Miss Mia Sopaipilla finds our temporal shenanigans irksome.
“Go away at once. That you find it necessary to fiddle with your timepieces is of no concern to me. I will let you know in no uncertain terms when your services are required.”
In mid-March last year I had a hitch in my gitalong.
All I was good for was a short stroll with crutches, or a slightly longer spin on the stationary trainer. A Darth Gimp boot gripped the broken bone like an ankle monitor. Only the mind wandered freely.
Today, with the skies darkening, the wind thundering, and the pollen scattering, I almost — almost! — decided to stay indoors.
And then I remembered last March. So out I went.
I needed a thin watch cap, mask, hoodie, henley, pants, wool socks, and thin gloves, but still. Outside! On a trail! And a rocky one, too, even worse than the one that took me down last February.
Even jogged a few bits, just ’cause I could. What a difference a year makes.
Up near where the climb to the Candelaria Bench Trail steepens, I saw seven deer peering at me from across a ravine. They’ve been thick as rush-hour traffic around our place already this year, peppering The Compound with poop.
I’m not certain what they’re after down here in the ’burbs, before spring has actually sprung. But like most Americans deer will pretty much eat whatever is convenient. Free will is an illusion, at least for certain foods.
Speaking of airline travel, which we were not, do not expect to see me boarding a flight to anywhere anytime soon until (a) The Plague is over, and (2) the drunks have a clear idea where the toilet is.
The gods served up a cotton-ball sky for Herself’s mumble-mumble-th birthday this morning.
They won’t be there for long — the forecast calls for gusty winds out of the SSW as Thor breaks out the old hammer for a little light touch-up work on Colorado.
As The Bug® still holds sway over the land, and we have not yet had our shots, the birthday festivities will be muted, as they were last year.
Herself and a colleague did manage to enjoy a socially distant cocktail and appetizers on some uptown bistro’s patio yesterday afternoon while I stayed home and cooked dinner (turkey tacos and arroz verde).
The other day we went shopping for a birdbath to keep the juncos hydrated and stumbled across the Dia de los Muertos talavera pictured above, a bride and groom sitting on a bench looking slightly stupified, probably from strong drink and/or unbridled lust.
As we both have March birthdays, it was a no-brainer — boom, two birthdays, one present, no waiting.
The couple matches the cyclist we have by the front door, so, bonus. You may remember El Señor from our Interbike coverage in days gone by.
Meanwhile, the phone rings off the hook it no longer has with calls from well-wishers. Later we will nosh on some delicious snacks and watch something silly on TV.
Par-tee, baybee. Not even The Bug® can stop us.
We popped round to the Dark Tower yesterday to visit Herself the Elder.
The weather being cooperative, we decided to make it our first bicycle drive-by of the new year.
The State had recently made some noise about changes to its protocol for visiting residents of long-term-care facilities, but for our purposes, that’s about all the announcement amounted to — noise.
After looking over the four-page document we decided that for everyone involved, the simplest, least bothersome way to enjoy a little face time (not FaceTime) with HtE remains peering through a closed window and speaking via phone.
Calendar, schmalendar: Herself got out yesterday for her first bike ride of 2021, so it must be spring.
It wasn’t definitively springlike here in the Duke City — but still, arm warmers and knickers beat long sleeves and tights for the first week of March.
Miss Mia Sopaipilla did not join us. She prefers her indoor exercise apparatus.
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