Foiled.

It's Monday, Memorial Day, and we've already had great intentions twice and they both were somewhat thwarted. So, before I say more, I'm going to knock on wood, because we are going to the Sox this evening with the best intentions of them winning. And, yeah, three strikes...

We wake up Saturday morning and Marianna whips up some amazing peanut butter and chocolate French toast with a jelly reduction. This came after not being able to find anyplace in town to have breakfast. And while she nails the recipe, the recipe nails her back by jumping on her shirt.

Sunday, after church, we drive out to Cormier Woods, an old 17th century farm about an hour form Boston. It's now all overgrown and there is very little pasture land, but there is a preserved farmhouse and barn, etc, that you can hike three miles through the woods to see.

Well, 150 steps into our hike, we get absolutely killed by mosquitoes. And I mean, eaten alive. Within 7 minutes Marianna has 5 bites and I have a couple. And that's after swatting like mad.

So we bail from the woods, walk around the field for a minute, and then make the drive back. That was strike two.

The good thing, I reckon, is that we drove the Boston Marathon route back. It's funny. Nobody ever says "Man, Framingham is nice!" after they've run. For good reason. I can see why Wellesley gets all the praise. And while it is gorgeous, it doesn't take much after passing through the 'Ham.

And thanks to all the troops.