Every. Other. Day.

I meant to write this post the other day, which was the one-year anniversary of receiving the keys to our Portland Condo. Instead, I baked, worked on a manuscript for a friend, napped, ran two miles and walked another.

About running at nearly seventy…

The view north from Hug Point. The milk wagon came around this headland in the 20s and 30s when my mother was a girl.
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