Done With The Holidays

I gained at least a dozen pounds since last I talked to you here.

Goodness! Why do we eat so much over these holidays? I am ashamed of how much I ate since Christmas. I doubt the Last Supper was so rich, so why do we make such a fuss about dining so extravagantly?

Just ‘cause, I guess.

Regardless, the waddle in my walk has become worse. I was rushing to do something the other day, walking at a fast pace, nearly a jog, and the newly-discovered jiggles occurring along my torso made me decide I wasn’t in that big a hurry after all.

A huge Christmas dinner, complete with lemon icebox pie that Suzie and my mom blessed us with, brownies, chocolate cake, cookies. Two Christmas presents, boxes of chocolate candy each, another a baked honey ham. For New Year’s Eve, home made jambalaya. Add in the fruit cake I bought myself, and you have all the ingredients of a puffy Injun huffing and puffing to get up the hills around the creek come spring.

Plus with the crazy weather, I have spent entirely too much time lounging on the sofa, getting up only to go to the facilities or grab a piece of chocolate, fruit cake or pie. The most exercise I got in two weeks was lifting the lid in search of a caramel center.

Sunday, something came over me. I don’t know why.

First thing in the morning, as I was drinking my coffee out in the workshop, I went on a cleaning spree. I cleaned the whole thing. I wiped down all the tools, vacuumed, swept. Took a couple hours.

When I was done, I looked around and thought, “Now what?” At which point I rushed to the wood shed and started sweeping, cleaning, sorting through lumber and tossing out the pieces I had been foolishly holding on to because I hate to throw out wood, no matter how termite-chewed or rotted. But I did it, and if anyone had been looking at my wood shed that day, all they’d have seen was lumber flying out the open door. Daisy, our old black Lab, sat a safe distance away, watching with bemusement at the assorted lengths, widths and thicknesses of derelict lumber flying out of the shed to pile up on the ground.

After I had the shed organized to my satisfaction, I started hauling the lumber to the burn pile. Then I noticed how many sticks were all over the yard from the high winds over the last few months, and picked them all up. By then it was 4 p.m. and I was done. I stood in the yard, looking around in satisfaction, and without warning, leaped up and in a mad dash went to wash the truck.

By dark, I was thrilled with myself. I had surely shed a few pounds, toned up the muscles because I was certainly sore. I was delighted.

So what did I do?

I went inside and ate ham, fruitcake, chocolate and the last slice of lemon icebox pie.

No sense, I tell you. No sense.

Let me tell you about my fruitcake, though. If you have only tasted store bought fruitcake and didn’t like it, you have not tasted fruitcake yet. I get mine from the Gethsemani monks in Trappist, Kentucky. They soak it for three months in bourbon. This is not your chain grocery store fruitcake. This stuff is moist, delicious, and the fruit pieces do not glow in the dark.

Besides, anything soaked in bourbon for three months has got to be exemplary.

So finally the holidays are over, and the rest of 2011 stretches out before us. I am awaiting two critical landmarks in the progression of this year: The changing of the time back to something sane in March, and the start of creek season, hopefully as early as April.

I hope to keep having enough frequent spurts of activity to shed a few more pounds, so that when it finally is time again to head up to the hills, it won’t be like last year. My buddy and I took about a four-mile hike up and down the red-dirt hills and I dang near didn’t survive the agonizing pain. Never do a four-mile hike after laying on the sofa all winter and indulging in too much holiday cooking.

Bogie, our yellow Lab, turned three last week. Hard to believe. He’s a good boy. I tell him that constantly, and he seems to believe it. Most of the time.

He had a sore foot a couple weeks ago. Didn’t want to put one of his back legs down for about a week. A buddy came to visit and Bogie was exuberant, as usual, but far, far better behaved. I was all impressed with him, until I remembered he had a lame foot. Once he got over it, he was back to his old self, climbing on people’s heads trying to get some lovin’.

So anyway, we’re officially in 2011. You know the world is supposed to end next year.

Just means I got to get in a lot of fishing first.

1 comment to Done With The Holidays

  • Jon

    Sounds like the holidays for sure! How much weight do you think the offshore clerks gained?
    And the world ends every day for many, but then it begins for others; i suppose that is what we refer to as a from of metamorphosis? Now if we can stop the demonic ones from messing with mother nature, maybe we can live longer, happier and at the same time, be not so materialistic But enjoy yourself while you can, especially the fishing trips because they will come to an end eventually, if your age and weight doesn’t beat those same demons that promote GMO foods and spray the air with poisons. You do realize that the bugs only become immune to those products but humankind are the ones that suffer the most. Bah, Humbug! Oh, take a peak in at your boss and see how many pounds he gained, it may make you feel better? Just saying!

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