Never been attracted to yoga. Not sure why, may be because I thought it went hand in hand with tofu and knitting your own yogurt. I'm a runner, a very slow one but an addicted one. Three full marathons and several halves.
But then Miss. Tamara and her captivating little butt arrived on the island. And with her she brought Zumba. Zuuuummbbaaaaa.
A latin inspired dance fitness craze. So feisty Miss.Tam, and I have been trying to raise the level of my butt back up, after years of running, and a generous consumption of chocolate had brought it fairly far down. And then onto our Zumba we added in a sprinkling of splits and yoga. (and all you yogis out there, laughing at my attempts below, may laugh away, because that's not yoga I am doing. Its Yumba)
On Wednesday I had to pop up to New York for a few days of work on my Fine Jewelry collections. On a Wednesday there is no morning flight out of our regular airport. No matter, I could drive an hour further down the island and leave from Governor's Harbour instead.
Governor's Harbour is an 'International' airport. Clearly not an exceptionally busy hub. I was the only person in there. A check-in lady meandered in after me. She was also the Sweet Shop lady and the Tourist Shop lady. Two other ladies arrived, in tired security uniforms, they shuffled in and sat down to read their bible.
After checking-in I was asked for $7. In cash.
"What's that for?" I questioned.
"New security machine, $7 to turn it on, for each passenger"
"But don't the security ladies just pat me down?"
I paid the $7 and walked over to the machine, put my bag on the conveyer belt and waited. One of the ladies looked up slowly from her bible "It ain't workin', power's off"
I remained the only passenger in the airport. The power also remained off. Some one had put a large rock by the ladies loo. It held the outer door open a slither. I fumbled my way in darkness to a stall and struggled with the lock. It was broken. As I peeed in the gloom with the broken door swinging open I realised there was no loo paper….
My connecting flight to New York from Miami was on time. We boarded the flight. I turned off my phone and closed my eyes. And waited for the engines to start up. THREE HOURS LATER we finally took off, the flat tyre on the plane having been changed. Half way through our journey the captain announced the weather was getting bad. The seat belt sign would remain on for the rest of the flight. We began to bump and lurch our way up the coastline.
I looked at my watch, with my layover in Miami and the mechanical delay and now the storm we would be landing way after midnight. The captain was speaking again. Unfortunately something more serious was now happening, the trim on the plane had failed. We were being diverted to another airport, with a longer runway, which was being prepared for an emergency landing. We were not to panic. NOT TO PANIC? They were making all the necessary arrangements. The runway was being closed off, it would be lined with firetrucks and police. We were to assume the brace position and to remove all high heels. There was a highly trained team of air stewards on board. There was absolutely nothing to panic about. I looked at the overly made up air hostess in the aisle…….there was everything to panic about.
Obviously we survived, unless Ghostly India is writing this from the twilight zone. Our Captain landed our plane safely, the firetrucks and police limped away and we retrieved our high heels.
But I would have been pissed off if we had died. I had just had my legs waxed.
My father's quote is good but Nate's is so much better. And don't be fooled by the "artfully" arranged desk, most of the time its chaos.
Can you spot my 4 year old's roller skates? What are they doing INSIDE the house?
One of my favorite Christmas presents. A dedicated candle.
My favorite Christmas card so far. Although the 12 year old said 'Its a bit plain, just a bunch of horses'
In truth its my only Christmas card so far. Ours normally arrive around Easter time. No particular urgency regarding the delivery of mail around here. This card, from my mother, supports the Soldier's Charity. Her father, my grandfather, also happened to be the Colonel-in-Chief of this regiment, The Life Guards. So possibly there is a teeny bit of favoritism involved. A teeny bit.
I remember as a small girl, going each year to watch my grandfather ride with his regiment along side the Queen in her birthday parade. Trooping The Colour. After wards we would return to Buckingham Palace and walk down to the courtyard to see the Royal family dismount. I know, crazy right? I look at my children, wild island hooligan's, smudged with orange Cheeto stains and am vaguely relived the only Palace they will ever get near is Barbie's pink plastic one.
My grandfather, constricted by his uniform was unable to bend down to kiss me "Up child" he would roar, and I would be lifted towards him. We would then wait, on best behavior (Nanny ready with a smack on the back of our legs if not) before dropping into a deep curtsey before the Queen. But all I could really think about were the horses snorting, twitching, and sweating from the excitement of the parade, and having their velvet noses nuzzle my hand, as I fed them carrots. Lovely royal carrots.