It's sunny and 7c this afternoon. The bit of snow we had in town has melted, but I was skiing yesterday in lots of it. However, I didn't ski on the weekend and am going to take a couple of days off again because I danced too much at the VOC Christmas party. I resurrected a pair of red heels and some black mesh nylons I haven't worn in years and when the less than terrific sound system in the hall blared a tune that moved me I rose and joined the other women boogieing it up with or without men. It was great until it wasn't. The shoes and nylons made it through the night admirably, but my knees don't appear to be made of the stuff of resurrection. I'll never dance in heals again. One of the mixed blessings of getting old is that never's not as long as it was. Or is it? Ay, there's the rub.

I had a KakaoTalk with Jay on Sunday, and he too was levelled on the weekend. He'd been trying to pace himself in the gym but a muscle in his back went out nonetheless.

So we both will be singing to Santa for body parts, not two front teeth, but backs and knees.






Carrying on to Christmas