Bytes of random from my weekend

If I’d been able to log on to my parent’s wireless I would have posted any number of times over the weekend.
I wasn’t able to log on though, so all of those would be posts have truncated into fluttering little ideas, bouncing about inside my skull. Every time one of those little winged bytes rebounds off the surface of my mind it triggers a mite of panic about not having posted it yet.
My hope is that by shooing all of these pests out of my head and into this one post, the mini panics will subside and I’ll be able to function in a more normal fashion.

In the days leading up to my departure, I found myself using an old, musty smelling purse whose inside zippered pocket bears a gaping hole such that my lip gloss always winds up at the bottom of the bag inside the lining. I’ve been meaning to stitch up that pocket for ages, but I’ve never yet done it.
As I packed my things for my trip, I looked in that bag and felt pure terror at the idea of carrying it with me. Aside from the obvious problems of the gaping pocket and mustiness, I didn’t want to carry any diapers or ointments or other items unnecessary for a child-free weekend.
I liberated those items I would need from the musty bag and deposited them in the lap-top back pack I was borrowing from The Mr. Namely, my wallet, my phone, my sunglasses, and a cache of lip glosses. The rest of it, diapering supplies, emergency toys, boxes of raisins, even the keys to my own dear Dusty Miller, I left.
My plan was to go out the next day and buy a new bag. That didn’t happen until the day after though. The out and about hours of Friday were passed with my wallet, phone, glasses and lip gloss clutched in my bare paw.

Running in Utah is a different experience. Something about the air. It’s delicious. I sip it in and taste it, bliss in my lugs. Comparatively, the air here is flat, stale and uninviting.
Monday morning I’d talked myself out of running. Then I inadvertently leaned close to the open window and caught a fresh draft from outside. I needed more. I had to get out there and breathe it, fill my lungs to their highest capacity and revel in the sweetness.
It was a good run.

You know those houses, home to sweet-toothed folks, where there is a candy dish at every turn? Any time a hankering hits there’s a dish of sugared fulfillment close at hand?
My parents house is kind of like that, but the indulgences scattered across the surfaces of their home aren’t of the edible variety. They are books., and they’re every where.
You’ll never find yourself at a loss for something to read while visiting there.

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