You can call me "Perky Dumplin"

Last night I when I got home from LT's, Brandon and Alpha were talking in the living room and I took to the bedroom with the laptop with the idea that I'd check my e-mail/google reader real quick and then read. (Yeah right. I never get on the internet real quick.) I saw that Chrystal, my BFF from high school, had a new post and when I started reading it, I began laughing. Quietly at first, then louder and louder. It was a kind of laughter reminiscent of hiccups, rising in small unpredictable bursts, and growing with intensity until I had to go read the entry aloud to the boys in the other room. They thought it was funny, but not as funny as I did, since I have met Mama Ann and heard various accounts of her through the years that I'd define as "tragically hilarious." The blog post reminded me of why Chrystal was my best friend all the way through high school, because she was the most hilarious person I knew, and could tickle my funny bone relentlessly. She was so ballsy about it, and the best evidence I can think of would be the time in which she drove her ex's huge truck into a old car that his parents owned, several times, just to entertain the both of us. I think this incident might have made me pee in my britches a little bit.

We've been taking a lot of walks in the afternoon on days when the weather's lovely. Yesterday was the kind of day that makes living in the South so satisfying. Maybe it would be more appropriate to say it was the kind of day that makes living satisfying, but something about the route we took felt so deliciously Memphis to me. We scrambled up the rise to the train tracks right around Central & Cooper and were happily surprised to come across thick curtains of blooming wisteria, which is heady with the most amazing perfume this time of year. We were right around the area where Brandon took this picture a couple of weeks ago:

There are similar pix from the same day here, if you're interested.

Because I was ingrained with a healthy (unhealthy?) sense of fear by my parents, at first when B suggested walking along the tracks, I was skeptical of imminent death by trains and homicidal bums. I couldn't help but remember the opening of Fried Green Tomatoes, in which Buddy's shoe becomes stuck in the tracks and he meets his maker at the tender age of 17. However, like the many times when my dear husband's lack of fear has trumped my overly cautious nature, we strolled leisurely along without incident and had a lovely time.

Reviewing yesterday, I think it was nearly the perfect spring day. Sunshine, simple delicious food, a reminder of the intellectual & comical prowess of women I am lucky enough to know, and spiritual & physical communion with my dear, dear partner.

Signed, Mary Sunshine