Looking good: At her age

I'm looking out at a winter wonderland wondering how anyone could doubt we would have snow on Christmas.

I can't remember a Christmas in my longish life when there wasn't snow on my Canadian home. Even in St. Catharines, the homeplate of damp drizzle, there was always a white blanket on Christmas.

We're Canadian.

It's how we roll.

And yet for two solid weeks, the news people have been kvetching about a green Christmas.

Oh, ye of little faith.

The Environment Canada weather dudes told us we had an 80 percent chance of green, but I suspect they were smoking something.

Just look out the winda.

After I write this and have my chai tea, I'll be rolling out the door, heading for the shopping mall, not to line up with the idiots who worship false idols on Boxing Day, but to get my sweat on at The Athletic Club once again.

I've missed a few days and my bones are starting to ache. I'm at the age when I've started to feel little jabs of arthritis and I find that daily workouts keep me limber.

Exercise is no longer an option, but it's a necessity.

For nearly a year, I've been rowing and bouncing on the elliptical, sometimes cursing these harsh taskmasters. But I've started to feel decades younger. My skin is toxin-free, my head is clear and my body smiles through the aches and pains.

Can't say I've lost much in the weight department, but I'm starting not to care.

It's health I'm after.

A feeling of general well-being.

It's all you can hope for in late middle age.

I have watched many of my friends succumb to the illness creep over the last year.

Some sadly, have died years before they should have.

To cancer.

To flu.

To life.

I want to be one of the survivors.

I want to be at my granddaughter's wedding twenty or so years hence and dance with the groom.

I want to be one of those little old ladies that the yougin's smile at.

Look at her. Look how great she looks.

At her age.

I want to be alive.

I want to thrive.

As Will.I.Am wrote:

I wanna be.