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Thankful for a beautiful weekend
What a lovely weekend this weekend was. Sunny and cold and invigorating, a quiet corner away from the world. Biking through the superb afternoon, I wondered (and not for the first time) why the fact that a day is a holiday changes the whole tenor of the city. It's not like this on my rare days off; it's not like Bloor St and its restaurants are any less crowded than on a weekday. Am I picking up a relaxed vibe from the people around me? Am I subconsciously registering fewer cars and bikes and much less aggressive modes of driving both? Whatever, it's really lovely and I love it.
Must admit, if it was warmer, as past Thanksgivings have been, I suspect the mellow vibe would be less in evidence. Something about warmth in unwarm seasons makes the Torontonian soul determined to get out and ENJOY!! before the long winter begins. And must say, the crowds inside Sushi On Bloor were as loud as ever. That I got into that trendy eatery is down to me showing up at 2:30 because normally I wouldn't even try. Their portions are as big as ever, including the servings of wine, but I still prefer Next Generation across the street, just as good and much more subdued.
I have a turkey breast in the slow cooker. Afraid it won't turn out. Because I never sautee the onions that go into stuffing I didn't sautee the ones for the crockpot, and argh do they smell. Equally, I used fresh poultry herbs- marjoram, savory, and sage from the garden. Since they're swimming in wine and chicken stock and not safely embedded in a bread-and-egg stuffing, they smell... wrong. Oh well. It has another five hours to go.
Having reached the point of 'this can't go on', I shed a couple of pounds: probably all water weight gone in the cold, but still. A kilo gone is a kilo less on the knees. This brings me to what was the 'this can't go on' point four years ago. At that time I couldn't stand up from chairs unassisted by tables and armrests, and now I can, which I suppose is the (oft-neglected) knee strengthening exercises. Alas, the trick to losing weight for me is not snacking on starch after dinner. Apples, sure; cheese, sure; hot milk, sure. But no crackers or bread: as a consequence of which I go to bed feeling empty with vague hunger pangs. A sign of weight loss, I tell myself, and use the Buddhist trick of holding a hot pack to my tum. Buddhist monks fast from noon to morning, so yeah, could always be worse.
Must admit, if it was warmer, as past Thanksgivings have been, I suspect the mellow vibe would be less in evidence. Something about warmth in unwarm seasons makes the Torontonian soul determined to get out and ENJOY!! before the long winter begins. And must say, the crowds inside Sushi On Bloor were as loud as ever. That I got into that trendy eatery is down to me showing up at 2:30 because normally I wouldn't even try. Their portions are as big as ever, including the servings of wine, but I still prefer Next Generation across the street, just as good and much more subdued.
I have a turkey breast in the slow cooker. Afraid it won't turn out. Because I never sautee the onions that go into stuffing I didn't sautee the ones for the crockpot, and argh do they smell. Equally, I used fresh poultry herbs- marjoram, savory, and sage from the garden. Since they're swimming in wine and chicken stock and not safely embedded in a bread-and-egg stuffing, they smell... wrong. Oh well. It has another five hours to go.
Having reached the point of 'this can't go on', I shed a couple of pounds: probably all water weight gone in the cold, but still. A kilo gone is a kilo less on the knees. This brings me to what was the 'this can't go on' point four years ago. At that time I couldn't stand up from chairs unassisted by tables and armrests, and now I can, which I suppose is the (oft-neglected) knee strengthening exercises. Alas, the trick to losing weight for me is not snacking on starch after dinner. Apples, sure; cheese, sure; hot milk, sure. But no crackers or bread: as a consequence of which I go to bed feeling empty with vague hunger pangs. A sign of weight loss, I tell myself, and use the Buddhist trick of holding a hot pack to my tum. Buddhist monks fast from noon to morning, so yeah, could always be worse.
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Happy Thanksgiving! *HUGS*
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I now sleep with something like five beanbags in various locations, and only one is for the tum.