Lobster Rolls and Lawn Stripes

May is Maius. She who is great. Greatness. May is also Maia, the Greek goddess of growth. Nurturer of earth. Something from nothing. So May swung for the fences.

Fifth month. 54 treadmill miles across 4 cities. 17 Beli stops, a new record, now with sassy notations. Getting baked about once a month, 20 minutes at 210 degrees. Instead of a stadium hot dog, my first stadium lobster roll, sitting smug in its little split bun. Ice cream, sourdough, and a smoking tower of seafood that arrived like a dare. Cut down a giant tree. AI counted the rings since I couldn't. A century old giant, give or take. And my vote counted exactly once.

May was a heavy hitter. Orlando to break ground. Austin for tacos and a linguistics class in Buda. Boston for good vibes only. Somewhere along the way, I confirmed I'm an odd duck. Humbled by history at Fenway, all 125 years of it. Wore the ring of a Hall of Famer. Walked the Boston Public Garden. Cried at the JFK Library, my third presidential library and the third time in tears. Kennedy asked us to bear the burden of a long twilight struggle. We're all doing our part.

Every trip away teaches me the same thing. Home is where greatness grows.

I was greeted by a cat so happy to see me home she overate and got sick on the carpet. Love is messy like that. Yoga on the lawn with mom. Lawn stripes mowed and the smell of cis-3-hexenal (which is just a science word for fresh cut). Early April flowers and unseasonable May showers became a reminder life changes gradually, then suddenly. The year moves like a snail. Slow and certain, leaving a shine to prove he passed.

May was the payoff. Four months of showing up. Greatness witnessed. Growth earned.

So good, so good, so good.