I'm back...

I know, it has been a while. Since the day we biked the Colorado Trail, my bruises have almost completely faded. I have driven to Nebraska for a funeral, and while there, spent some time with relatives on both sides. It felt kinda nice to excersize my independance and drive myself out there, even though I often state that being a passenger is more than fine with me. I picked Mom up in Kansas, and we even got to spend a few hours together. But now I am back in Summit County, and enjoying some of the most beautiful days I have ever experienced in July. It has almost been hot. I took Bob's roller blades (mine are in Kansas) to the Dillon recpath the other day, and skated across the dam to Frisco. It caused me some inner gloating to watch myself overtake the flatlanders on their rented bikes. Of course, that was after I had gone a wobbly mile, trying to make my feet accept the fact that mt toes were a good three inches longer than normal. Mr. B. has very nice, small feet, but his rollerblades were still much too big for me. At the end of my seven miles, I had learned to adjust my stride accordingly, but had rubbed some bothersome blisters. And the skates shimmied drastically on the long, downhill stretches. I have never had to deal with out of control speed, because where I usually rollerblade is in Kansas, where if one wants to slow down, one must simply coast to a stop.

Yesterday, after we got off work at four o'clock, Mr.B. got the idea we needed to go to the lake. Way out there at Green Mountain Reservior where there is no cell service. I know. I was shocked as well. What if the entire company had fallen apart in our absence? After an very thorough safety insepction by the "water gestapo" who didnt recognise our registration as being in-state, which we passed, we pulled out the waterski and Frog went amphibious. The water has warmed significantly, making it much easier to let go of the rope when I got just too exhausted to ski anymore. After I'd had as much fun as was still fun in the very rough chop and boat wash, we idled back into a sun washed cove, surrounded by tall emerald grass and aspens and shut off the boat, and lay around, and slapped mosquitoes, and swam, pushing the floating cowpies out of our way. That single act was sufficient to reconnect us with our farmkid heritage. Feces belonging to any species except those common to the farm is just downright gross, but when it comes from a cow, one uses it as a frisbee, for practical jokes, or simply nudges it out of one's path. It assumes the same attributes as a dirt clod or a rock, simply a wad of grass which has been processed and returned to the ground from whence it came. (The same attitude applies to most anything else coming off of or out of a cow, heifer, calf, bull, or steer. I remember, when we were kids at roundup, having "snowball fights" with...well, maybe that's a story for another time. Lets just say they weren't made out of snow.) But I digress. The cove slightly resembled a good many cowponds we have found refreshment in, and any resemblance to my childhood does tend to lead to digression.

I took my paints down to the Dillon Marina this afternoon (my readers may be wondering at this point if I ever work, and the answer is, rarely past noon, these days...but that will all change in about two months) and sat and painted a small picture of the Tenmile Range and the lake with it's sailboats. The ADD set in after about thirty minutes, plus I got hot and the wind dried my paints far too quickly, so I took the camera and walked down through the marina, and along the footpath, lined with picnickers. I tactfully tried to ignore the frantic father and mother who had lost Kyle, and the chewing-out Kyle recieved when he was located. And then Kyle wondered off again, and refused acknowledge his parent's very loud insistance that he stay with his brothers who were fishing like regular little anglers. This is why, father yelled at the back of the retreating little blonde head bobbing in the sagebrush, your brothers catch fish and you do not. Kyle seemed to have a few obedience issues, but really, I couldnt blame the kid. Maybe he had ADD too. I know I would find it hard to sit and fish when there was so much unexplored ground to be covered.

The window is open beside me, the air coming through it cool and rain-laden. It has been thundering this evening, low growls and crisp cadence reverberating between the peaks, an uninterupted dialogue about things we humans cannot begin to comprehend. I feel small when it does this. But comfortably so. Even when I was small, it was hard to keep me indoors during thunderstorms. It is such a rush to be surrounded by something as powerful and uncontrollable as a summer thunderstorm.