If I was less discerning about facebook statuses, today's would say:
-10 C is the official breaking point of my cold weather running gear.
Make the Kaye Syrah beans. You won't regret it (and yes, I added spinach).
Something long overdue is finally in the mail:
It's all hallelujahs and hiding spinach around here. Almost 11 months ago, I found myself unable to get out of bed or pick up my baby or hold a cup of coffee. A pesky joint disease altered life for this family. Altered it a lot. It hit when I was finally gaining a little confidence after a bucketload of bewildering newness. We'd kept the baby alive for nearly a year and survived our first months on a new continent. I was back in shape and clocking happy kilometers on long runs, and our first winter in seven years--a long and gray one--was starting to lift. It was a cruel time to find myself abruptly bed-ridden, and I let that disease knock the hope right out of me.
But I've got good peeps and Grace and This Too Shall Pass. And it did. It's not the same body; there are joints that will never quit growling but I can move. Hallelujah, I can move! Today marked a milestone of moving---18 glorious kilometers through Praha with a dear friend. It was hard, but it was beautiful, and I never ever ever thought it possible. I am one grateful girl.
Tomorrow will be Advil and ice and spinach muffins. That's right. I'll take this poor transition from what really is an awfully Big Deal to explain that I obsess over iron intake, and so we've been eating Rebar's Broccoli Soup (take the time to make a pesto to swirl in, toss in some steamed florets and you will never ever ever make any other creamed brocolli soup--or possibly any other soup at all. You'll find the bare bones of it here.), which should really be called spinach soup, and finding other creative uses for the green stuff.
The boys have no idea there is wilted spinach in these delish carrot muffins.
And tomorrow's fruit smoothies.
Bad photography aside, you have no idea how happy this all makes me.
I'm able to see the lighter side of things today. At least enough to waste part of the afternoon finding this article on Weela. I read an Outside magazine article on her in 1996, cut out Weela's head (I really wish THAT photo was on this site) and put it on my driver's license over my face. Yes, it's dumb. But at that sleep-deprived-college-studying time, it was hysterical to all involved (MM).
I'm also able to think on serious things. My dear adventure-racing partner, PH, as heroic as Weela in my book, recently had to say goodbye to a dearly and long-loved dog. Moi-Moi was one heck of a dog and my friend PH is one heck of a woman. She's ten years my senior (though you'd never know it by looking at us), and yet I humbly spent all of our races watching her get further ahead while cheering me on to keep up. For amazing PH, a doodle is in the mail and a hope for a race with you dedicated to Moi-Moi is in the wishbook:
I am getting over myself! As humbly happens, I recently went on a tirade about folks taking themseles too seriously. And then, heh heh heh, the same week I got all serious. Amy Carmichael wrote that we need to keep our spiritual "atmosphere" clear. If we allow even a "fugitive wisp of a cloud float across our sky"--that is, a wish for things to be different--then we create an overcast spirit.
Don't I know it.
I re-entered Praha with more than my fair shares of wishes. There were colds all around and a bee sting of gigantic (you've never seen cankles like this one) proportions. There have been cold rainy days and outings in August in-gasp-sweaters. Wily Gus has been frustrated with his boring old parents and longing along with us for his out-of-this-world grandparents in very loud and parenting-skill-testing ways. We're on doctor's visit number three. Already. This house has rattled and shook with wishes, and I've felt the result of that stinking thinking in an overcast heart.
But, no more gosh darn it! How can one hope for otherness when one has so much goodness? I take note:
1. A kinder-than-he-needs-to-be Tony M gave me a completely random and treasured gift of DELECTABLE Delirium Tremens. I can count the bottles of the golden Belgian awesomeness I've been privvy to enjoy in my life on one hand. At 8.5% that's probably enough for a lifetime. Get thee to a specialty bottle shop and buy your own pink elephant.
2. The farmers' market is back in action. There has been blue cheese walnut sauce on fresh tagliatelle pasta and berry filled dumplings and organic carrot carrot cake and farm fresh egg and veggie quiche on our table.
3. We've brunched and happy houred and biked and brewery toured and walked and dined and breakfasted and Skyped and coffeed and teaed and desserted and jogged and baby grouped with good folks. Today's gathering honored a special guest who leaves our Old MacDonald refrains for the big kids at skola. Gus will miss his musical pal Dee-Dee.
Worried about the toothpaste decorating the cake? (famers' market carrots carrot cake!)
4. I've returned to the drawing table with commission pieces and celebration doodles.
5. There are library books newly checked-out, hand-me-down dresses acquired, new babies born, road trips planned, awfully nice neighbors relied upon (perhaps no longer with prepositions hanging out there like that), and Desigual sales attended.
Blue skies!
