Archive for April 20th, 2011

My new favorite song is Amos Lee and Willie Nelson, with the above stated title.  It is soothing, inspiring, and brings to mind desolate, dusty roads with the sun on your shoulders (we are in a convertible of course) and wind in your hair.  I”m wearing faded jeans and a white tank top, no watch, flip flops and on my left wrist, an indian friendship bracelet like the ones we used to make at camp with smocking thread.  I have aviators, a doctor pepper, and maybe a tootsie pop or some sugar babies I bought at the last gas station.  There is a cooler in the back icing down cold beer and sandwiches for later.  What are you wearing? 

Summer has come to the low country, and the humidity is here to stay.  As are the tourists.  All winter, I would run through the main tourist district on week nights, mostly monday, tuesday and wendesday.  There were always people around, it is better lit than other areas of town, and it allowed me to be on the streets a little later than I would venture alone in less populous areas.  The time change and the lengthening days makes running through the tourist area less of a necessity, but last night I ran my regular route anyway.  I was shocked by the enormous influx of people.  Seriously, it is a different town.  It is the town I would expect on a Saturday, but yesterday being Tuesday, I did not expect it. 

The most amazing part of the late spring here is that the entire town smells like confederate jasmine.  I LOVE the way confederate jasmine smells, and there is nothing more enjoyable than being assaulted with wonderful flower smells everywhere you go.  Even Briscoe likes the way the flowers smell.  Of course, she likes the way a lot of things smell I find questionable, so her opinion probably doesn’t really support my point.  My point is that it is awesome. 

Libby’s bachelorette party was last weekend, and maggie bought some FAGE yogurt that made it to my refrigerator on sunday afternoon.  I’ve been eating a good bit of yogurt recently, trying to be healthy.  I must have grape nuts or granola to make yogurt work for me, and I can’t eat plain yogurt without some kind of sweetness in it, but with a little strawberry and cereal, I find yogurt fantastic.  On Monday, while stirring the strawberry jam portion into the plain yogurt portion of my FAGE container, I noticed writing on the container, in red lettering:  “Suggestion – DO NOT STIR.”  I paused my stirring.  Wait.  I need the strawberry taste in the yogurt, why can’t I stir?  Did they have to be so bossy about it?  Should I have known that stirring yogurt was bad?  Have I been eating yogurt incorrectly for years?  Am I killing the live cultures?  All those fruit at the bottom yogurt cultures murdered by me, the stirrer?  Who knew you weren’t suppose to stir yogurt?  Apparently, other people who are not me.  From what I can discern from the internet, apparently the yogurt tastes better and is lighter and fluffier if you don’t stir it.  Good to know. 

Life has been moving at a rapid pace recently, with lots of changes over the past month.  I had to retire the silver bullet, attend the funeral of an amazing man who lived a fantastic life, watch an impressive golfer and even more impressive person fall apart in the prettiest place in the world, get my little dog’s hair cut to transform her from a winter bear to a springtime lamb, run the bridge run with some great old friends, and really start to settle into this job that I love so much.  Thankfully, at the last minute, Congress got it together and I still had a job.  Haha. 

I think things are starting to calm down a little bit, so I’m planning on being much more diligent in my blogging.  But then again, I’ve said that before, right?

Before I go, I have some television recommendations – Blue Bloods (if you don’t like Tom Selleck, you hate america) and Chicago Code.  Cop shows at their finest.  I also watched the first episode of Game of Thrones, which has a great deal of promise, and scared me to death in the first ten minutes, and broke my heart in the last two.

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