I just got a notice from the library that they have the book I requested. I love the library.
Camping cookware is in the dishwasher.
I picked up co-op food yesterday, and I have a plan to make a chicken and sweet potato stew tomorrow in the crockpot.
I haven't unpacked. My suitcase sits open in the middle of the bedroom floor, and every morning I step over it, pick things out of it, poke through it. Every night I step over it on my way to bed.
I'm listening to Carlos Eire's Learning to Die in Miami, partly because the subject matter interests me, partly because hey, Miami. He talks about Coral Gables being the only part of Miami that reminded him of Havana. He mentions Coral Way, Biscayne Bay, Flagler Street. I perk up at every mention. He talks about trees reaching over Coral Way to join branches and make a canopy, and I think of driving down that shady street past the Museo Historico Cubano.
I didn't want to come home. Now that I'm home, I still don't want to be here.
Vacation ruins you for regular life, man.
Talk about your first world problems.
There is a marathon coming up soon in Olathe, KS. It's called the Garmin Marathon, or the Oz Marathon. Apparently Olathe is the birthplace of Garmin? Who knew? So you can take your Garmin home. And run with Bart Yasso. If you're into that. I wish I'd heard about this one sooner - I'd run the marathon if I were trained up for it. But my sister found it, and she wants to run the half, and I'm down for a half.
Next weekend is the Azalea Festival in Muskogee, and the Muskogee Run. I'm considering driving down and running it. Just to get away. Because azaleas are pretty. Because I can.
Because there is a secret trapdoor in simple sadness and it's really, really dark behind that door.
Cheryl Strayed's book really got me thinking. Really got me wishing I had all the necessary gear to pick up and go backpacking. I don't even own hiking boots these days. It's a darned shame. I should do something about that.