I got myself clippered and this is my Nimona hair, plus smirk.
I did the big race this Saturday in my town and it was such fun! I haven’t run it since 2010, so I was overdue. This is a tricky race, this year more so than usual, because the weather can make it all but impossible to get outdoors and train. I have apparently become incapable of running on a treadmill, so that was an added challenge. I think it’s because doing so is so antithetical to all of the reasons I run in the first place. Anyway, I was telling my friend who was running it for the first time that I run the race on a mix of base fitness, woo-hoo-it’s-my-town pride, and taking off the brakes on the downhill with reckless disregard for one’s knee health.
I came in with a time of 1:00:01, which annoyed the bejesus out of me until she pointed out that it’s a palindrome.
I got the Big One into Welcome to Night Vale.
We got about 2 minutes into the first episode when Cecil Baldwin started intoning about the dog park to which one must never, under any circumstances, bring a dog, and that, in fact, it was better not to acknowledge the dog park’s existence, and she cracked up. She asked for the second episode. That’s when the glow cloud who spits animal carcasses when he’s angry shows, as does Koshek the cat who floats 4 feet above the floor in the men’s bathroom, and yeah. I love her helpless giggle-fits as she revels in such absurdity. 100 percent worth the price of admission.
I wish in retrospect that I’d brought her to the podcast performance they did here earlier this month, because she would have had a ball.
Last weekend I gave her my art source book, which is a book my mom gave me years ago. It sorts by subject a whole bunch of famous art and is an excellent source for creative inspiration. In my past life as an artist, I used to spend hours gawking at the amazing things people had done on canvas. The realistic-type art is generally my favorite — with an ENORMOUS exception in the form of Edvard Munch — and of the realistic-type things, the Italian Renaissance artists are my jam. I always loved that book, and she draws these great creatures that were reminding me of Aztec religious sculptures, so I thought she’d like to see them. I did, however, tape some pages of the book together, because she doesn’t need to see the sex and love art section yet, nor is it time for her to see anything by Hieronymous Bosch because that dude needs to calm his crazy self down a bit with the weird Christian punishments. I need to keep my sweet, naive, atheist child pure for a few more years.
The Little One shows strong evidence of becoming one of those people who would sleep all morning if given the chance. She’s always been a later riser than Eliza, which, given that girl’s habit since birth of being up with the sun is a blessing, really.
However, Lucy has become entertainingly ill-tempered about morning wake-ups. If you try to do the gentle tickling and whispering, she counters with grumpy sleep-swatting. And more than once I have told her to wake up, only to have her snarl “NO!” at me and roll over to carry on sleeping. She is stubborn enough to ignore when the cat walks on her. You have to admire grit like that.