pen_grunt | Nostalgia and Exercise

There's something about being out at my parents' house that makes running full speed from place to place the most natural mode of transportation. No wonder I was kind of a skinny kid.

They have a very large yard (10 acres), a pond, stream, creek, hill, junk yard, barn rubble, an orchard, window wells, gardens, fields, and plenty more. It's a huge playground (oh yeah, then there's the old playground equipment that my dad brought home from the school district one day).

I mowed my parents' lawn. No small task, that.

I started things on fire. It was a huge pyre, and we were so close to Guy Fawkes day, for all that. Permits were in hand, flames shot above trees and barns.

I picked fresh carrots, brushed them off, and chomped them till my fingers turned orange.

My husband and father fixed my van.

My dad made me pizza and coffee.

My dad's best friend told me stories of my father in all his teenage mischief.

I complimented my father on his new floor (that was a very old church floor at one point) a dozen times--every time I was prompted to do so by him.

I ran around the yard with abandon--relishing the sheer joy of moving my legs and sprinting across long stretches of grass.

It was, all in all, a good day.