As much as we admire the rural white-good-as-porch-ornament motif, Lisa and I lugged the above appliance to the curb for trash pickup. In doing, I was reminded of the great mollusk Patella mexicana, a true limpet.
Which is what I had after I bruised my kneecap on the dishwasher.
Friday 2.25 miles. Mending.
After Saturday’s roast, I pared the shell on Monday to prevent a repeat broil. Parka removal did the trick – except for my hands.
This morning, the armored mittens were replaced with thin gloves.
For some it’s a skunk. Others, the sting of tire thrown grit. Or maybe matted cover from a long forgotten mow.
For me it’s the steam cooker hidden beneath my shirt.
Overdressed. 4 miles.
Another dry run. The wind still blowing bringing the chill down to 17 degrees.
Same route with an added portion to make 3. Feeling ok for starting out again. I am looking forward to some early sunrises. Now that I just typed that, I realize Sunday’s spring forward rather delays that prospect.
Emerged from my cocoon this morning. Frazzle headed and slow. Thought I’d better wake from hibernation and forage for miles.
The sky was dark while the street lamps shone on a frothing sea. A hard wind was settling its accounts.
2.25 miles around town.
Only creature out there this morning was me. Day three in a row. Calf is holding up. 6 miles.
Wish I could have run in freshly fallen snow but I needed the hour to shovel so I can get to work. Oh we’ll, first things first.
