Day 70: Boodle and Banter

Today I would like to introduce a guest writer.  My sister, Pin.  I am feeling kind of grumpy and tired, despite the great exercise I took to the Boodle Bar (and despite the little giraffe who visited me at my computer), so I shall hand over my electric pen to one who can speak when I can not.  Onward!

(Pin)
.....So since today was a do-nothing, grey cloudy skies (like ALWAYS) and generally bleah, we sat around chatting about various nothings and watching Notting Hill. (It didn't inspire us to walk up any hills, it was just inspiring that our Spirits climbed ye wayward paths. Meanwhile, our bodies were encouraged to lay about in our jammies.)  In any case, though we forced ourselves to walk to the Boodle Bar (which is called "Bar Noodle" by its owners, just until they realise that they named it wrong the first time), it was more of a stopgap than anything.

These days happen in the best of times - or the worst of times - you just get tired of doing the thing you did yesterday, and the day before. You wonder if it even matters. (You wonder if anyone reads or cares about your blog post.) You wonder, as you put on your clothes and they still are not as loose as you'd like, if this exercise thing was dreamed up by skinny California people intent on enslaving poor saps into 'eating healthy', when it doesn't matter if you eat oranges or fried pork for supper. 

I contemplated all these things as I went for my own forced walk; the tiny streets around Airdire are not known for their amazing beauty, nor for any charming countryside in which to get lost. As you could see from a former blog post, when you DO hit countryside (or a magic portal to another world!!), the sight is so amazing that you can't help but get lost. The fairies still roam these parts, unchallenged, unchecked - I'm convinced of it. Sometimes they pose as normal people in ugly scarves and uninspiring hairdos (since all hair must bow to the warmth of hats). Sometimes they hide behind trees and whisper wrong directions to you. (This happens frequently in my case.) There is dog poo in the streets, usually around Hogg Street. (True name!) If you get lost in a dead-end street, you can't just jump the neighbor's fence, you have to go all the way around, back from whence you came. So it takes commitment to plod on. And all those sports films that have the 2-minute spot of huffing and puffing by the brave athlete, the night shot of him/her in the rain (Rocky) or the snow (another Rocky) or late at night in the gym whilst everyone else is slacking (Cinderella Man) should actually be expanded to fill up most of the film. That's the reality - you do a mixture of big pushes and small spurts, because you are human, and because grace exists. At some points you have to 'beat your body into submission' (like the Apostle Paul), and the other days, you can rest in the knowledge that a small effort shows commitment as well as the large effort. 'Sufficient unto the day is the (walk) thereof.' :)

(From your new friend and walker, Pin)

Walk length (Karen): 15 minutes
Walk length (Pin): 45 minutes

Day 43: Strange Sort of Rain

I prided myself on waiting until the rain had stopped to go for my walk, but I know by now that there's no need to take pride.  The rain (or snow, or whatever kind of weather I'm trying to avoid) will come when it pleases, not when I think it will.  I live on an island, for crying out loud! So I left when the rain was off and by the time I crossed two streets a few drops were falling, and when I got to the shops my head was soaking wet.  The strange thing was, if I kept my head down I couldn't really feel it at all.  There were these huge drops falling - I could feel them every once in a while, like I was walking in slow motion.  And in the lights of the passing cars I could see it was coming down fairly steady.  But it was as though there were huge spaces between them, or like some of the water got left out when it was all poured down.  Naturally once I reached the shops the rain stopped, and I was able to go in for my passport photos looking like a drowned rat.  They won't let you smile in passport photos anyway, so it just adds to the look.  I imagine this is because when you hand over your passport you are in an airport, and most airports are generally designed to add to your travel woes if they can.  You would think you would be smiling going on holiday, but of course you haven't gotten there yet, and your bag is overweight, and you left a water bottle in your bag so it has to be searched...so yeah, my passport picture will be appropriate!

After the passport photo was completed (and put out of my memory), it was on to the Boodle Bar!  This is our favourite takeaway in Airdrie; I think the owners have a sign that says 'Bar Noodle' but they are clearly mistaken.  Misspelling the name in a text message has led to us calling it the Boodle Bar, and it's a  much more catchy name.  We got our favourites and walked home (in no rain!) to enjoy them, and I taught Caitie how to play Skip-Bo.  An old classic! 

Walk length:  25 minutes