Deb Skates Again!

Deb: It was to my delight that I found myself all alone on one of my regular rinks this week. Jazz playing in the background and the feel of the ice on my blades. I. Am. Canadian.

PS This is the Shop at Don Mills.

The Dog Park

As we said yesterday, we took our dogs to Pawsway last Friday. Pawsway is run by Purina, but this dog playground/training centre is the only one of its kind anywhere. It is an indoor teahouse/hall-of-fame/shop/off-lead park/agility course. Every day has a different schedule for the pet-owner’s/pet’s need. We went with our friend, Cheryl, and her pooch, Teddy. For Chaplin and The Bairn, it was a chance to get to know each other and socialize. Yes, dogs do need to learn how to socialize. While we don’t have footage of the agility course (where you coax your dog through the course with treats until they “get” it), we do have a bit of their adventure on tape. Bairn is the blond cairn terrier, Chaplin is the white cockapoo in red leather, and Teddy is the black “poo” mix. Chaplin is still a bit awkward, as you will see, poor pathetic little pooch.

Let Me Be Your Wife … Please

Barbara: The title? Okay, I have this preconceived and maybe sexist notion that if I recommend some lifestyle change, I sound like the classic “wife”. You know, the concerned matron who ensures her husband doesn’t eat too many nitrates and goes to the doctor on a regular basis. This notion probably comes from my very compelling personal experience: both my father and husband fall into this category! So no offence intended and if you’ll humour me, I do want to be everybody’s wife for a minute here.

Yesterday, I read this article about the dangers of sitting too long. Now I wouldn’t be bringing this up if it were the usual manifesto on weight loss and/or exercise. We all know the scoop on that, right? What piqued me on this one is that they’re discovering now that people who sit for extended periods of time are prone to developing all sorts of icky cancers. (Is there a non-icky cancer? Jinx!)

Even if you jog EVERY DAY, if you then sit for the rest of it: same risk!

The reason I think it’s so important to spread the word on this is that I was totally in the group of people who assumed if one was basically active, one did not run any added health risks by working stationary. I am also FIRMLY in the group of people who sits for much of the day. I am also in the group of people who has many many beloveds who sit for much of the day. And, of course, we are all doing important stuff: we’re writing and researching and collating and number-crunching and creating and Facebooking. But we are ensconced. Out of necessity.

The article tells us that research into this correlation between the prolonged seated position and various cancers and a shortened life expectancy is just in its infancy. Barely a couple of year’s worth of curiosity has been invested—and already the stats are sadly impressive. “Sitting down is killing us,” reads the copy; “It’s a lifestyle factor that’s like a bomb on health.” Stuff like that.

I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t want to wait for the next wave of conclusive evidence to get me off my chair in regular intervals and get the body moving, at least somewhat. I already notice that my right shoulder slowly seizes up the longer I sit without a break, and unseizes as soon as I move.

So let me be your wife, please, and urge you, implore you!, to get off your chair as often as you can and move around. Love you!

Deb: I read the same thing, Barb. I totally agree that we should get up and move more and on a regular basis, but I also confess that this article was to me another in the long line of “scare” vibe articles. I read warning after warning about what we are doing not doing eating not eating breathing not breathing, that can give us cancer. I am employing my old friend moderation on all of the above. However, move more ... sure. It’s a good thing! A great thing, in fact. Just make sure you’re not walking around talking on your cell phone!!!

Skating My Joy

Deb: Swish swish swish. All I hear is the slice of my blade and the beat of my heart. Although I am the only person on the rink, I go as decorum dictates, counter clockwise, ever the good girl. The ice and I are married, linked by the steady rhythm of my amateur glissade. The ice supports me and propels my form as I etch my mark into its beautiful sleek self. Although I am skimming far and long, I reach no physical destination. But ohhhhh where my mind and body are going! 

I am thinking not about work or life or sorrows or successes. I just am. Spontaneous meditation. Joy. Joy. Joy. I am alive.

My blade hisses sweet grateful tingling taps that resonate deep within my  body and soul. The cold air snapping my cheeks and my tingling toes are my only reminders that this is real. This is happening now. It’s a celebration and I am the only guest.

I came to this party in the beginning prompted by a desire for winter exercise and as a reminder of my youth. What it has come to mean to me is something I could have never dared dream. I am in heaven. This is prayer to me.

Barbara: What a beautiful ode to your mode of prayer, Deb. You have brought me right into the zen of meditation just by reading this (which is good because I have so little equivalent outlet, save my weekly yoga).

Deb skates virtually ever day, even keeps her skates in her car because, to quote her, “Then I can just stop and do a few minutes on my way to the grocery store. Skating doesn’t always have to be an event I plan for.” I was stunned by the simplicity of this logic. You know, you have to plan to go to the gym or do yoga or meet your friends for a run, right? But if there’s no sense of responsibility to the event, then you can sneak it in anytime it fits. And you maybe get to enjoy this kind of dream-like, meditative, beautiful awareness of life almost by accident, unplanned for.

Deb took me skating the other day. We have a new outdoor rink in my neighbourhood that she had to try. It had been a while since I’d skated, but I was game. I can always handle winter if I’m embracing it somehow. And she was right, the rink was gorgeous, a large figure eight around naturalized hillocks. And she was right again—despite the fact that we were chatting as we skated (not usually associated with zen or prayer) and having to avoid rambunctious 10-year-olds who did NOT respect the rink “decorum”––it was soulful and rejuvenating. I think we both could have stayed out there for hours if we didn’t also have “stuff” to do.

Maybe I’ll keep my skates in the car and go meditate on my way to the grocery store.

Age Appropriate––Our Tricks Of The Trade

Barbara: On Monday, we bemoaned our aging bodies, while still maintaining our deep-rooted respect for same and our absolute certainty that life does indeed get better.

So today I thought it would be appropriate to give props to those things each of us do and/or have done that we actually think paid off in the long run. Think of it as words of wisdom to our youngers and well-deserved pats on the back for each other.

I’ll go first. Cream. It’s a pain, it’s slippery, it’s time-consuming, it can be expensive (but doesn’t need to be). It works, no question. I’ve been creaming myself up for going on 30 of my 47 years. Body, hands, feet, face. What can I say? What I already said: it works. Wrinkles run in my family, on both sides. Gloriously youthful faces, but wrinkles. I believe I have staved them off as well as can be expected given gravity and climate.

I used to have these little hard calcified bumps on my upper arms and legs. Cream after my shower softened them and finally made them disappear. My skin is smooth, I tell you, smoooooth. I had cracked dry skin on the soles of my feet. Creaming day and night got rid of that. And here I actually have to name names because I have tried a zillion other hand and foot creams and the one I keep coming back to is Glysomed. Nary a cracked fissure in sight.

I also use natural “castor oil” for everything from keeping my spider veins at bay to easing a bruise in record time to softening my (normal everyday) moles. Desiten (yes, the diaper rash cream) is great for pimples or rashes (it’s all the zinc). And a smidgen of 15% tea tree oil on a q-tip then dabbed on a zit will dry that thing up in a few hours.

And then there’s exercise. Absolutely works. I am not addicted. I am not a machine. I don’t have Deb’s discipline. But still even once a week makes a huge difference.

Walking. Daily if I can. A dog is a great companion, but not required. With these, my body has been in more consistent shape than I would’ve guessed possible (not what it used to be, of course, but given the givens).

Yoga, also once a week. Oh, yogahhhhh. This is where I learned to breathe and relax. Without yoga, my mood is much trickier to manage and the bright side is not quite as bright. With it, I have time to myself.

Which brings me to: time to myself. This is my absolute. Without some precious quiet time in my day or week, I am worthless. With it, I get way more done with way less anxiety, stress, or guilt (which is ironic because guilt used to prevent me from taking time for myself!). Just do it.

What are your tricks?

Deb: My tricks are all done with mirrors! In fact, Barbara has never really seen what the actual Deb looks like...

No seriously. I am ALL ABOUT THE CREAMS TOO! For face alone I have:

Special cream wash

Toner

All over lifter and smoother

Eye serum

Eye cream

Liquid Gold all over face

Neck lifter

Night and Day cream

Night emulsion

Warm water!

Body also gets the treatment, emphasizing hands and elbows just before bed.

I get regular mani-pedi’s, which solve that cracked skin problem.

I just found out about a cream that reduces and fades liver spots, but I will have to get back to you on the name.

Barb, I love your tips and will use them! Castor oil, huh? Not just for breakfast anymore!!!

And I meditate, but not as much as I should. Been doing T.M. since 1973! And yes, I love love love to exercise. I work out 6 days a week. Cardio, weights resistance, Zumba and I am starting lyrical jazz in January. I walk the dogs, ride my bike, and I skate almost every day in the winter. My husband and I met a couple of young doctors at a wedding a month ago. We asked, “What is the secret to longevity in your opinion?” They said, “Exercise, first, second, and last”. So that made me feel sooooooooooooooo much better about red wine with dinner every night!

Zumba Me!

Deb: I started taking Zumba lessons in September. For those of you who don’t know, Zumba is a major cardio workout with a Latin twist. We samba and mambo and generally shake our money-makers ... which after fifty is defined as "loose-change-maker".

But something happened to me in Zumba class. I decided that I didn’t care if I was the worst one in the class and the reward for that is ... I’m not. Not by a long shot. I am the oldest by a mile and I am bending the deepest and breathing the lightest. My arms and tummy are not rock tight, it’s true. They are not even sand tight, but I’m moving it, mama, and LOVING IT!

I spend one quarter of my time in Zumba trying to get the moves just right and trying to work it to the max. I spend the other three-quarters thinking, “Look at me, Ma, I’m doing it!!!” Honest to Pete, I am tickled to death with myself.

I don’t even think it’s just the fact that I am not awful at it. The real joy comes in the “don’t care” package. Finally after all these years of caring what people will think of me in any and all classes, auditions, and public appearances, I DON’T. And the freedom is worth more than all the calories I am burning. When the gal who owns The Joy of Dance cautioned me that another class I was looking at––lyrical jazz––is tough, I said that I did not at all mind being the worst one. She was surprised and thrilled.

Now full disclosure­­––will tell you that I do dance and have always been athletic, but I do NOT excel at dance at all. In the living room, I am Pavlova and Gwen Vernon (edited to say: Gwen VerDon. Blaming it on middle-age) wrapped up into one. But my issue is the steps you see. The dreaded memory. So as I am moving, I applaud myself when I remember the step and I shake my small-change-maker till I get the next step that I just forgot. But mostly I smile. Big shit-eating grin on my face, I tell ya! After the first class I went up to the teacher to say, “Thank you, I love this class!” And she said, “I know, I could tell”. My heart swelled and I walked away like the Cheshire cat, proudly wearing my Zanadu headband, saying softly to myself, “Atta girl. Well done.”

Barbara: Oh, Deb! Love how I’m picturing you Zumba-ing in the streets, gathering us all behind you like the Pied Piper of free-spirited, don’t give a fig, need a good shimmy and shake, middle-aged (or whatever aged) converts.

I loooooove to dance. Always have. But I am completely lame as a performer of dance. Can’t follow a routine to save my life. But put me on a dance floor with no expectations, no matter how many people around or how bare the floor, I will let loose. As if to save my life.

Trouble is, I don’t have too many invites to shake the ol’ money-maker. The hubby isn’t game. At all. And all the best intentions my gal-pals and I have to cut loose at some club kinda go by the wayside, stymied by distance, work, or pressing responsibilities. Deb, you may have inspired me to join your club. Lead me on, oh Cheshire Cat. Lead me to your dance floor.  

And here’s a little something to maybe inspire you.