The Glorified Footstool

The convenience of meeting up in January is the “how long have we been together?” math is super easy.

Most married folk can relate to the lackadaisical lounging attributes of the recently married but not yet geriatric couple. We’re quite comfortable together. Physical contact is built into our love language, so this sort of draping, lounging, languid touch means something. You don’t have to talk constantly.

I thought I wanted more conversation. That was important in the beginning. I make sure to ask how his day went and listen to the venting. But most of the time, what is there to talk about? Newspapers and books have been replaced by phones in this digital age. We discuss the big news, reflect on experiences, but all stories have been told at this point.

So our connection is this glorified footstool position. It’s human nature (for physical types, that is.) Just be a warm body in a room. Let me know you’re there. Reassure me I’m not alone.

Oh, and pick up your dirty socks. This isn’t a farm.

This has been,





I do so love staring out of windows. Cozied up safe from the elements whether cold and snow or sun and wind. I like to catch little moments of something or another.

You see the wind tussling long grass or kicking up leaves. Some days it’s a flurry of white flakes. If you happen upon a robin scouring for worms or dark crows pecking at beetles, it’s better. Your eye happily follows the movement.

A bit of thought trails in. Your eye reflects inward. Either the past or the future has captured your attention and you’re quite lost to the present. You might even be blind to the walker with their dog thoroughly enjoying the weather.

Your mind returns to the present. The wind is still blowing. The birds have moved on. Shadows play across the lawn instead. It’s moments like these I love staring out of windows.

Which makes it doubly sad our current residence has no decent window views for gazing.

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin


Health & Wellness

Raise your hand if quarantine got you right in the love handles – and beyond!


I’ve grown up with good genetics, skinny all my life, blah, blah, blah. But I knew in the back of my mind when this miracle metabolism slows down I’ll be in big trouble. I’m lazy. I’d rather bend my brain to an intense problem solving task than bench anything physical. If brain activity burned calories, I’d be set for life! My career is endless problems to resolve and some days my poor gray matter feels like mush.

True story.

But as you probably guessed, it’s a desk job. Now cue the pandemic. Quarantine. Home bound. No more football field parking lots to trudge, no more 4 flights of grueling stairs. It takes me 5 seconds to walk to the coffee pot. At the office, I literally had to cross from one corner of the building to the far corner of a rectangular floor layout.

So here we are. Without cardio and movement, metabolism turns to lethargy. And maybe we’re snacking a bit more too, right? The vending machine is your pantry stocked full for the impending apocalypse.

Around August or September, I started to feel bad about my body image. I realize eventually everything will sag and rot, but during the “young” years of my life, there’s still something I can do about it. I can still change and my cells will respond.

And here I am running 20 minutes a day on my lunch break at the treadmill. I don’t like it. I don’t enjoy it. I’m literally blogging while running because this bores me to tears. But I’m still here 20 minutes a day 5 days a week gradually burning calories as slowly as the love handles crept on.

You know what, I feel better. My waist is shaping down again. My weight doesn’t seem to fluctuate much, but I can see the difference. I’m not pushing or prodding or going crazy with the weights. I’m just showing up for a little cardio, a little movement, and a little change in my eating habits.

How’s your quarantine journey going?

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin

Le Shorts, Poetry


Don’t you wake by bird’s light song?

But all is dead in winter’s frost.

Can life begin at journey’s end

Or is snow the mark that all is lost?

~ Twofer! ~

The passage of time

A mysterious thing

When you hear the bells chime

Then you must leave the ring.



Copyright FanTCBooks