My new routine seems to be off to on the right foot.
Although, speaking of feet, I seem to have slept oddly on my left one. Hopefully it's just a cramp that will work itself out before I walk six miles on it.
Anyway, I'm actually out of bed on time and getting myself in gear.
My boy and I buy presents for ourselves about as rarely as the rarest thing you can think of, but we broke that rule last week. We found a bit of our mutual childhood [not easy, when you consider our age gap], and now I can watch WACKY RACES on Saturday mornings.
The astonishing thing to me, as I've previously mentioned in this journal and elsewhere, is how many of my memories of kid-favorite things are in black-and-white. We didn't own a color television until the mid-Seventies. So all my beloved Four Thirty Movie gems, all my cartoons, all my Chiller Theater nights... I'm continually and repeatedly shocked when I see something old for the first time in color.
Oh, yes, I realized that the Red Max was, indeed, dressed in red, and I'd hazarded a guess that Penelope Pitstop wore pink, but other than that, it's a whole new world to me, fresh out of a 1968 bandbox.