and very competitively priced. Knitpicks, too, is an excellent place to shop, although I do try to patronize small, local yarn shops as much as possible.


Spinning: No change.
Knitting: Turned the heel of Canopy Sock #1. Working on gusset decreases tonight.
Exercise: 30 minutes of cycling. Abe made me. He said I would be "happy" if I didn't skip a day. He's right.
Food/Water: Doing well. Drank lots of tea, including a cup of "Cherry Marzipan" green tea, which sounds much sweeter than it tastes. It gives a wonderful aroma of cherries and almonds, but there is no sweetness. In reading the latest issue of O, I decided to give green teas a try, and have ordered several different kinds. Two arrived today. Also ordered, per Dr. Oz, a Republic of Tea blend called "Get Some zzz's" in my quest to sleep soundly all night. I'm far from insomnia, but I almost always wake up at about 2:00 in the morning. I lie there for awhile, and usually get back to sleep in a few minutes, but sometimes I'm awake for much longer.

Speaking of green tea...

Green Tea

By Dale Ritterbusch
 

There is this tea

I have sometimes,

Pan Long Ying Hao,

so tightly curled

it looks like tiny roots

gnarled, a greenish-gray.

When it steeps, it opens

the way you woke this morning,

stretching, your hands behind

your head, back arched,

toes pointing, a smile steeped

in ceremony, a celebration,

the reaching of your arms.