
A bunch of us enjoyed a mass birthday celebration in Weirdcliffe last night. Herself, as has been recounted elsewhere, turned (ahem) 29 on the 12th. Our burro-racing buddy, Hal, hit the half-century mark yesterday. And tomorrow I will have achieved a venerable 56, like a finely aged cheddar, only smellier and less tasty.
As befits our advanced ages, we gummed down a little oatmeal, did a few shots of Geritol and called it a night around 9 (that’s a.m., not p.m.).
So here’s a tip of the Mad Dog sombrero to Peter for all the Mexican cookery, to Pueblo’s Hopscotch Bakery for the delicious cupcakes and to the Crusty County Sheriff’s Department, which graciously turned a blind eye to the drunken shenanigans in their bailiwick.
