A true test of patience is filling the coffeemaker with water.

No matter how many angles I pour from, no matter how big of a hurry I'm in, no matter how careful I am - the water only goes from the carafe into the coffee maker at one speed - sloth.

I am learning daily the calmness and steady hand it requires to fill the coffee machine. Why can't they design a coffee pot that is easier to pour without soaking the counter?

Tae Bo is for kamikazes.

So, you think you're fit? That Billy Blanks is GOOD at what he does. There he is staring at me through the TV, cheering me on in my quest for buns of steel - 'that's it girl... you got it... lookin' good!'  Yeah, looking good alright... like a giant chicken flapping my wings and scratching at the hardwood floor in the living room, with sweat dripping into my eyes and my boobs flopping up and down so hard I'm practically thrown off balance. But, I'm not ready to give up yet.

Just because you have grey hair doesn't mean you're nice.

Sounds funny, but honesty, I was niave. All grey haired people I've known are lovely wise and kind people. Apparently, this is not alwasy the case. Just because you've grown old doesn't mean you've grown up. Makes sense, doesn't it.

Some days I'm a fashion DO - some days I'm a fashion DON'T.

I tend to be fashion maven. But it gives me great pleasure once in a while to go the grocery store in cut off sweatpants, no bra, slippers, with not a lick of make-up on and my hair not combed. It is my "I am a Real Woman!" statement.

Most of us look like Phyllis Diller in the morning. Get over yourself. You get eye-boogers, too. Don't pretend you don't.

I can remain calm with my kids behind the wheel.

Sunday morning I let my fourteen year old daughter drive 30 kilometers to my mother's house for brunch, on highways and in the city. Then my son drove the same route home. They did a great job driving and I was calm, alert and avoided giving myself a hernia.

Labial Reduction Surgery is quickly becoming one of the most popular cosmetic surgerys to have.

Whoa! That came out of nowhere!

Know where your labia is? (If not, Google it and spare me the discomfort of explaining...) Apparently, now you can have oddly shaped and stretched out labia trimmed up so your cookie is pretty. (Oprah calls it a Va-jay-jay - for this blog - so I don't get completely spammed by p*rn sites- I'll refer to it as a cookie.) 

I guess if you are plagued by one enormous labia that occasionally gets caught in a zipper, you might benefit from a Labial Reduction. But to me, it's just ONE MORE WAY that women are hacking themselves up in the name of 'beauty' to appear more desireable to men.

Trust me, you will NEVER see a Scrotal One Ball Liftectomy on the Top Five Most Popular Plastic Surgery list.

No matter how politcally correct or socially sensitve you try to be - you will always inevitably offend someone.

Case in point, the 'labia caught in the zipper' statement above. Suck it up, princess. Not everyone is going to love you.

It is 7 degrees outside.

7 degrees isn't that cold, but the sky is bleak and wintry. Snow appears imminent but hasn't arrived yet. I'm wearing a sweater, socks, jeans and a shawl in my basement office and I still don't feel cozy warm and toasty. I've cranked the heat. I've been drinking tea or hot water and lemon all day. I feel fine... I don't think I'm coming down with anything, I just tend to be chilly in the fall and winter.

I'm jealous of my husband, big, hairy frenchman that he is; he's my own personal furnace. The other night when the wind howled outside my bedroom window and we climbed into bed, he just about took off like a rocket when I stuck my iceberg feet up under his backside. He actually accused me of trying to climb up his butt! Believe me! I was that cold! So I flipped around and said, 'warm me up please!' He snuggled in - firey and furry and said, 'your butt is as cold as your feet.' I know.

Women are cursed. Have you ever noticed that the coldest parts of your body are your nose, your fingers, your toes and your butt cheeks. Must be due to the fat content there. No blood supply. What then? It's like the margerine phenomenon. A pound of butter in the fridge turns to stone. Same with butt fat, I guess.

Come January, with it's snowy, blizzardy, 40 below nights, I'll dive into bed and my teeth will chatter until my breath heats the air under the blankets. The only thing that will work to warm me up is a scorching bath, almost too hot to bear. To run a tub so steamy, it makes you sweat and the mirror opaque.

Today at lunch, after spending the morning in the basement working, my fingers so frozen I could hardly type, I turned on the oven, opened the door to let the heat escape and warmed myself in front of it. I dreaded opening the fridge to make lunch for the girls. Even the grapes were too cold to touch. Goosebumps crawled up my arms and over my back.

Tonight, I'll pit in on the couch under a mound of blankets with my kids to watch The Incredible Hulk. We'll practically sit on top of each other, trying to share body heat, only our nose and eyes visible to watch the show. When bedtime comes, everyone will whine about leaving the comfort of a snuggle and shiver and shudder in their beds. 

And it's ONLY 7 degrees.

Thursday morning, Leah and Penny drove me to the airport so that I could catch a plane to Halifax. I had purchased a WestJet ticket on seat sale (lucky and made plans to go see my dear friend Kerri and her new family, including new 'nieces', Megan, Marlee and six month old baby, Lilly.

However important - and worthwhile - the trip, make no bones about it, I don't enjoy travelling alone.

I am no a sophisticated traveller. I aspire to be like Kelley - stunning, confident, care-free - strolling through the airport with a book and a latte... jetting off to cool locations, meeting new people.

Sure, I might look swish in the airport, wrapped in my houndstooth shawl, reading a thick book and sipping my Green-Tea-Soy-Latte-with-No-Syrup...

but on the inside... I am more like a quivering bowl of green jell-o.

It was only a four and a half hour flight direct from Calgary to Halifax. One episode of Conan O'Brien, Ellen and The View and a little Much Music and I was there... landing on a rocky island surrounded by water. (It is culture shock for a Prairie girl

It was a rough arrival - but totally worth it as I rode the escalator down into arrivals and fell into my friend's arms.

She kept me busy. The first day we had lunch with a friend of hers from work, drove the Eastern Shore and went to Fisherman's Cove. Then we had dinner with her family, laughed and had a sing song with her girls. Then we saw Nights in Rodanthe with Richard Gere and Diane Lane (one thumb up, one thumb down).

Saturday I started the morning with a run and then we drove into Halifax, where we rode the Harbour Hopper, went sight seeing, shopped and ate dinner. We were supposed to go to a Martini bar on the harbour... but we were EXHAUSTED by four pm! So we got a movie and drove back to her place... a sure sign the two of us are getting older. Ten years ago, we would have danced the night away!

Sunday - we collected shells and rocks on Martinique Beach, had coffee with her folks and attended a phenomenal concert called DRUM! which was a musical/dance review of the four main styles of music of Eastern culture. Celtic, Mi'kmac, The Black Settlers and Acadian. The musicians and singers were exceptional. With the Eastern population now living West, I am certain it could sell out in Ft. Mac, Edmonton, Calgary and Red Deer alone. 

Yes - it is the airplane - just a little. I've read, statistically speaking, you could fly 24 hours a day for four hundred years before you'd crash. What is it about flying that is so terrible? It's the stories, the movies, the media coverage, the past. It's being confined in a narrow seat next to someone who does not know me or love me and hurtling into the atmosphere at 516 mph in a tube of metal...

I was fine. I did it. And I did it better than the last time I went (3 years ago) when it rained for five days and nights and I cried just about as many tears...

You see it is about more than just the airplane... it is being a half a world away from everyone that I adore. I don't feel the need to travel alone and see the world... my whole world lives within one hour in any given direction.

My husband, who tells me to relax and have a marvelous time, holds down the fort - I have no reason to worry. And I don't worry about the kids. But as I stand in the sand and listen to the roar of the waves and feel the spray of the Atlantic on my nose... it's him I want to share the moment with.

And on Saturday, my heart aches when I think about kissing the forehead of my sweaty eight year old.

And on Sunday, in the old Irish pub, when I should be gobbling my beer battered fish and chips and thanking my friend for the wonderful hospitality, I am distracted by the table of 20 celebrating a family birthday. Cameras flashing and everybody kissing and hugging. The thought of my own family, my sisters, my mom, my nephews and nieces... makes me long for Home.

Some may think that for the few days I am on 'vacation' I should luxuriate in the adult 'me' time, put away my thoughts of family and rip it up with my girlfirend! Some may think that I worry too much, (which, admittedly, I do) that I should relax, sleep in, enjoy the flight, cherish the brief independence - soon enough I'll be home to my busy life. And I did a little bit of all of that!

But the moment that the plane began it's descent over Alberta and the Prairie land patchwork became visible... the moment that I strode off the plane and into the arms of the man I love the most in this whole world... the moment that my girls' rushed to me from school with kisses and hugs for mommy...

I felt like I could really fly.

www.drumshow.ca

Since my original post June 27 (A Pound a Month For 13 Months) - I've tried to reign in some of my poorer health habits.

Namely more movement and less indulgence.

August was a better month for movement - September's been good, too. The key to my happiness (and the change in the tightness of my pants) is MOVEMENT.  

Cut to the chase.

I haven't weighed myself as I don't own a scale. If I did, I'd be on it every time a went for a pee and beating the hell out of myself daily.

My trusty tape measure says (which I can already feel in the way my clothes fit):

Bust 39" (down from 40")

Waist 33" (down from 37") This is the one I am most pleased with.

Hips 39" (down from 42") It's the running that seriously kicks my butt. I'm working on it. I don't believe I'll ever be a marathon-er.

I even measured at the end of the day. So I am doing okay.

More importantly - I feel like I am doing something about my health. For me, it is all about daily conscious choice. Somedays I choose good. Somedays I choose bad. I just have to make sure I choose good again - sooner than later.

Let's see how the winter goes... when I may not feel like braving the chill. 

"Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong." Sir Winston Churchill

I don't know many people who can say they truly enjoy spending time in solitude.

I, like most people, enjoy it when the house is quiet for a change. When the kids are out with friends and my husband is at the gym. The TV is low, the lights are soft. A bubble bath and a cup of tea... And then boom! The door flies open and my quiet moment disappears with a *blip* just like a big bubble popping. Any 'me' time is short-lived - someone always need to use the toilet and the phone never stops ringing anyhow.

I am not whining. I cherish my family, love my husband and feel blessed. I wouldn't trade the gift of my day to day life for all the ice in Greenland.

"There are days when solitude is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall." - Colette

A friend of ours lost her husband just a short time ago. A sudden loss; not divorce, not choice. She is just a little older than me. I empathize with her pain. I recognize it. I saw the look in her eyes on the face of my mother. She is alone.

There are always people around us. Neighbours in the yard. Children in the basement. Friends across town. Strangers at the grocery store. But at the end of the day, when the children are asleep and the house is quiet with a long night ahead - are you okay alone?

I never have been.

"Solitude never hurt anyone.  Emily Dickinson lived alone, and she wrote some of the most beautiful poetry the world has ever known... then went crazy as a loon."  ~ Lisa Simpson of The Simpsons (Matt Groening)

I've always left the TV on. The noise keeps me company and prevents me from listening to my own thoughts. I'd leave a light on as a reminder that I wasn't entirely engulfed in the dark alone. I'd call a friend. Or go somewhere and find something to do. But when the night crept up on me. I was never thrilled about it.

Some have no choice. The weight of night blankets them. It doesn't matter how loud the TV goes. Or how many lights are left on. Or how many friends are around. They are alone. They experience loneliness. But I am talking about solitude. About choosing to get quiet and to welcome whatever feelings or thoughts accompany that solitude.

And so while my own true love is away for a week. I've set a goal to pay attention to and welcome the solitude. Of course, I'm not truly alone. Our four kids are never far away, but once they are silent and asleep, I make no move to turn on the TV, call a friend or sleep with the lights on.

The first two nights alone, I didn't notice a difference. My usual routine of work for a while after the kids went to bed, then bathe, read and fall asleep with out trying prevented me from reaching an inner stillness. But for the last two evenings I've changed my usual routine in an effort to be fully alone with myself. And inevitably, as I'd hoped, I did notice a couple of things. 

"Inside myself is a place where I live all alone, and that's where I renew my springs that never dry up." ~ Pearl Buck