Stewart and I have started going on a run each day, partly inspired by Haruki Murakami's piece in The New Yorker, and so far I feel horrible; I haven't run in five years and I hadn't realized how much my body has changed: I'm heavier, I've filled out more. Besides stiff muscles, I've been sick to my stomach. On a walk to look at the paint jobs on other houses we decided we probably shouldn't be eating so much sugar and butter -- kind of an identity crisis as far as the blog is concerned -- so I made whole wheat bread to go with the homemade rose hip jam. In a similar vein, we made cake last night, don't ask me how this is better than cookies, especially because we made chocolate frosting out of semi-sweet chips, butter and sugar. One step forward, two steps back.