Grits for breakfast

Here I am, cozy at home.

For one more day. Tomorrow it’s off to Charleston for the marathon.

For now, though, I’m eating grits for breakfast next to a fire (it’s uncharacteristically FREEZING here). You know how I love a fire.

I’ve lived away from home for almost 10 years, which means I’ve been coming home for Christmas for a long, long time (except once, when I was married, and that was weird). But more than ever, this week at home has been such a lovely thing. I’m so relaxed, despite the pre-race nerves, that I’m not even worried about not making my bed.

And even better, I have not just a box of books in the back of my car, but ALL of my books. I understand that this is even nerdier than my trip to Faulkner’s house, but I don’t care in the very least.

Aren’t they lovely? That’s not even close to all of them. But, for the record, I have pared down A LOT. And Molly, I know, it’s not a well-designed bookshelf. You know I need you for this. I’m hopeless.

Yesterday I baked all of my Christmas cookies and boxed them up for shipping. My work is almost finished, and as soon as I turn it in, I’m going to see 127 Hours. I figure it will be inspirational. 26.2 can’t be as bad as having to cut off one’s arm. This is my theory. We’ll see …

 

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One thought on “Grits for breakfast

  1. Please don’t let it be nearly as bad as that. Be safe, have fun. Home will be waiting for you, fire in the fireplace, and your bed and books just like you left them. It is always good to have you home. Love, MOM

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