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April 30, 2002: And so on

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It is amazing what changes can be wrought by the simple application of a small, hand-held bicycle pump. Tires going slowly flat apparently have a nasty tendency to slow one’s speed.

In other words, after re-inflating my tires this morning, we took off and did six miles, keeping a steady speed of just about 12 miles per hour. I could have easily gone further, but Richard was feeling a bit short of breath, so we turned back. There was even a bit of a breeze we had to fight on the way home, but that didn’t make too much difference – we were rolling. My enthusiasm is back; my confidence restored. Insert huge sigh of relief here.


We got all the little pieces cut out for our paper castle, and there are one heck of a lot of little pieces. They are all carefully stashed into a Ziploc bag, safely away from the prying paws and teeth of Azzie the Curious. Last night we sat down and sorted them all out into their various groups. There are a lot of those groups, too – towers and ramparts and courtyards. For some reason, this project seems a bit more daunting now that we are faced with a table strewn with little piles of teeny tiny pieces of stiff paper and armed only with glue sticks. While watching various and random sitcoms, I managed to assemble one entire section of the wall, and Richard did a lot of annoyed muttering at a few round towers. Several hours of gluing and pinching teeny tiny pieces of paper together in awkward positions later, we were still faced with an entire table of little piles of paper and the realization that this project is going to take us a bit longer than we expected. I am not daunted, however. Once it’s finally done, we’ll be pretty darn proud of ourselves, even if we have to resort to staples and scotch tape to get the darn pieces to actually stay connected.


Tonight we made a vegetable stir-fry and baked an entire pan of yam chips for nibbling during Buffy. Richard led me into the kitchen while the yams were cooking and paused dramatically by the oven.

“Do you hear it?” he asked. He might as well have cupped one hand around his ear and leaned in close, for all the drama he was interjecting into this little scene.

Silly me. I simply didn’t see it coming, although I suppose I really ought to know better by now. So I stupidly replied “Hear what?”

Another dramatic pause, and then “Listen! Do you hear it? The silence of the yams?”

His mother says I should have bapped him. I might have at least pelted him with stir-fried bean sprouts if I hadn’t been giggling too hard to reach them.

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