Fuck Cancer

I went to Lisa's funeral this morning and it sucked. Hard. It was also strangely good to see so many old friends again. When I got home, I headed immediately to lay by the pool, my intent being to finish Eclipse whilst acquiring my first sunburn of the season.

That's right, I'm saying, "Fuck you, Cancer" by giving myself skin cancer. Go figure that logic right out, I dare you.

It's a crazy-beautiful day here and tomorrow is supposed to be even better, and have I mentioned before how hugely glad I am that winter has gone the way of the acid wash jeans? Before the awful funeral, Gray and I spent one glorious night at our oasis in Wisconsin.

Gray spun the tunes while I helped make beer-in-the-butt chicken.

Then I took an inordinate amount of photos of the spring garden. I don't know what the purple things are, but I wish I could eat them. They look like cotton candy's edgy cousin from the big city.

And, of course, these went marching, but not at all in an orderly, one-by-one fashion.

I hope they aren't headed to carry off a pic-y-nic basket.

Lisa, may your eternal picnic basket overflow with pork products and beer, and may your team always kick ass in the angelic badminton tournament.

XO