
I've been walking.
A lot.
I'm walking for an excellent reason, but I need to find some new routes. I've pert near walked every inch of Vermillion, so maybe it's time to take on Yankton?
Sioux City? Sioux Falls? Gayville?
I broke the 100 mile mark for training walks on Sunday, but I am still pretty nervous about the event.
Whenever I get news from back home, it's usually sad. Deaths, divorces, cancer, shootouts (yes. A shootout.), and this week was no different. A boy my brother's age died in his sleep. He was 33 (I suppose I can't really call him a boy, can I?) and, growing up, I was close friends with his sister, and thus, knew his family well. 33. My uncle Tom was 33 years old when he died in a skiing accident. I was 12 at the time and he seemed old. He was my uncle. He died in January, and I remember having to go to JC Penney's with my mom to get nice clothes for his funeral, and I remember being snotty and mopey and sad, and I remember how I couldn't believe my mom had shopping on her mind. Now, as an adult close to 30, I can't imagine dragging 3 kids to the mall to get a decent shirt for my brother's funeral. I can't imagine losing a brother who was only 33 years old. News from home makes me sad.
Summer is here. Summer is summer. It's been cold and stormy and rainy and damp and humid. We get a few breaks when the sun emerges, and this is heaven. Household projects abound. I finally have some time to do all the things that need doing. Lots of organizing and cleaning and purging of stuff. I'm setting up an office in one of the spare rooms, and the auction circuit I've made the rounds on have been rewarding. Yesterday, I came home with a gorgeous, finished, walnut desk. It's circa 1950s and I got it for 35 bucks. I am happy as a clam.
I need to do some writing. Some poetry and whatnot. I haven't written much lately, or at all, or for a long time, but, recently, some ideas have been buoyant and persisting, so I will not mess with fate.
I saw a garter snake yesterday. This does not make me happy as a clam.
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