conditioned Christmas store, she said she was going to pretend to be
an ornament and hang on a tree the rest of the day.
Ruth and I are watching our calories. After one meal, Ruth checked a
calorie chart to see how much damage we had done. She gasped out
loud, "This says we would have to walk 200 miles to burn off that
meal." Wow. I knew it was a bit much, but 200 miles?
I was envisioning Ruth and me walking all the way to St. Louis. She
then held the book a bit closer, took off her glasses, squinted, and
said, "I'm sorry. It's 200 minutes, not miles."
I don't know why we were so relieved. A 200-minute walk is not
trite. Speaking of food, I had salsa and pickles for breakfast.
Don't face the day. Attack it.
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