I don’t have much on my social calendar. Granted, I have more on it than I did five years ago, but I’m still not what you would call swamped. And I prefer it that way. I need time to recharge, time with my books. However, at the last board meeting, I cemented a whole whirlwind month’s worth of activities with my gal pals. We’re going to read and eat and watch the royal wedding.

Friday, I finally convinced Shug to try Aubrey’s. Of course he loved it, as I knew he would. What’s not to like?

Saturday was my mega-busy day for me: baby shower, hiking, dinner and drinks with two of my three lovelies. But then the rain. But maybe it wouldn’t affect the festivities. It didn’t matter to me. I could be just as happy at home, curled into a corner with my book. Unlike most people, I embrace the rain. Plus I’m too lazy to water my flowers, so it’s always welcome.

The best thing about baby showers is the food. The worst thing is the children. Luckily, there were no children in attendance, so the worst part to endure was the oohing and aahing over tiny socks. Once that was over (alas, there were no games where you couldn’t say baby or win a prize for having the most abnormal crap in your purse, I always win that one), Tracy and I split. We had hiking to do before the rain hit.

We were off to Porter’s Creek, home of the showiest wildflowers. I used to hike this trail regularly. When I worked 3rds at dispatch, I sometimes had a hard time decompressing and there is no surer way to soothe the mind than a picturesque stroll up the creek. I often saw turkeys, deer, and bear. That early, I was usually the first on the trail, clearing spiderwebs for the future travelers. I am not the hiker I once was, and absolutely a burden on poor Tracy. I kept encouraging her to go off on little side jaunts to see the farmstead or an over look while I leaned against mossy trees, panting like a chow dog in July.

Eventually, we reached the place I had predetermined would be my stopping point. Tracy could slog it on up to the AT as far as I was concerned, I would placidly wait by the stream. For Tracy. For death. For my breathing and heart rate to stabilize.

I jest. It wasn’t that bad. But it wasn’t that good, either. I took off my shoes and dangled my legs in the creek and watched for snakes.

Tracy eventually came flouncing down the trail, happy with getting her sweat on by scaling the mountain. Whatevs. My rear end was numb from sitting on non-synthetics. We did end up donning our raincoats for the journey back down the hill. Lots of people still hiking in.

We got back to Tracy’s and changed clothes again to go meet our newest good friend for red meat. But first, head rubs:

We were in search of a restaurant with patio. Google proved completely useless, so after ruling out what we didn’t want (Tracy veteoed Holstons, so in retaliation I vetoed Mexican…even though it was Cinco de Mayo. Which probably was a sound decision on my part), we ended up at Outback. Fantastic. I had an enormous beer and steak quesadillas while Beth had conversations with the wait staff about her imaginary friends who aren’t imaginary (us).

So concluded my most enjoyable Saturday on record for some time. No wonder the tourists like it so well here. I forgot how refreshing our mountains are.

I’m so glad for my bookish friends. I would be so bored without these gals. What did I used to do before them? I can’t even remember.