Although... in a sign that I had actually probably been driven clinically insane by grief, on Tuesday my brother talked me into running a half marathon with him. In two months. [Black humor anyone? Too dark?] Since my last post was so very long, I won't try to explain quite how hopeless, logistically impossible, and BATSHIT CRAZY this is. It would be epic, a tome - the unabridged Oxford English Dictionary of reasons this is Not A Promising Plan.
But the 26.2 mile run is on my bucket list. Running half that will either be a good start or enough to convince me my list needs revising. I'm turning *cough* soon (read: Major Milestone Birthday). And since I have little'uns to care for I won't be jumping out of an airplane
I have photos of the most-cutest dress ever on my gorgeous gal but cannot find my camera (nor my sunglasses. See above re: midlife), so the last of the vacation photos are below.
*Cate posted a link to this article by Emily Rapp a few days ago. The author described exactly what I was trying to - using a lot less space. She also wrote this: "[It] felt straight out of a Victorian novel: I was hysterical, inconsolable, stricken. I had the urge to run down the street in pajamas (for lack of a period nightgown) tearing at my hair and wailing." Which I wish I'd written.
|Miss CA's Bougainvillea|
|The Long Road.|
|That which does not grow in Missouri|
|The World's Smallest Puddle|