Exercise is where you find it!

With the spring thaw, I've resolved to walk every day to compensate for the lack of dog walking to which I've grown accustomed. Today, downtown, was an icy, slush mess. Plus it was raining! Where to go?

Around the corner I find Place Bell, an office tower where lawyer types hang out [the court house is right across the street]. Sure enough as I enter, a lawyer with his funny robes and a coat over his arm is running in right behind me. License plates on nearby streets, start with LLB.

I decide Place Bell is large enough for me to walk around it indoors; I'll do the shopping concourse but keep my eyes straight ahead so as not to ruin the walk with looking at any window candy. I do two tours then realize there's a downstairs. Down the escalator I go only to find in one of the basement hallways, a very lively aerobic exercise class going on. I wonder if it's restricted to building workers. On my way back upstairs, I realize I can get a really good workout (à la Biggest Loser) by walking up the down escalator! I check for cameras, then hop to it. Yes, my dears: it is an aerobic workout. I step off periodically as ladies are coming down the escalator with yoga mats under their arms. I chat up one who tells me Marj welcomes anyone in the vicinity to her exercise classes around the corner and down the hall.

I go see Marj. True enough: $30 buys you a month of daily exercise or 3 months for $75 - what a deal! There are washrooms around the corner to change in and showers down the hall! Whooo! I take Marj's handout thinking I really should indulge - after all exercise deals like this one don't come by very often!

But on the walk back to the office, I rationalize. It's almost April. May is even better weather-wise and June even better. Why exercise in a basement hallway when the outdoors is calling your name? I decide to decline but if I'm working in this area come late fall or winter: Marj, I'll be there for you!

In your heart, time stands still

Officially, our wedding anniversary is tomorrow Mar. 31. That's how close we came to being April Fools 38 years ago! We celebrated with friends and a nice dinner tonight because of other commitments tomorrow.

It's almost unreal that we've been married for so long. I still feel 18, let alone feel married for 38 years! Umm, a 20 year time warp. But it's true. My man and I are still joined at the hip, still enjoying each other's company. He still spooks me when he articulates the thought I'm about to utter. He tells my own stories better than I do. He makes me laugh. He still makes my heart beat faster with a look from those dark eyes, and I love how he looks in jeans!

So, do I have a secret for a long, strong marriage? Maybe. Keep kissing, hello, goodbye, goodnight and for any old reason or none at all. Keep talking and listening. It doesn't matter if it's important or mundane - just keep at it. Share your thoughts, worries, yourself. Keep touching, keep spooning. Don't forget to...caress his bald spot, hold his hand, fondle his earlobe, stroke a cheek, embrace him with all your might. When you think you know his body as well as your own, think again. There's always more to learn. Respect and honour him - he's your life mate, your children's father. Keep your loud voice to a minimum; it helps with the respect. Don't laugh in the wrong places. Live together as fully as you can. Always be honest.

We celebrate differently and it amuses us. I say, "I have no card but I have this for you," and hand him a T-shirt that reads: "Gimmie my Timmies and no one gets hurt!" It's a joke between us how much he loves his Tim Horton coffee which I myself can't stand. He says, "I have no gift but I have this card for you," as he hands me this, his choice, from Carlton Cards:

For my wife:

Many anniversaries from now when we have been together for a very long time,

I wonder what it will be like...

Will we share extra blankets to keep warm?

Count the stars from our front porch rockers?

Dream older, wiser dreams, or be contented with the memories we've made?

Of course, I can't predict the future, but I'll tell you what I do know --

I'll still need to hold you close.

If we sit in our rockers, mine will be right next to yours.

And no matter how old or wise we become, I'll still want the feel of your gentle hand in mine...

I guess what I'm trying to say is,

I look forward to whatever the future may hold --

as long as my future holds you.

Wuss of a puss

Spring did arrive on time, March 21. How do I know for sure? Easy: Dolly, our cat, started that very day, caterwauling to be let out. Somehow, exactly on cue, Dolly intuited or her wild cat instincts kicked in: she knew it was Spring, and she knew she’s gotta get out!!! If she were wild, she’d be gonzo!

But she’s not wild; she’s domesticated, poor little girl. And even when we open the door, she sniffs disdainfully as if to say “I only wanted to check the weather, silly. It’s still far too cold!” and turns her back on the sunshine. She knows she can soak up all the rays she needs in a sunbeamed hot spot in the bedroom without the frigid air. Her actual exit will have to await a far warmer day. Yes, she’s a wuss of a puss!

The Littlest Bed-maker

Dolly, the cat, used to be wonderful bed maker. Ok, not exactly a bed maker but a bed-maker’s helper. As soon as the sheets were being pulled, it was part of her routine to jump right in there, try to stay on the bed despite the sheets disappearing and to supervise the arrangement of the incoming sheets. This meant occupying the very centre of the bed in a proud lionesque pose as if to say “This is my turf – I ain’t moving!”

Of course, we would put on the sheets, corners and all and a very visible bump in the middle would start to cry pitifully. “Let me out; I can’t get out!” We’d pull the sheet up high enough for the “bump” to escape. And it would start again. She’d stake out the centre of the bed, while the top sheet was shaken out and allowed to fall around her like a collapsing parachute. We’d tuck it in, only to have the pitiful occupant sealed underneath plead again for help to escape. If you tried to push her off the bed prior to being sealed in, it was just no go. She was the mid-bed owner and that was that!

On it would go, with the layering of the duvet and coverlet. We couldn’t help but laugh at her and ourselves for indulging her. This was the routine for years. But over time, like any of us who gradually lose interest in a past-time that used to spellbind us, Dolly lost interest in helping to make the bed. We miss her “help”.

Lollygagging

Now that I’m working again, I don’t have time to walk Spencer daily but trust his master, Ron, will get him walking out to the mailbox and back. When my hubby and I pick him up tonight, the sun is settling in the West and Spencer is dragging along behind us. Definitely not in walk mode – most unusual! Normally, he almost pulls me along because he’s use to the faster pace of my being on skis. But today, you can almost see his spirit is down. He’s lollygagging along, not skipping along the tops of the snow banks as is his habit lately.

I run a bit and try to entice him with his favourite treats. Finally, as I release him to run in the summer park, he perks up a bit. But he’s still lollygagging. Then! He remembers a favourite scent spot along a line of cedars, and the energy level is right back up there! He levitates to the top of the snowbank and flies! He sniffs, rolls and cavorts with everything he has. Spencer is back!

We cut into a trail of footprints left in the crusty snow by someone daring enough to come check on the state of their summer trailer. Spencer skims over the snow; he’s light enough not to break the crust. We’re not as lucky. But Lady Luck does show herself when we find a crusty snowshoe trail to follow which leads us back to the main road without our sinking up to our knees.

Back home, we find out the problem: thirst. I guess the poor little guy hadn’t had his fill before we left and he was plain and simply thirsty! Lesson learned!