In keeping with my 2017 theme, The Year of Living Passionately I’m adding another goal, years in the simmering.

This is going to be the year that I find my dream jeans. The year of my perfect fabulous jeans. I’ve had it with skinny jeans, jeggings, bootcut, high rise, low rise, mom jeans, bell bottoms, stretch jeans, cropped jeans, et al.

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In Tropica it’s always guest season. Living in a vacation destination means a lot of houseguests. I enjoy picking people up at the airport and having the stimulation and fun of visitors.

Being a good houseguest is an art, but it can also be a learned skill. If you have friends living in interesting places, and you are lucky enough to be invited to stay, it means you can travel all the more. So it behooves you to treat your hostess like the treasure she is.

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Jealousy sounds so much nicer in French, doesn’t it?  Romantic. Poetic.

In another twist, jalousie in English refers to a “blind or shutter made of angled slats.”  Go figure.

As a femme d’un certain age, I’m mortified to admit that I’m prone to occasional whiffs of jealousy envy. How embarrassing is that? It’s true that life is always like high school over and over again — same cliques, same emotions.

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I’m adding three new things to my life this year, to explore and develop, and if things go well, adopt as official passions.  I made this decision because I find being a beginner so invigorating! Since no bridge player will teach me bridge (Don’t get me started. Bridge players hate to teach beginners and don’t want to play with them.) and golf will never be a thing for me, I landed on my new learning challenges quite naturally.

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Photo c Elisabeth Carol

 

Uh oh.  The stores are filling up with red stuff.  If it’s one thing I don’t like its red roses.  That means my “favorite” day of the year is approaching. Grrr. Don’t need to repeat it, so you can read all about it in the link.

Then my uber cool millennial daughter told me about Amy Poehler’s Galantine’s Day.  Now I’m inspired to celebrate!

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toast

 

First of all…I’m back.  I was in Chicago taking care of a toddler whilst her mother (my cousin) was on a business trip.

Well. That. Was. Exhausting.

My friends warned me, but I thought, oh I can do this, I raised my own children didn’t I? Ahem. Within minutes of my cousin’s departure I was drawn back to the days of not being able to think a complete thought, to finish a cup of tea or read the newspaper. And: Not just a toddler, but a “missing her mother toddler.” Use your imagination.

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Mine does.

I recall my father saying to me when he was in his 70’s and 80’s: “My skeleton hurts.” I let it slide by, not understanding, not caring to understand.  That’s the arrogance and breeziness of youth.

Now I understand.  My skeleton hurts.  I guess I inherited it from him.

So, in addition to this being the year of living passionately, this is also the year of the bod.  My bod.

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New Year’s eve morning as I write this. I’ve spent the week between Christmas and today pondering the events of 2016. I’m surprised at the number of surprises I had in 2016. It was a year of surprises.  And I’d like another please.  I believe this is because of my new commitment to extemporaneous living, instead of planning everything out.  There’s a flow going on.

Here’s my list. I suspect you had tons of surprises too.  What’s on your list?

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This is where I’ll be this week

Whilst many of you in western countries are returning gifts and shopping the ginormous after Christmas sales, I, here in Tropica, will be on the yoga mat, taking stock.

The week between Christmas and New Year’s is when newspapers, magazines and television make their round ups of 2016. I too find the need to take stock, to quantify and review the past year as I approach the new.

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