Spent the morning on the porch, listening to the rain.
Spent the afternoon riding a bike seventeen miles downhill, in the misty coolish afternoon.
It was every bit as good as it sounds.
After dinner we drove seventeen miles down the highway to Everybody's Favorite Coffee Shop. Because sometimes a latte is worth it.
There's a lady staying in this place who is ninety years old. She has eight grown daughters.
Why do I keep meeting fascinating old women on this trip?
She said her husband had dementia the last three years of his life, and he could only say two things during that time:
"I am the richest man in the world. I have eight daughters," and "The Lord will never leave you nor forsake you."
It gives me chills to hear that story. That was the essence of his life. At the end of it, that was all that mattered to him. She also made me laugh - she had eight daughters because every time she had an odd number, she had to have another one so the first wouldn't be lonely or left out. I laughed out loud when she told me this, because this is EXACTLY my logic in the How Many discussion. But you would think after a while that daughter number seven probably isn't going to be lonely, right? Still, I totally get what she's saying.
Also? If we have a son, Brian wants to name him Atticus.
I told him he can't name a son Atticus, because my friend Aubrey once had a roommate with a ridiculous diabetic dog named Atticus, and every time I saw her there was another story about what absurd thing the dog had done recently. I would never be able to say the name with a straight face.
And anyway - Atticus?