We had some friends over last night for a pre-baby cookout. One of them, Casey, has a photo-a-day blog, and so the evening was well documented. Check it out here. (In the second shot, no, Amy's water didn't break -- though I have fears of it looking something like that; she's extinguishing my underwhelming attempt at a fire in the chiminea.)
Though it's Casey's blog, the pics are by our friend Q.
May our pictures of the baby look so good.
One of my favorite writers and a fellow Oklahoma native, Hank Stuever, on the housing crisis exemplified. It includes this wonderful paragraph:
All the crying people did for the camera: They cried when television's magic wand touched them, and the hosts always cried, too, while telling the camera how good they felt making the dreams of the sick and wretched owners of substandard tract houses come true. Think of the many tears that were shed on American television over organized closets and new kitchen countertops.
I was backing up some data tonight when I came across a few previously-not-downloaded pics... and added a new one for the sake of memories.
The first three from our trip to Cannon Beach back in May. Great weather, great escape, great weekend minus the infamous failure/forgetting to stop at Sonic for the pregnant wife. Wiley is not a fan of the sand, though. Ah, the Civic. Wonder who is driving it -- and getting amazing gas mileage -- now.
And then from tonight.
Seven and a half months and -- it's official -- that button has popped. Gotta document that, right? Even if Wiley is giving me a 'She wouldn't approve' look. She'd kill me if I posted the close up of it, though. Little guy is kicking all the time, which I take as encouragement for us to get a crib, a dresser, and the rest of that nursery together -- pronto.
In my new-found bike geekdom I watched some of the Tour de France's opening stage today. I didn't get up at 5:30 a.m. to catch it live; the countless replays satisfy my curiosity right now. Amid the crashes I shudder to see, the kilometers I struggle to comprehend and the names I shouldn't even try to pronounce, though, it got me to thinking about one thing: mileage.
The guys crazy enough to finish what is one of - if not the - world's toughest sporting event will log 2,175 miles over three weeks with just a couple of days out of the saddle. I, on the other hand, have pulled only about 750 miles total on my LeMond since I started riding in late March/early April. Roughly speaking, in three months I haven't done even half of what they'll do in three weeks.
Really, 750 isn't anything. My friend Craig - he who was kind enough to show me how to actually navigate this commute - cleared 10,000 miles not too long ago. But, nonetheless, I'm proud of my 750. That's about the equivalent of riding from Portland to Salt Lake City. Plus, here's a couple of benefits: not having to buy about 30 gallons of gas and feeling healthier than ever (achy wrist aside).
Onward to my first 1,000 - and more.
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