once upon a time, in a galaxy not far from here, there were *jazz hands*

Last year I jumped on board Mrs. G's Ass Project, determined that if the lady of the manor could bare it all online, I could at least drag my sorry self down to my local Grange, for Jazzercise. And for about 6 months, rain or shine or kids or house staging - just name an obstacle - I did just that.

Until I became a Granny Action Figure, complete with hip bursitis and I took a solemn vow of kindness to my fellow elderly brothers and sisters, because Holy Batman, Reader! Waking up in the wee hours of the morning to boring, insidious pain from sleeping, of all the things, was exhausting. Short walks made my eyes water. I really had no choice but to yank my membership from the jazz hand ranks and nurse my poor geriatric hip back to life.

(It was probably brought on by several factors: a flare-up of Sjogrens and arthritis combined with high impact exercise on an unforgiving surface, while I am taking a Prednisone break. It hit me like a freight train.)

I whined privately, and wined socially and watched my weight inch up until a couple of weeks ago I realized my hip was regaining flexibility and I added yoga back into my routine.

I started taking short walks again; picked up hands weights again. And this week, like many Americans, I joined a gym.

Yes, I bounce, just like that. Heh.

Yes, Mama Milton bought a rebounder. It's not glamorous. It's a little silly. But it's also inexpensive, easy to use and gentle on my delicate joints.

(Look! I'm an infomercial!)

Now excuse me while I crank up my iPod and get jumping before the kids come home and beg to play with my new toy.