Guilt free Friday.

Today was the first day I didn't do some sort of morning exercise in ages.

For 11 of these 20 days of February, I've walked, done a yoga routine from SELF magazine or spent some time on my Air Climber.

Not too shabby methinks, which is exactly why I didn't feel guilty staying in bed late (and late for me lately is 7 a.m.) - it was everything I knew it would be. I just listened to my body when it said, "Not today, sister. It's too damn cold to get out of bed."

(Now if only my shivering-in-the-freezing-cold-office self would be so smart and get under those same covers toute suite ... )

"Sleeping in" was everything I knew it could be!
Plus, I didn't let the fact that I decided to be a slug this morning derail the rest of the day, and made sure to stick to my eating healthy habits.

I even pushed through a massive chocolate craving! Quite superhuman strength for me I tell you!


I've come a long way since the beginning of January, and that's worth a few snoozes here and there.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a down comforter with my name on it!

Show, don't tell.

"Writing well means never having to say 'I guess you had to be there.'" -- Jef Mallett, "Frazz" comic strip

Such words to live by ... rather, words to write by.

Recently, I read a concert review that was so dry and devoid of any emotion that it got me thinking about how people write - and how I write.

I'm a very nosy person by nature, so I'm always looking around or researching to the fullest extent to ask that "one question" no one else has ever asked someone before (wishful thinking I know, but I digress). I'd like to think it just adds a certain something, you know?

If I'm covering a concert, or reviewing a CD (as I am doing the latter this week so be sure to check it out at www.theweekender.com, you're welcome for the shameless plug), I want a reader to hear it like I did, or see what I saw when I listened. I want to capture every single moment and relay that.

I guess it stems from being a chronic journaler since the age of 17, where I'd capture nearly every single second of my day - who said what, what I did, where I went, etc., etc.

Or, it could be from my worrywart Mom who always told me to "get the big picture," meaning be observant of my surroundings - and keep myself safe, because as you well know, bad people lurk every where ... God forbid.

(Ahh, my auto pilot reflex phrase, another thing to thank Mom for inflicting into my daily life ...)

C'mon get Hallmark.

Everyone has at least one - at least one talent that is all their own.
Be it writing, painting, singing, piano, ukulele, whatever, everyone has something they are good at.

Naturally, I'd like to think that I have several veritable talents (thinking naturally and oh-so-modestly, LOL). Like my horrid singing voice, which I use constantly to just about everyone's dismay. Or my inherent clumsiness. Or my uncanny ability to pick what person another person is a doppelganger of.

All kidding aside, one of my greatest talents is picking out the absolute perfect Hallmark card for my loved ones.

It's taken years to get to this level of Hallmark shopper (and probably close to a million Gold Crown Points) and I do revel in it. I will have you know that I have been a Gold Crown card carrier since 1997. A Preferred Gold Crown card carrier, thankyouverymuch.

I just love the whole production of scouring the card racks for as long as it takes to find that a perfect display of my affection for said loved ones.
(Tonight's Valentine's Day purchase took well over an hour. I only had to buy four Valentines and one birthday, BTW).
I just seem to always hit the nail on the head, and can proudly boast that I have made my mom cry on more holidays than I haven't made her cry. It's an art form really.

I love the smell of Hallmark (especially the Dallas Shopping Center one). I love writing my own little blurb under the card's message. I love putting the shiny gold foil sticker on the back (and not only because it saves me from tasting icky envelope glue). And I especially love the reaction someone has to their perfect card.

It just makes me happy to Hallmark ... and especially when I get my members reward coupon. Hey, even card freaks have to be economical these days ...

Air Climbing with 'GMA.'

I've never really been one for news.
Local fires, murders, weather, those fluffy "water skiing squirrel" segments, etc., etc.? No thank you.

I prefer to get my news from the newspaper - I like starting it with my breakfast and finishing it with my dinner. Same grisly content, just easier to take than some anchorwoman in a shoulder-padded fuchsia blazer saying "Everyone has contracted a deadly disease ...more after this break." I love feeling the newsprint in my hand, even love how it sometimes leaves black ink on my fingertips and mon dieu, I adore the smell of our press room. Especially coming in on Mondays when my nose hasn't smelled it in two days. Deliciously addicting.

In a newspaper, all the info you need is right there in the first few paragraphs without the dramatic build up. Ahh, the sweet smell of the inverted pyramid.

But suddenly, after I acquired an Air Climber,



I began doing something crazy every morning.
I started tuning in to "Good Morning America."
Doing so also tunes me into some of my local goings on as well - or as "local" as the local news is, since so much of it isn't even from NEPA proper, but I digress.

I feel much more informed - I get some celeb gossip (today's scrim, for example, had the news that Chris Brown beat up Rhianna), news news like fires and whatnot, heartfelt moments like the Hudson plane crash survivors reuniting with the captain and crew - and it isn't really that painful.

Aside from how annoying Diane Sawyer's on-screen movements can be, I really enjoy the show. Sam Champion is an absolute delight and I really enjoy Robin Roberts' personality. It's nice waking up to them, especially since most times being up that early exercising is the last thing I want to be doing, but viewing the show makes my exercise time really fly by.

But know that I'll never tune into one of the hardcore news channels like CNN. My interest in world affairs wanes after about half and hour, just around the time my legs give out ...

It's starting to hit.

Spring fever.
It has sprung its ugly, yet hopeful head.

It hit me yesterday when it was so brilliantly sunny and bright, and I could hear the staccato drip-drip of the snow melting into colossal puddles on the front walk that I had to leap over.

It hit me this morning as I walked around the school in the spring-scented-yet-chilly winter air as I remembered seeing those same types of rays of sun coming down to earth in stripes through back lit clouds as a kid and thinking, "They're taking someone home to heaven" - how innocent and kind of profound for a young Catholic school girl with a crooked smile and vast imagination.

It hit me sitting at my parents' kitchen table with the sun pouring in around Mom and I as we read the papers and caught up, not needing the little heater for warmth for the first time in weeks.

It hit me as I ran out to my car before I left their house, as the moon - high and bright in the sky - ricocheted off the snow refreezing from today's defrost.

And it hit me when I got home and didn't have to crank up the heat too much to keep this drafty old house comfortable. (An Eskimo would fare well with me, me thinks, or a narwhal at the very least.)

That's the magic of spring fever I guess.
It's like a mirage - just when you are fooled into thinking "It's over!" and get the itch to crack open a window or stop wearing a jacket, you remember that it's only early February - we've still got a lot of winter left.
[Deep sigh.]

Haiku for a chilly, thoughtful night.

Listless and boredom
go hand in hand with the train
slowly rolling by.

A dark night, quiet,
footsteps crunch the snowy ground
to break the silence.

Lost in my own thoughts,
pensively pondering all,
my head is at war.

Going under cover.

Did you ever have one of those days where you just don't want to play anymore?
I think I am at that point today.

It's only 2:45 p.m. and I would offer up my much-adored leopard print scarf that is ever so jauntily tied around my neck to the gods that would allow me to go home and crawl under the covers again.

I'm not saying that I would spend the rest of the day sleeping said day away, no, no, no!

I would like to go home and be under those covers with my curtains wide open letting in the deliciously brilliant sun and read. Just read allllll day, catch up with Dorothy Parker (which I am still trudging my way through) and feed my soul a little. Maybe even be so bold as to catch up my journal and write a few haiku about the sun.

I smell a necessary play day off, sooner than later!