I’m walking laps on the upstairs track at the YMCA. Passing me on my left is a rotund man whose girth might disqualify him for a Santa Clause audition. But he is singing – LOUDLY – enough for me to raise my eyebrow at the woman walking adjacent to me and get a coy smile back.
🎶 Thank God I’m a country boy! 🎤
I wish that in forty years when Dave and I have brittle and stiff joints, we will walk the indoor track at the Y, clasping hands like the adorable couple I just passed.
I don’t think I’ve ever cartwheeled. No matter how I tried – and did I ever try – I could never get my feet high enough over my body. I have a faint memory of friends standing nearby guiding my legs over, and still, nope.
Gone are the stir-crazy, crawl-out-of-my-skin blah feelings I had last week. I feel like myself, ready to take on my three-day weekend with a trip to local shops for a cutting board.
That’s right, cutting board. Dave and I are in the market for a fancy, hand-crafted one. My idea, and he agrees with me, is that this will be our forever cutting board, so we need to take our time and find the perfect fit.
Interestingly enough, right after our rabbit hole search on the net for one, I spoke with a friend on the phone about cutting boards, and he had just bought one. A thick maple slab from a local artisan. Hearing of his pride of ownership – oiling it weekly and seeing it glisten – was all the convincing I needed that a day in the not-too-distant future, I, too, will make one mine.
It’s time for another Christmas movie. Next up is “Spirited” with Ryan Reynolds and Will Ferrel. I’m hoping for some silly humor that gives my abs a light workout.
Well, see ya!