What a difference some exercise makes.
I admit I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately. It could be the cold, it could be the cabin fever, it could be my job, or it could be the fact that I’m currently reading One Hundred Years of Solitude.
This morning Ted and I rode up to Chicago Diner for breakfast (a nice little 20 mile ride, round trip) and by the time we got there I felt as good as new. Stories and smiles were pouring out of the two of us, pausing only to stuff our faces with the best breakfast ever. (We split a Breakfast Bowl: biscuits and gravy, seitan sausage and tofu scramble on top of home fried potatoes, and Cornbread French Toast sprinkled with powdered sugar, served with a side of fresh fruit, blueberry compote and maple syrup. We washed it all down with bottomless mugs of Yerba Mate.)
We had an in-depth discussion covering the loveliness of beet poop.
Ted – “It completely changes the way you think about poop.”
Me – “It makes Valentine’s Day in every toilet bowl.”
and so on.
We also spent quite a bit of time talking some more about Wendy and Lucy. We went to see it last night at the Music Box and it tore us to the core.
We rode back, and I assembled a Theremin for Ted.
Momentarily, we’ll be heading down to Hyde Park to visit a dear friend and consume some Rajun Cajun.
Later, we’ll meet up with the Superbowlers (post super bowl) to watch a terrible movie about the Pineys of New Jersey and their legendary Jersey Devil. It should be awfully amazing.
Life is good, three cheers for the weekend.