Last Friday I turned 36. A part of me feels like that should be a scarier number than it is, but it just
doesn’t bother me. This is most likely because in no way do I feel like I’m in my mid-thirties. Call it immaturity of you must, but I just don’t feel 36. I have absolutely no biological clock to speak of and just sort of mosey through life doing my thing. There was never a time in my life that I sat down and had any sort of life plan, and now that I think about it, I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not. I’m leaning towards not.
Due to a great deal of self-restraint on Friday night, I was able to get up Saturday morning and get my things together to head to Lake Anna for the long weekend. This is the third year a dozen or so of us have rented a house and headed south to spend the weekend out of town for New Year’s Eve. My steady diet of Claritin made this weekend possible. With 4 people
bringing their dogs down this year, my allergies were in overdrive, but
except for the first night, I was in pretty good shape.
As usual, the food was incredible. My friend Pete and I apparently had the same idea for breakfast so we had waffles one day and pancakes the next, both courtesy of Alton Brown. Our dinners ranged from summer rolls, yummy soup and Thai curry one night to chicken enchiladas and yellow rice the next. I can’t possibly leave out the yummy ham, scalloped potatoes and roasted root vegetables we had the night in between (my first taste of rutabaga!). Chili and Brunswick stew simmering in crock pots were awesome choices for serve-yourself lunches for the long weekend (and no, I have nary a picture of the food because I was too busy eating to snap pictures).
Of course, crawling back into the greater metropolitan DC area yesterday afternoon was painful. The only thing I wanted to do was sleep for about 12 hours, so my luggage from Christmas (and now New Year’s) remains unpacked. I haven’t taken the time to really think about wrap-ups and resolutions, but I have a couple of notions that I’m working on.