In the event of my death

I'm trying to go to bed early. Can you tell? Ten thirty and I've already brushed my teeth, had a bath, and am on my bed, if not in it. Honestly, I don't feel like getting under the covers. I might toss a sheet across my nether limbs, but that's probably it. I've even broken out the tiny fan.

The only things I accomplished today were a dinner of grilled raspberry jam & balsamic vinegar marinated chicken (and salad and bread- although someone else did the actual grilling (thanks, Keith!) and brought the bread (thanks Elizabeth!) and chocolate eclairs (ibid)) and the making of a lemon blueberry cheese tart.

Other than that, I did some sitting in the sun on the banks of the Clackamas river (pictures to follow if Katy will share) and some falling off of exercise balls and nearly killing myself. Pretty much lazy, pretty much fantastic. Except the bruise I might have tomorrow from banging into a table on my way from exercise ball to floor. But all good things come at a price.

Tomorrow, I shall get up at oh-dark-thirty and go on a 5 mile run. And then I shall die. If I don't post again, assume I'm dead, somewhere on Sauvie's Island. I've given Katy power of post-mortem blogging, but she might be dead, too. So don't count on it. Which really makes me wish I'd had a chance to revise my will before this run. Oh well.