So, I look up and nearly a month has gone by, that, was not intentional. Life has been, if nothing else, interesting in the last month., and that is something to be grateful for I suppose, at least I have not died of boredom.
Spring has arrived in North Carolina, and despite several interruptions of rain, rain and cold, cold and rain, and rain, I've already had to cut my grass and just today spent some time wandering around the backyard noting all the new baby grass sprouting in the areas I put down seed earlier in the year.
I went to church on Easter Sunday with a friend. You'll know it was a good friend when I tell you I not only went, but went to a sunrise service in a cemetery. I've always thought religion was macabre, and this fit right in to that notion. I want to tell you it was a beautiful cemetery, but that seems wrong. Just how beautiful can a place full of dead people be? The grounds were pretty, the trees were overwhelmingly beautiful, and the service included an all brass band that performed multiple times and was more impressive each time, but it was, a cemetery. While I have no desire to be planted when I pass on, as the idea of becoming human mulch does not work for me personally, I am a staunch believer in 'to each his own' and I am as respectful of burial places as I know how to be. So I was more than a little surprised as I watched the people joining the service around me as they trod over graves, and bumped into/rested on crypts. To say I was disappointed when I noticed the minister gave his sermon from atop someones stone grave marker would be an understatement.
The service itself, seemed a little dark given that at least in my mind, in my limited prior religious experience, Easter Sunday should be a celebration. I walked away feeling like the minister felt we should all be wringing our hands and weeping while kneeling on a bed of nails waiting for Christ's return. No joy in mudville would be permitted.
The going meant something deeply personal to my friend so I am glad to have done it, regardless of my own (unchanged) feelings for organized religion. My friend and I followed the service with grilled corn on the cob, sweet potatoes and burgers. We read a little on my deck and watched the dogs play and dig and run in the very welcome sunshine.
I had my first interview with the Weight Watchers folks, and although it might still come together, it's going to be a way off., they just don't have the need for more people right now. I can wait. Somethings are worth the waiting.
Last week I returned to Philadelphia for dog training. It was a welcome change of pace to the previous busy few weeks at work. Sleeping in, even in a hotel, and not having to be anywhere until 10, feels like some sort of decadence, especially when I realize the place I have to be at 10 is an open field, with my dog and a trainer, a trainer I love and respect more each hour I spend with him. I leave Philadelphia feeling completely not-crazy for trying to finance these trips or at least I feel comfortable enough with the level of crazy it might be to shrug it off when I tell people and they get the look. The one that suggests they are thinking there might be something seriously wrong with me.
I ran another 10k - my best race in some time. It wasn't a record breaker and the Olympic committee isn't knocking down my door, but it was a success by my yard stick. A (relatively) fast, extremely consistent, happy, feel-good 6.2 miles followed by a trip to the local bakery that sponsored the race for a free loaf of bread and a bag of jambalaya soup mix. In my world, that's a damn good way to start any day.
I got my final receipt for the beach house rental in the mail the other day - just about 7 weeks to go. I bought a polka-dot bathing suit and a multi-colored-striped beach umbrella. I told the dogs we were going. The thought of 7 wake-ups with good friends, good coffee and dog-beach walking is more than enough to get me through the next 7 weeks - no matter what they hold. You're invited to stop by, look for the umbrella, planted somewhere off Sand Road, I'll have a pitcher of mimosas in the cooler and be sitting with the red head with the wicked sense of humor and irrational fear of chickens.
It's guaranteed to be a good time.
