Crying myself to sleep on my HUGE Pillow

I’m gonna needa huge-r pillow.

(Thatsa lying from “So I married an Ax Murderer” — Mike Myers, anybody?)  I called my/our son a coupla/three weaks back and when he answered (uh, a later Thursday afternoon) I right away asked “is this one of those days where you’re planning on crying yourself to sleep on your huge pillow?”

“Yeah, I’m getting close …” he answered.  We talked a little longer about hardly anything, but the important thing is we chatted, a bit.  I try to do that once or so a week.  We talked some last Friday, again, just the trivial, surface, mundane stuff.  Unlike his mom, I don’t ask “when are you going to get married?” and “are you planning on having kids?” — what you might call THE BIG STUFF.  No … I ask about his hockey-season-in-progress and often drop the not-so-hint that he and his lady friend ought to drop by for one of my Wednesday nite ‘friendly’ games.  THAT is somewhat akin to a dying old man’s last wish — “oh, kids, do come and play in a hockey game with me.”  Maybe, someday.

Betty and I played TWO SONGS at the monthly Cavalcade Fruita (see cavalcadefruita.com) Variety show earlier in September.  Then … we played a couple more at an axual full-of-people bar a week or so later.  Since then we tried to play again and I complained about something and she complained (more, I think) about something so maybe we’re not going to play, together for a while.  Just like your typical high-profile huge-ego rockenroll band, eh?

However, I did play the nashunull anthem at the first home game of the local college hockey team … and averted a minor? major? disaster.  I had joked with an ice-arena employee a little earlier that if I brought just one harp, I’d need two, and if I brought two, I’d only need one.  Well, I needed two.  I was a few notes into “Jose, can you see?” and a reed in the middle of the scale was stuck.  I apologized, and quickly grabbed the other harp and played the song.  I should have stayed to watch a little of the game, but hurried home as Betty had prepared a nice dinner, not expecting me to rush off and away for an hour.

Time is.  Slowing down.  It is also speeding up, and staying still in some spaces.  There is (as I know you know) a veritable sea of time, currents, whirlpools, breezes, at all speeds.  And yet, I tarry in the eddies and backwaters of molasses-time.

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Also a couple weeks back, Betty had never been up on Black Ridge (just west of “the Monument”) before.  We rode our bikes, the dogs looked for rabbits to chase, a sublime time.  Above, looking down and north towards the Fruita area.

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Looking down, again — recognize the near-distant mountain from the prior photo?

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Betty and dorgs (JaJa, brown thing, left, and Rocksea, bigger gray/white dog to right) have been telemogrifiedly whambobble-ported to an intradimensionally adjacent planet.  This sort of thing is somewhat common up on Black Ridge.

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(Yawn).  A typical western Colorawdough Grand Mesa Sunrise.  I’d rather sleep thru’ it! but I’d get into a liddl bit-o’-trubbul @ werk …

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If you’re an avid runner/tri-person, this bumper (axually hand-maid window-sticker) sticky “sez something.”  I’m not sure what, so I thought I’d promote the tenth-of-that-posturing.  Recently I passed a car with “0.0” .  I should have honked and given him a thumbzupp.

Senior Games?  Yeah, Betty ‘n me don’t feel nor identify much with being seniors, but I suppose its inevitable.  And a wife of a friend of ours (works for city recreation dept.) puts on the annual “senior games” and Brian complained that his spouse was worried about not-that-many-entries so I entered Betty in the swimming events and I ran the long-distance races.  A couple events weren’t that well-attended (Betty was only woman in the 500m swim, and beat some men; and I was the only male entrant in the 1600m.  (I am this year’s West Colorado Senior Games Mile-Run champion!  Will I find room to put that in my resume? (Remember “Dances with Wolves”? — put THAT in your book!) )

Nevertheless, Betty was this year’s Senior Games swimming pool women’s monster, and I had fun in the 5k, 1600m, and 800m.  We are slightly pumped, and can’t wait until next year.

10 thoughts on “Crying myself to sleep on my HUGE Pillow

  1. Well, it sounds like you’ve got a slightly better relationship with your son than Charlie and Stuart had. You don’t’ call your son, HEED, do you?
    Love that movie.
    And congrats to you and Betty for playing some tunes together. True test of a marriage, I think. Glad you made it through.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Heed, no. weed like ‘im to pay some, heed, that is.
    the relayshun ship is a bit … strained, an we doanno why. (could be the lack of radioactive breast milk, hoonose).
    the toonz’ll prawblee continue, we are just, um, (continually) re-defining, aligning …

    Like

  3. And now I want to watch So I Married an Axe Murderer – no idea why I haven’t before. I love the pictures you post, such a contrast to the landscape I’m used to, and I love the ramblingness of your writing too. Please, Sir, may I have some more? :)

    Liked by 1 person

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