Simply Nauseating

I don't have anything earth shattering to report this morning. No giant steps. No long jumps into the Stepping Out hall of fame. The only thing I've stepped into is a pair of walking shoes.

I've mentioned before that morning walks with the husband are among my simple pleasures. I even mentioned that winter walks are my favorite walks of all. That's because I get to dress up like the Unibomber and walk incognito.

We haven't been doing much walking lately. 

I'd like to blame it on the Christmas busyness or the fact that I married a traveling man, but I can't. I'd also like to blame the fibro pain that seems to have settled in my feet of all places, but I can't do that either.

The plain truth is that the only legitimate way to combat fibromyalgia is to move through it. With fibro, less is more and more is less. The less you move, the more you hurt, and the more you move the less you hurt.

No, pain isn't the reason that I haven't been walking; it's the excuse. Laziness is the reason.

There. I said it.

So yesterday morning, I put on my walking shoes and limped out the door with my faithful companion at my side. Bet you think that's what this post is all about, don't you?

Well, it isn't.

It's about what happened after the walk. We were turning into the driveway, you see, when the husband looked up and said,

Looks like we missed an opportunity.  

And then, he pointed.

Can you see it?

It's mistletoe... Smack dab in the middle of our Bradford pear.  It had probably been there for months, but it was hiding under all the leafy stuff.

Now folks,  I know that the Christmas season is over, but mistletoe is mistletoe, and in my world every season is smooching season. So I planted myself under that Kissing Tree and gave him the face until he got the clue.

Stepping out has it privileges.

In fact, I enjoyed the privilege so much that I convinced him to walk again after dinner. We walked  this morning, too, and I have plans for a little blue hour stroll.

I'm convinced that my feet feel better already, and we still have one more morning before he leaves to go out of town.  At this rate, I'll be wearing stilettos by Valentine's Day.

That would be just about how long he's willing to leave the mistletoe undisturbed in the tree, too. He may be a romantic, but he's a left- brained romantic. Apparently, mistletoe is actually a parasite, and he thinks it ought to be whacked back before budding season.  He has  promised to leave just a little bit, though, if I promise to keep walking.

So there you have it:

Why Sir Lotsa Hair Kissed the Unibomber and Nauseated the Neighborhood.

Otherwise known as this week's

  simple pleasure.

So My Theme Color For The Year Is...

What? 

You thought I was going to spill it in the first line? 

You haven't been reading here long, have you?

People often ask why I pick a theme color at the beginning of the year. The simple answer is that there isn't a good reason. I do it because I'm an oddball. I do it because it's fun and gives me perpetual inspiration. When I'm in need of creative jumper cables, I just reach for the theme color.

In the year of orange I made pomanders and baked cream cheese orange bread. I discovered  pumpkin soup, pumpkin casserole, copper pennies, and marmalade chicken.

The year of green brought fried green tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe. I dried green hydrangeas, made guacamole, and concocted a new dinner salad each month.

Wouldn't you think I would have lost some weight? 

As the Year of Green drew to a close, I starting auditioning colors.  I figured it should have something to do with turning 50 over the Christmas break.

Red for red hats? Too predictable.

Pink is always an option, but since pink is my favorite color, every year is a little bit pink.

I tried to get jazzed about gold since this is the year of my Golden Jubilee, but I couldn't get into it. Gold makes me think of brass, and brass just makes me want to whip out a can of oil rubbed bronze. Gold may be the color of wealth, but it's not the color of happiness. I wanted  needed a happy color.

And that's why my theme color for 2012 is...yellow.

Did you get the hint with this picture? 

Yellow is gold with attitude.   

Yellow is a cheerful color. It's vibrant, and it's  brisk. Yellow is the color of  sunshine.


The winter of 2011 was one of the dreariest ones I can remember.  It started with an ice storm in January  and went downhill from there. 2011 was the year of  ice without snow and clouds without rain.


Oh sure, there was sunshine 2011, but as the year progressed, it became known as the year of the clouds. Some clouds were dark and stormy;  others just hovered overhead. It was supposed to be the year of green, but I usually noticed shades of  gray.

I'm  not going to ask if anyone can relate because I know you can. I can read. I can even read between the lines.  It's been a cloudy year for many of you.

But I've been thinking. I'm always thinking...

If I had known in advance about the great cloud invasion, I wouldn't have squandered the sunshine. I would have stopped what I was doing to smile back at it.

I didn't. I took it for granted until the clouds took it away.

Now, I'll ask: Can anyone relate?

Let's face it: 2012 will likely bring more clouds and more storms. For all I know, the year ahead could make The Year of the Pigeon-Toed Duck Waddle look like a cake walk. Not trying to be Debbie Downer here, but when you reach the ripe age of 50, you just know that kind of stuff.

But it's just as certain to bring some pockets of sunshine.

And that's why my theme color for 2012 is yellow, and my mission is simple: I'm simply going to notice the sunshine. In fact, I plan to look for a piece of yellow, even on the gray days. When I find some, I will stop and give it a little wink.

So there you have it.

 I hereby dub 2012
  Yellow
The Year of Finding the Sunshine.

Oh, the possibilities...