I had brunch with my friend Hannah last week at the delectable buffet provided by The Blue Room in Cambridge (http://theblueroom.net/main.html). "You know", Hannah said, "I need a new hobby. How about world domination?" "Hmmmh", I responded, "how about I teach you knitting instead?" Maybe a hobby was not exactly what we were looking for at the time either, more something that would add a little balance to our lives, which for no apparent reason seem to spin out of control on occasion. "Maybe I should take up meditation" Hannah mumbled in between taking bites out of a plate-size egg-white omelet. Now, if there is one truth in the world at large, it is that Hannah and I are not the meditating kind. No sir. There are meditators, and then there is us. We need to move, think, do. The thought of sitting quietly somewhere, doing the "om", it won't work. I have tried, and while my body might be negotiated into sitting still for a reasonable amount of time (say 3 minutes), my mind would be going in six million directions at the same time, like a slinky on steroids.
That's why I miss running so much, perfect for non-meditators like Hannah and myself. You run a few miles, exhaust your body and clear your mind. A whopping six months of being injured and giving in to a certain amount of sloth is not good for the mind either. Enter New Year's Resolution, the Vegetable with Vegetable Diet and a solid promise to go and work out. I did make it to the gym once this week, spending one hour on the exercise bike, not because I was motivated, but because I got sucked into watching a special episode of MTV Cribs featuring the most expensive "pads" money can buy. First place went to billionaire Richard Branson, who lives on an island and hides Maria Carey in his guest house (where else would you keep her?), and second place to my old favorite Wayne Newton. I have to say though I was appalled how messy the playboy mansion was (the man is a pack rat)!!!, even though there is a certain outmoded charm to Hugh Heffner.
This weekend I squeezed most of my plans in one day, and pulled myself out of bed at 5 AM yesterday morning in order to go skiing in New Hampshire. Since there was no one on the road but myself and a few other crazies, I made it up there in 2 hours flat, and was on the slopes before 9 AM. It was a beautiful day to ski - moderately cold, the sun came out for a little while, and only on the quad lift did it get a little nippy. Skiers were out in full force, and by the afternoon the slopes were filled to the brim. My friend Rick, his sister Sally and I skied up a storm, had lunch at the Sunnyside Lodge, and later on retreated to the Simmons condo in Waterville, where the rest of the family slowly trudged in after their day of fun in the snow. Rick's nieces Emily, Michaela, Caroline, Lucy and Clara, and his nephew Henry were also on the slopes with us, and let me tell you, those youngsters can ski!! I would not dare to go anywhere near the trails they hang out on. I did decent in the morning except for one incident where one of those little ski camp brats nailed me and send me flying into the snow ("Very graceful", Rick said). By early afternoon though my legs were sore and tired, and I tumbled all over the place. Time to pack it up.
After a little social time with the Simmonses in Waterville, I headed back to Boston in order to attend Burns Night (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burns_Night) at my Scottish friends and running mates Mike and Vivienne's place. Their place was hoppin' with Scots and Scottish wannabes, whisky aficionados and other hangers-on. You may know Robbie Burns, as he is affectionately called by his countrymen and women, from our favorite New Year's eve song "Auld Lang Syne" and of course his stellar poetry. There are certain traditions that need to be upheld during a Burns supper - In our case we started with a good old party, mix and mingle, during which the hosts served the strangely named but most stellar tasting smoked fish chowder Cullen Skink (Mike, this soup rocked!) (http://littlefancies.blogspot.com/2006/01/cullen-skink-or-smoked-fish-chowder.html) . This was followed by a musical interlude featuring first two Scottish lasses named Lindsay playing Jazz music and then Vivienne, hostess extraordinaire, who played a rousing round of the bag pipes. The traditional part started off with the official blessing poem (also known as the Selkirk grace) "Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it; But we hae meat, and we can eat, Sae let the Lord be thankit. " Now, in comes the Haggis, the centerpiece of the night. Haggis, how to describe it - tastes much better than it sounds for starters. A cornucopia of a sheep's inner organs (heart, liver. lungs, whatever else they can find) is minced with spices, onions, oatmeal, fat and boiled in either a sheep's stomach or some kind of a casing for three hours. Traditionally it is served with "neeps and tatties" (turnips and potatoes, mashed separately).
Next step is to put the Haggis on the center table, and the host (Mike) reads the Burns Poem "Ode Tae a Haggis" - a ten verse homage to the blessed food. In verse one the Haggis is adored ("Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!, Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o' a grace As lang's my arm."), in verse 3, it is cut ("His knife see rustic Labour dicht, An' cut you up wi' ready slicht, Trenching your gushing entrails bricht, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sicht, Warm-reekin, rich!"), and verse 4 describes how everyone rushes to the table to eat it. Mike bravely read 4 verses in both Scottish and English, and segued nicely to the traditional whisky toast. I did like the Haggis very much and actually went for seconds. I am not going to tell you it tastes like chicken, because that is definitely not the case. Find our yourself, will ya?
What else happened this week? Monday night I volunteered at the running club for track bingo (nice to be the person with the stop watch) and Thursday night I joined fellow Community Runners Brian, Hillary, Joao, and new friend Elena for Trivia Night at the Newtowne Grille at Porter Square. This is pretty cool (http://www.trailsideentertainment.com/stump_howtoplay.asp). Dozens of teams sit around tables, and answer questions posed by the hostess with the annoying voice. Who knew that Grandmaster Flash was born on Barbados, the Island of Flying Fish? My life is so much richer for knowing just that. We did have a good time, and came in better than average. Life was good.
It is Sunday, I just finished my citizenship application, which I will send off this week, and now it is time to go load up some photos. Tomorrow is a holiday here in the US of A and I will meet up with some girl friends to do girly things. There you have it.
Ciao for now,
pet:)
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