Three Things Fitting Loosely Together In My Brain

I.
I started training this week, in earnest, for the Lincoln Marathon. With my running schedule stepping up both in frequency and intensity I feel a little tired, sore, and exhilarated. The tired and sore combination, while significant, is less potent than the exhilarated sensation.

II.
McK has focused his energy recently on baking the perfect bread. He'll do that sometimes, not just with bread, but generally fixate on something and quietly work at it to get it just right. One time it was brewing beer, another time he refined his praline candy making skill-set, his cheesecakes also have a large fan-base willing to mobilize anywhere his latest creation lands.

Recently the fascination has been bread. Mentioning it, or complimenting his work too readily grates against the task somehow. My praise waits for any small indication he’s pleased with the results. The bread baking task has yet to meet McK’s standards, which is too bad because it buttons up a mouthful of compliments from my end.

His lingering dissatisfaction, though, inspires a warm, earthy smelling house at the close of each day. And I find my husband, somewhere in close proximity to the kitchen, with a thin dusting of flour on his skin. Walking in the door is a measurable, and essential departure from the rest of my day.

Working in the environmental field, the responsibility of stewardship, the implications of our lives and actions on the planet…sometimes it leads to a general sense of…oh, I don’t know…I wouldn’t call it sadness exactly…just a spiritual heaviness.

McK’s latest attempt at the perfect, fresh baked bread was an artesian sourdough. The warm breath of it, let alone the culinary accomplishment, was dizzying and wonderful.

III.
The weather forecasters all said it was coming, warned us for days as we reveled in 60 degree weather, that a snow storm was on it's way. Friday, they said. Heavy snow. School was canceled by 10 pm last night. Everyone got out their snow-blowers, pulled the car into the garage last night, located the ice-melt, and waited.

The harsh weather was slow to get going. Mid morning before the first, lazy flakes fell. There was no particular rush, I suppose.

With her waking breath N planned our snow-day date at the Meadowlark this afternoon. The genesis of this snow-day “tradition” was last year when I was struck by a wicked case of cabin-fever. I thought if I stared at the same four walls for another instant N and I would both suffer the bitter consequences. To save ourselves from that ugliness we bundled up, walked to the Meadowlark, shared hot chocolate and played a good stint of OUTBURST (the board game).

Sometimes, just when I think I just can't possibly move from under the weight of this snow, it helps to head out the door and prove that theory false.
_______

N Reading: The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman
Weekend Soundtrack: Appalachia Waltz (Yo-Yo Ma, Edgar Meyer, Mark O'Connor)
Dinner Line-Up: Black Bean Cilantro Nachos
Double Whammy: I finished both my book and the HBO Series Rome this week. I never take the endings of things gracefully.