My eleven-year-old Columbia boots finally died this spring. They could not be duct-taped any longer. Stacey said she liked my boots and I agree with her. I love them. But this year, I will have to buy some new good solid fabulous wonderful winter boots because these were put in the trash and sent to greener pastures. In other news, I am writing this entry on Friday, April 15th of a gloriously epic stressful week. I am being shunned by people in my department -- I almost feel like I should wear a scarlet letter on my chest -- and a very famous sociologist who is the director of a conservative think tank questioned my research findings in our book and I was worried I couldn't replicate the findings -- and Renny had experienced a kick or some sort of problem which made him ouchy and crabby and hurty on his Saturday lesson -- and I got sick, good and sick.
But here's what happened. Renny got slowly better and he's taking a week off. Yesterday when I went to the barn, everyone told me that he'd been caught running laps in the pasture by himself -- so he must want his vacation to end and go back to work. I replicated my findings and the statistics guru in my department gave me the correct language to discuss this matter with the conservative think tank person. And I'm dealing with the death in my shunning -- trying to find compassion in my heart and a new way of life. And I'm ragged, but on the upswing of my illness. So, I don't feel great and I'm tired and hurting, but I can see better on the horizon. And I'm grateful!