You write truth. At any given day, we are within 45 minutes to an hour drive from the Rockies. Really, the only thing I can genuinely bitch about is that the rush hour lasts 3 — 4 hours (Los Angelenos had moved to Denver because of the similar climate & marijuana & brought with them gangs & more smog). We are all obscenely rich (except the homeless, but even our Colorado homeless are super clean, compared to the nasty crazy homeless of San Francisco), because, let’s face it, each member of our household has a car, (like in LA, no one walks in Denver, the public transportation system, although better than it was, still sucks hind tit) not counting our dogs (they lost their drivers’ licenses because they kept swerving trying to hit cats), & every time I turn on the tap, out comes sweet, sweet water! I never take that for granted!
I raise a glass of (imaginary) scotch to you, sir, for soon-to-come diaper-less days & nights! For me it’s imaginary because it’s 1 o’clock in the afternoon, & even I have limits. But beware: my father has a saying, “Little kids don’t let you sleep, big kids don’t let you live.” (Um, thanks, papa?) People are always, like, “Why are you so tired?” And I’m, so, like, “’Cause I’m an adult, bitches!” The last time I remember having energy was, let’s see…7th grade? I think I jumped for joy because I got an A in Algebra. That was the last time I got a good grade in math, so the excessive celebration was appropriate as well as memorable.
I’m including a photo I took this morning of a vista my husband sees every day on his drive to work. Also, a bit of the back porch that needs paint with Toffee on the left & Bella on the right (Bella’s the sweet, stupid one).
As you can see, there’s snow on them there hills, but the city of Aurora, Colorado, is brown & dusty dry. We haven’t had any precipitation, (I’m not counting spitting snow for a few minutes,) for weeks.
Other than that, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?