Thursday, August 27, 2015

Ends and Odds


  • I'm running my first 10k race this Saturday morning.  I've run both shorter and longer races than this, but I'm still a little nervous, for some reason.  10 kilometers is probably my favorite distance to run on any given day, but that's when I don't have to worry about my time or running with other people or all the other things race day brings.  I'm most concerned about my pacing, as my watch is dead and I have no plans on purchasing another any time soon; I love running off of feel alone, so I suppose we'll just have to see how that goes this weekend.  I do have a goal pace and time, which I will only share with Derek because in general I like to keep people's expectations nice and low- including mine- so that I don't disappoint.  If you think of it, maybe send some good vibrations my way Saturday around 7:30 am, and feel free to help me out by eating extra pasta tomorrow.  Because I'm pretty sure that's how carbo loading works.


  • Yesterday I went upstairs to rouse Caedmon so we could go grab the biggens from the bus stop.  I checked the boys' room, and didn't find him.  I checked Adelaide's room, and didn't find him.  I checked my room, and didn't find him.  Then I did it all over again, finally spying some little hands in the mass of pillows on our bed:


When asked why he insisted on sleeping under all those pillows, his reply was, "I just wanted to sleep right where Daddy sleeps."  Of course.



  • The last several  memoirs I've read have been very bleh, mostly due to a big steamy heap of self-indulgence in every last one of them.  It seems that autobiographies in particular are in desperate need of a deft editor, hopefully in the vein of the best antiques appraisers who are able to tell people that to you and your family, this item or story is rich in sentiment; to the rest of the world, it's merely boring, tacky trash.  
Mercifully, I seem to have broken the dull memoir streak:


I'm about a quarter of the way through, and so far her stories move at a nimble pace and feature details that make you love her family, such as how her uncle was just sure pizza wasn't going to catch on or that time her mom got stuck in the chicken house.  I'm reluctant to tell you about a book before I've finished it, but so far, this one is wonderfully entertaining, and I have yet to roll my eyes and holler, "NOBODY CARES!" like I did with the last memoir I slogged through.




1 comment:

  1. Isn't it such a good feeling to be partway through a book thinking "Yay! I think this one is actually going to be a good one!" (I've been reading some "meh" books lately, especially all fiction books I try.)

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