blog post gumbo

None of the following has yielded a post of its own, so it’s my hope that everything thrown together will thicken into a nourishing soup.

I’ve hit a plateau with the running. I’ve been up on the hill in all weathers, but the easy dramatic performance improvements of the first six weeks have ended, and now it seems about equally hard every day. I still like it, though. And I kicked ass in yoga this morning, able to hold quite challenging poses for longer than ever before. Maybe I should do more yoga on my non-running days. In my copious free time.

Having a crush on your yoga instructor: it’s the new having a crush on your midwife.

Decent run of films lately. The Lives of Others is spectacularly good; go see. The Namesake has a fairly clunky script, but is redeemed by astounding performances and cinematography of great beauty. When The Levees Broke and Jesus Camp will break your heart and stiffen your resolve to fight for truth and justice.

Yesterday I lay on my back in Golden Gate Park with Julia spread-eagled asleep on my chest, and I watched the trees move against the blue sky, and I felt very happy.

Oh! And when we were driving to dim sum last week, Jeremy said:

“Bags of soup! They’re like delicious pustules.”

I said very seriously: “I am so glad that I married you.”

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