Taste of Summer

Dessert tonight took me back. A thousand memories of summers past came flooding in. Memories of dinner at Grandma's, dinner with friends in my college apartment over the summers, and the nights I wasn't sure if I wanted to cook, and just took a spoon to half a melon.


Yes, a melon.

Cantaloupe, specifically.

Nothing says summer to me like a good, fresh, cantaloupe.

I treated myself to a ginormous fruit cup from the local farmer's market. By the time I thought to take the picture, I'd already eaten the strawberries off the top.

As much as this absolutely made my dinner, Hubba Hubba is not a fan of the cantaloupe. This:

totally grosses him out. He thinks it tastes rotten. Literally, rotten. Can you imagine?

RFP Strikes Again

RFP.

Random Foot Pain.

It's probably not so random. If I'd just get over myself and go to either a) a doctor, or b) a decent shoe store, I'm sure someone could tell me what's bothering my feet. My guess is it has something to do with my high arches, and unwillingness to spend more than $40 on shoes. But, if it comes down to a choice between never running again, or shilling out the cash for decent shoes, I may have to swallow my pride and go to a decent shoe store.

Hubba Hubba thinks I need to go to a podiatrist, and get "special shoes."

Just calling them "special shoes" is enough to keep me from thinking that's a good idea.

I'm pretty bummed about this, since this RFP, whatever it is, once kept me from running for about a year and a half. It wasn't until a month and a half ago that I found I could actually run again. (And please, check out the link to learn what I mean when I say "run." It's probably not as cool as you think.)




Dutifully I got up at 6 am to go for my run. As soon as I started down the stairs, I knew RFP had struck again. The old familiar ache was there with every step down I took. It's nowhere near as bad as it was before I gave up running last time, but it was enough to make me decide to give these a break for the rest of the week:

Instead, I'll do some strength training, and see how my tender tootsies feel after a bit of a break. If any of you are avid runners out there, like Sara, feel free to chime in with any thoughts you have. My RFP and I would appreciate the free advice.

Oh, and one more thing:

Sorry to keep you all in suspense. I promise I'm not trying to drive you crazy. I just figured it would be nice to have some company on the crazy train.

I'll share all the top secret details as soon as they're declassified. Til then, enjoy the ride, and please keep your hands and arms inside the crazy train at all times.

Thank you.

Oh, The Times...

They are a-changin'.

I can't go into many details right now, but our little family is about to have some big changes. Big changes that don't (I repeat don't) involve the pitter patter of little feet, or anything like that.

I'm writing this in the midst of a crazy storm, with some pretty impressive lightning. It's a reminder, for me, that, as Rich Mullins so aptly put it, we are not as strong as we think we are. In the times that I long to be in control, I have to remember Who is in control.

In Job 38:24 God asks Job if Job knows the way to the place lightning comes from. We may have a better understanding in our day and age of how lightning actually works, but we certainly don't control it.

In the times I feel so insanely blessed it leaves me without words, I have to remember Who each of these blessings is from.

Times change. What seemed out of control several months ago can be life's biggest blessing. Sometimes when the storm passes, it leaves something beautiful.

Wordless Wednesday

The CCT

I have a theory about cars.

I've noticed this over the weeks as I've been jogging in the mornings. You see, the roads near our house are windy, with little to no shoulder. At 6 am (I know, I know) it's less of a big deal than, say, at 5 pm.

My theory? The Car Clump Theory, or CCT. The basic principle behind CCT is that where no shoulder or sidewalk is present and a pedestrian is sharing the road, all cars will travel in clumps of two, three, four or more cars. The pedestrian hears the cars coming up behind her, moves on to the uneven, often soggy grass. Thinking the car has passed, the pedestrian moves back onto what little shoulder is available, only to find herself in the midst of a car clump.

By the way, the inverse of CCT is true when you are the driver of a car waiting to make a left hand turn. Instead of traveling in clumps and thereby making it possible for you, the waiting driver to make your turn, the others cars will space themselves so perfectly that turning is impossible.

I believe CCT and its inverse should be submitted to the most reputable scientific journal available, don't you?

Rainy Day Editing

It's a rainy, grey day, and I'm curled up in a chair doing some photo editing while the two men in my life sleep the afternoon away.




Here's the same photo, as a fractal. Or something.

Today's Special

My giftings do not include car maintenance.

Once upon a time, I was making the long drive from the True North Strong and Free back to New Jersey. By myself. I was feeling pretty proud of myself, actually, for having attempted the(thus far successful) trip. When I was about 30 minutes from the U.S. border, still on the good ol' QEW, my car decided that steering was no longer in its job description. As was the whole "forward motion" thing.

Amazingly enough, I was near an exit, and I managed to get the car off the exit ramp, and on the side of the road. At dusk. Across from nothing but a rather seedy looking "motel."

Really.

I don't remember if I just didn't have my cell, or if it wouldn't roam in Canada, or what. For whatever reason, I had to trudge my way across the road to the motel, and use the payphone to call AAA. Except I was still in the TNSAF, so it was CAA I called. The very kind lady got help sent to me, and very strongly urged me to not wait in the motel bar.

I didn't.

A very nice tow truck driver came to rescue us, I got to spend the night in a hotel by myself, and CAA fixed the serpentine belt on my car.

Fast forward to yesterday. I was on my way to my monthly indulgence--a massage. I didn't used to be one of those people that got a regular massage. (I secretly always wanted to be one, though.) However, I found a great, reasonably priced massage therapist, and I find it really does help.

But I digress.

So there I was, driving happily along, blissfully unaware that disaster was about to strike. As I turned onto the street my masseuse was located on, my car decided to reminisce about that time we were driving home from the TNSAF. Once again, steering went out the window. Once again, my car crawled to a stop. Just like before. I thought to myself, "Well, there goes the serpentine belt."

I was totally proud of myself for remembering what the thing was called.

I phoned Hubba Hubba, who said he would come "take care of it", and I walked the remaining block and a half to my appointment. But not before I followed Hubba Hubba's advice to put a rag, or something, in the window. I assured him I'd find something, but all I could find was an dried out diaper wipe.

It worked, I guess.

After my appointment, I ventured out in the rain, expecting to see HH and a tow truck. Instead, there was my car, parked neatly in the parking lot of the masseuse. A block and a half away from where it died.

What?

I called Hubba Hubba. I heard a hint of amusement in his voice as he explained that my car had not, in fact died. The serpentine belt was just fine. The car had merely stalled.

Yeah. I never bothered to try and start the car--I assumed it was the serpentine belt, like before, and went from there.

Cars: not my specialty.