When I went home Monday, I was sure I would not be able to run. It had poured and poured for two days. It was the kind of constant rainfall you start to take personally after a while. It was a rain with a disposition, and I again was reminded I live in the Land Where Water Falls.
Tangent: When I came to this fair hamlet for my first college years, the city limits featured a billboard hailing the locale as Land of Water Falls. In my capacity as illustrator for the school paper, I made a cartoon of my recurring character holding an umbrella next to that sign. He had just vandalized it with a paint brush and changed "of" to "where." It was a simple joke, but I was genuinely amazed at the climate change here, just an hour from my hometown that doesn't get anything like this constant precipitation. I knew the joke had hit home when one of my professors quoted in in class to complain about the weather. That billboard has been gone for years, by the way.
There was no rain when I arrived home, and I took the relatively clear skies and the deputy's tranquility as a sign. I put on the new running shoes, and assured Your Sister I would not run the full course. I hadn't yet broken in the shoes, as per the Great Running Commandments, and I'll be back shortly, I said. But then I started running. Compared to stomping in my old pair of shoes, this felt like bounding. I was able to maintain a gear I hadn't seen since springtime, and I indeed ran the whole course. I still felt some shin pain, but I blame the incline of the new sidewalk. They thinned the road to install this biking and walking path, but they didn't grade the hills.
Now I have a new course time to match and beat, and I just registered for the Halloween race. Still no clue what costume to get. The registration fine print is interrupted by a very not-fine, red, italicized, and caps-locked sentenced that no baby strollers or joggers are allowed in the race. We are told that every year, and every year I see strollers. I assume the people who make the forms are not the same as those manning the race.
Tuesday, Your Parents minded the deputy for the whole day, giving Your Sister a breather. All parties seemed OK with the experiment, and Your Mom likes the idea of having him once a week. We'll see. He had a bad night when he got home, chugging milk like some milk-chugging thing, and he may have given himself colic. I suspect, however, that he was fighting sleep. A colic remedy or drops of sugar water calmed him down, probably by filling him up to the point of oblivion. I discovered by accident that blowing in his face when he's screaming distracts him from the fit. He closes his eyes and resets his breathing, and enough of this put him to sleep. The combination of this and the candy water knocked him out.
Your Sis took the time-out to go to the gym, and she's weighing options for getting active and back to fighting shape. Apparently chasing her around the couch doesn't qualify.
Speaking of Your Mom, I learned that Elton John will be playing Asheville in November, and I invited her to see him with me. Your Sister won't go; she hates Elton John. And yet I married her. Your Mom declines out of concern for the ticket expense, but I offered to buy her ticket as a way to thank her for watching the deputy. I'm going, even if I fly solo. I saw the man perform more than 20 years ago, and this concert is touted as a "greatest hits" tour. I'm all over it. I literally don't remember a time when he wasn't on the radio. He's as ensconced in the musical wallpaper as the Beatles, Eagles, and Stones.
Picture of the Day
As part of a new series on science that "emphasizes a STEM (science, technology, engineering and mathematics) curriculum by modeling the processes of scientific inquiry," SuperGrover will sport a new costume on Sesame Street. I'm OK with this.