Dana Burland

No one else at the lunch table at work today could understand my squeals of joy when I saw Meb Keflezighi won the Boston Marathon today. But I mean, really. He’s the first American man to cross the finish line on Boylston Street since 1983—single-handedly and symbolically taking back Boston when it needed it most . Nike sure didn’t think he could do it. They dropped their sponsorship deal with him years ago. He’s been with Sketchers since then. Sketchers of all shoe companies. I mean, really. Also, he’s 39 years old, ran his fastest marathon ever and won . And he did it with the names of last year’s victims written on his bib. I MEAN, REALLY. It’s a darn good thing I wasn’t able to track the race live or else this runner, 1,000 miles away from Boston, would have shed some major emotional tears at her desk.

My family came to town to visit this past weekend. I love having them here, but it’s getting harder and harder to find new activities for all of us. We ended up at the zoo on Saturday—one of the last places I’d imagine my grown-up family would enjoy. Oh how wrong I was. There was a crowd of onlookers at the chimp exhibit when we got there. One chimp in particular was putting on a show, holding on to a pile of his…processed dinner in his hand, preparing for launch. After a little while he finally pulled back and launched it—STRAIGHT into the onlookers ahead. We were strategically standing off to the side, mind you. If a chimp flinging poo isn’t good enough, his fist pounding and jump-dancing celebration was. It was better than an NFL star’s touchdown dance, my dad said. The belly-laughs were better than anything else we saw or did all weekend. Leave it to a bunch of adults to find poo flinging so hilarious.

Ben thinks we should open a business—our first product will be challah croutons. If those sounds good, it’s because they are. It also takes me about nine hours to make the little buttery croutony bites considering I make my challah from scratch . So, yeah, scratch that business venture. Ben later proclaimed our second (well, first if you’re nixing the croutons) product should be the yogurt fruit dip I whipped up with apples as a weekend snack. The only problem is this isn’t quite a Dana creation. This recipe is available in stores by the masses, but heck, I’m I’ll happily take the praise anyway! These “business ventures” remind me of wedding planning. Nine hours of baking for croutons is just not worth it. My mom repeated that sentiment back to me when I declared I’d skip a florist and pick my own flowers the day of our wedding. The headache of doing that the day of isn’t worth the money we’d save—especially when I found our using our local greenhouse as my florist would suit my b...

We ran two miles. It wasn’t particularly far, or particularly long, but it was a good run. Ben sets the speed when we run together. I could say I’m being respectful of my non-running running partner—but his pace keeps me steady and forces me to run better. To him, running sometimes feels like punishment. For me, running with him reminds me of why I love him—he keeps me steady, inspires me to be better. We followed a new trail by our apartment doing a run/walk interval. When I hear his feet fall heavier, I push him to finish the run out farther ahead. To the end of the bridge. To the rock. To the tree. When we walk we challenge and teach each other. About work projects. About dog training . About wedding planning . Two miles. It’s not far, and it’s not long but it brings me miles back to us.

Last Friday I got a nasty paper cut while writing a check for our wedding photographer. (Don't worry, that irony isn't lost on me.) Band Aid and spending most of my income tax return within a week aside, choosing a photographer was shockingly easy. Most of our wedding-related decisions have been. Every choice has felt comfortable, like it fits within our puzzle. I felt the same kind of comfort when Ben and I ate at the Beat Hotel in Boston . I ordered the Inca Bowl, a roasted veggie and quinoa conglomeration so close to my own cooking style had it been served on blue Ikea dishware I would have thought it was mine. The kicker was a cilantro yogurt sauce. I definitely hadn't been there, done that. When I recreated the Inca Bowl at home, I took a step outside my norm and attempted my own cilantro sauce. And yum, I must say. It's like hot fudge to a bowl of ice cream—you don't need it, per say, but dang it all, it brings the party. When it comes to wedding...