I am not working thiss morning, or even pretending to work. I am sitting at home by myself. It's my birthday, which apparently, as my dearest Mr.B. told me, as he kissed me this morning, does not mean he can take the day off, although I can. I think it has more to do with the fact that at the moment, most of our properties are occupied, so there is nothing that can be done in them. Although this afternoon, after one of our units dry out a bit after the carpet clean that is taking place as I write, we will go and deep clean it in preparation for a slew of bookings in July. So ok, not an entire day off, but I've learned not to even expect that.

We should be driving through Kansas right now, on our way to a wedding in Texas. B's cousin on his mom's side. We have planned the trip for months, then a week and a half ago, the reservations started coming in, and tomorrow we have far too many cleans to be able to leave. Mr. Seymour, down in Denver, apparently does not reallize that besides managing his in-county operations, we are also his housekeepers. We have had really poor luck finding cleaners who actually show up when there is a clean to do, and the ones who show up sometimes make even more work for us when the guests call to complain about the quality of their clean. With some of his most premier, say nothing of gargantuan, properties turning tomorrow, we could only picture what would happen if even one of our cleaners called in because of a sick baby or a grouchy husband. We would be three states away while everything fell apart here. So tomorrow, while B's family celebrates, we will scrub toilets...

With the last day of June, summer is official. We have had some unseasonally idyllic days, washed in sunny warmth, cooled by that impish mountain breeze. But suddenly, with June ending, the weather patterns have changed to high-country unpredictable. Almost hot one moment, a chilly wind whipping up a thunderstorm the next. Already, at eleven o'clock, the cerulean sky is graying as the "thunderboomers" build. It is windy all the time. I have given up on painting on the back deck. An unpredictable gust is likely to send my canvas right into my face. But the mornings are always beautiful, and they are mine. I run or ride bike into the golf course community that borders our subdivision, and exult as the sudden elevation changes become easier with each consecutive morning. Sprinklers chatter, retirees smile and wave, wildflowers bob and curtsy. After about three miles, one climbs high enough to be able to survey the entire valley, the manicured greens directly below, the town of Silverthorne, the interstate which separates it from Dillon, the lake, dotted with tiny sailboats. Beyond that, the emerald runs of Keystone, and further still, the continental divide. And in the mornings, it's all mine.

I think there are several Bertrams who frequent our backyard. There's red Bertram, and gray Bertram, and gimpy Bertram. And the other day, Bertram brought Beatrice to romp in the backyard. Even scraggly and skinny, you've gotta love foxes. We have no kittens or chickens for them to threaten, so we are free to be as delighted over them as we wish.

Ok, I am going to go find something to do which would qualify as useful. Have a wonderful 4th.