Promised no snarky remarks about marriage next weekend and bought six bottles of this instead.
One of these trips, we're not coming back.
From the Whitelodge it's a short walk with a big dog to big trees on a big river. This makes big cleaning tasks seem small and very unimportant. It's only dust and dog hair. I've suggested monogrammed lint rollers. That, or solid waste disposal of the sofa. But then where will Big sleep?
The wine tasting went well - if by "tasting" you mean "drinking". A California Pinot Noir called Anapamu is best but hard to tell from the Cycles Gladiator. The later has a naked nymph on the label which will make it more popular. Tonight, the Chards.
The computer had a stroke last week. It went clunk clunk and froze. Then it took all my photographs and recorded memories of the last two years to Mac heaven. Or hell, perhaps. I wanted to throw it against a wall but took it to the Genius Bar instead. Then I wanted to throw it against a wall again but they took it away from me to put in its new hard drive.
I'm at the Whitelodge overseeing wedding preparations which were supposed to include some serious house cleaning. So far I've gotten this computer to work and hooked up a new stereo. Later - wine and champagne sampling from among multiple cases in the cococave, aka the storage shed.
Now dust bunnies and I dance to Clapton while I plan my next trip to Italy to replace those lost photographs.
This weekend was spent cleaning cobwebs, dusting 50 year-old log cabin cracks, raking pine limbs and needles and moving the woodpile.
All this while wearing an impossibly old ratty straw cowboy hat and pajamas. And also missing a rather prominent tooth - owing to the spectacularly expensive corner of hell that is implant dentistry and the fact of having left the replacement in a coffee cup at work after leaving early Friday. There were, thankfully, no batteries for the camera. But plenty of people stopped by to visit and ask after the family.
I came back home last night and washed 50-year old moth and toothpaste stained bathroom curtains on the delicate cycle. They completely disintegrated. Add sewing to the list of expanding to do's.
The weeks appear to be contracting before the June 7th date.
While personally eschewing marriage, I'm not above enjoying a good wedding. The celebration is an excellent opportunity to sow snarky spinster aunt contempt for the institution among the young and unhitched. It's also a great time to drink with the divorced. I can't remember the last time I had four morning hangovers in a row.
Too much snow and mud will get to a person this time of year. They're losing their minds up there in Durango a little.* You can feel it remotely in the hyperactive made-up street festivals. And in some of the Durango Herald's police blotter bits. And real concerns about the economy and oil and gas leasing. And then take the Durango Herald writer John Peel. Please. He apologizes for writing it further on and then seeks redemption through carpet cleaning or something.**