The thing we celebrated this weekend:
That was yesterday. Still a good story, still the best story.
On Saturday we went for a run.
This was notable only for two reasons. It was my third day of running in a row. Eleven miles since Thursday! I guess I am better, or healed or whatever, and starting to round into shape. Good thing, too. I’m running out of “first time since” sort of incidents.
But now, I guess, this means the real running can begin.
The other thing for which this run was notable:
These skies. Good gracious. Hang all this, I say. We’re leaving tomorrow! Which was yesterday. Which we did; which was the plan anyway.
And so we’ve come south. We had barbecue last night with friends in Nashville.
Just FYI: @jacksbarbque never disappoints. Great again tonight. Thanks guys! pic.twitter.com/jsQnCEQznw
— Kenny Smith (@kennysmith) December 16, 2019
And then we drove on, getting in late last night to begin the holiday visiting circuit. This week, with my folks. And so it was that we ran in Alabama this morning. It was gray. Tonight it stormed, even. Hey, it’s warmer.
Ran by these:
Local legend* has it that the only thing two young people loved more than lions was each other. One was the mayor’s kid. And the other’s dad was from the wrong side of the tracks. Their parents wouldn’t agree to the relationship, and so the young woman jumped into the river. In his grief, the boy followed.
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When they pulled them out downstream, the two young people had turned into these lion statues. The local school honors their love to this day.
My run today was awful – and I had a rest day yesterday and everything! — I suppose the long, loooong car ride doesn’t really count as a rest day. But we ran through the neighborhood my folk’s house is in, and then down to the high school, where there is a track, which was closed to us because of construction. So we ran in the school parking lot and an adjoining road and probably somewhere else and it was all awful.
I did get to see a mosaic, though:
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There was a storm this evening. Bad. Violent. We watched it on the radar and we watched it in the yard. At least until the lightning rolled close by. We weren’t far off from going into a room in the basement — as a precaution I’d already gone down stairs to turn on all of the lights and find the appropriate spot — when it shifted just enough to the south.
A dangerous line came through, the worst of landing just a few miles away from where we are. Some houses were destroyed and, as I said on air more times than I care to count: we’ll have to wait until the sun comes up tomorrow to know the full extent of the damage.
Dinner was at a little restaurant that sports this statue near the door.
Yes, I know.
It’s a quiet place, being out of the way from anything, but it is pretty good.
We may be going back when my step-father gets back in town. Oh no. Más enchiladas. Happy me.
*The local legend that I just made up.
