winds and prams

Windy, blustery Monday morning, with falling trees, flying debris, as someone who woke up to typhoons after typhoons in the Pearl of the Orient Seas, I've never seen wind that sweeping, clocking above 90 miles/hour, and we pushed a pram amid the wrath of nature. What were we thinking? We could have waited until the wind slowed down a bit rather than risk our sweet daughter in her stroller being swept by the tempest, the fury of the storm. The wind became still later in the next hour and we surveyed the broken branches of trees on the road. There was a few minutes delay in the Tube but at least we got to the destination in one piece. It would have been more prudent to have waited a bit longer indoors but certain order of things are followed to the letter and it doesn't allow reprieve, even with falling trees blocking tracks.

kindness, to commemorate

from jan.

Biko with a sprinkle of custard?

I'm grateful.

No wonder I don't like seeing the figure on the scales or my reflection on a full length mirror.

so fat, so far

I reading a write up about a prominent lifestyle journalist doing triathlons and it jolted an epiphany at this very juncture. I eat a lot. I don't exercise. I have a siesta twice a week. My blood pressure suffers in the process. Although I haven't checked my BP for such a long time.

I carbo load -- such a sucker for ice cream, cakes, pastries, bread, rice, cookies. I would gobble each of the Great British Bake Off creations. I don't even bake. I cook (not on a daily basis). But bake. I have to take some lessons from Jan (she, who went to Cancun) on how to operate a mixer. Gluttony is a deadly sin, thinking of the bad cholesterol and the onset of diabetes by merely consuming rice.

But

I like carrots.
I have mostly arguments with salad when I know that green, leafy vege is not the enemy.

wishing warm

I wish I have more free time these days. I wish I could write loads and loads of text, fill this blog to the brim. And travel to just one more G8 country. I wish I don't snooze as much as necessary.

I wish I could read more fiction and essays. I wish I could write more fiction and essays. I wish I was able to plot my schedule more cognisant to my dearest baby's needs for curiosity hours. Let's request.

with age, comes wisdom?

As such, the writers, of glossies with snippets I ear marked earlier and the opinions above are those of maybe, Gen Y. It shows by reading between the lines. Affirmations that the world is turning a new leaf and every commodity has an expiration date. Was it only yesterday I was waiting in vain for the Del Valle couple to discover the contents of Gardo's diary? Now, the original Mara is in her thirties and her market and demographic is growing older with her. Youth, it seems, equate power. Although when I was younger, I have to ask permission what movies, what shows to watch, not to mention being dependent on my parents for food, clothing and shelter. Of course, young slebs fans are not only concentrated on the youth market. But those in their twenties, with time to spare and fresh graduate money to burn can indulge in the shows and endorsements of their peer group, an age bracket I find utmost difficulty relating as I continue to reach old age with related body aches and milestones. But the genuine talent, who doesn't need the trappings of outside beauty to sparkle, will push aside trends and continue to rise through the heap of wannabes and maybes. In the long run, good looks fade, wrinkles appear and a younger version of an old star will dominate the entertainment scene.

the empty October

We're almost in the middle of the month and I'm still trapped in the hectic pace of the race. The little one picks up cough, colds, bruises in the nursery pass them on to us and we're nursing illnesses, in a way.

Actually, it's the hubby's stirring passion for camaraderie that lets the flesh down through going to football matches, meeting up with friends one full weekend then dropping off baby in the nursery the next day segue way to work and late afternoon daddy time to work again the following morning. The weekend screams at WHL or away games ushers the virus and transferring them to me.

It's altogether uncomfortable, painful, this bed bound state. My head is about to explode. Since the weather attacks with vicious implosion and I have to be alert at all times, I'll cancel the social aspect of my routine, as if it's not already vanished from the existence. The Christmas do for whatever reason would be nothing but faint hope. The omnipotent forces wouldn't allow extra time off during the holidays and January and February are not very friendly months. It's all down to planning. Will I lose any more friends as I run for cover and avoid the hoopla of the holidays? I'm not sure. Those besieged with kindness would be able to understand. As for others, I'm not that unmissable.