72-Hours of Extreme Trauma, and the $400 bottle of tequila


Below, me and an acquaintance, before my 72-hour mind-melting ordeal ~


I’ve recently experienced (endured) the most traumatic 72-hour span of time I can right off-hand remember.  Granted, my me(s)mory ain’t what it used to be, in fact, it might not ever had been what it used to be, or ever was, or might be.  Never-the-less :  which of the following is true?

  1.  As part of the final test for Zombie Apocalypse Survival Camp, I was dropped off, naked, in the wilderness with 3 matches and a dull pocket-knife for 72 hours.
  2. I had to babysit my grand-sons.
  3. The town I lived in had run out of beer, and for 3 days I had to survive on food and water (with a nod to W C Fields).

Yeah, you guessed it.  I had mis-givings, apprehension, wondered how I would survive this, but I did.  It took a lot of beer, side-stepping many of my daughter’s admonitions as to schedules and diet and etc.

She gave me a short list of meals to prepare — e.g., scrambled eggs, broccoli w/cheese, spaghetti, mac-&-cheese.  “And be sure to get them in bed by 8 o’clock”, she added.

She (and husband) returned home 3 days later.  Grandsons and I were playing out in the front yard.  She could tell things had apparently gone fairly well.  “What did you feed them?”

“Most they time they wanted Captain Crunch cereal”, I replied.  “And we stayed up ’til midnight watching the Hobbit movies and some weird science-fiction stuff which I hadn’t seen.”

Below, I appear pretty much the same after the 72-hour mind-melt ~


There has been a mysterious bottle parked in a corner of our kitchen for, seriously, many years.  The corner is between two shelving units, with tea- and sugar-canisters wedged in-between cook-books, etc.  Just last week Betty, on a cleaning pogrom to eradicate years-old dust-beasties and such, pulled this out and dusted it off.


It was half-full, and the labeling indicated tequila.  The bottle was wrapped in a sort of red nylon-mesh.  We had a few sips — you know, to check how poisonous this was.  And for the life of us, we do not, did not, remember who and when this became parked in this kitchen corner.

Having never heard of the distillery nor product name, I looked it up on the internet.  To buy this bottle costs about $400.  A couple, three, times a week I’ll pour some into a glass, and savor.  Sometimes while struggling through whatever it is I’m reading.  And just as often, to (again with the mind-melt) binge-watch previous seasons of Game of Thrones.


Delta (Colorawdough) is famous for it’s down-town murals.


Betty (right) and RockSea (bottom) and our daughter (top left) host a “kiddie’s pool-party” as she catches up (if THAT is ever really possible) with two of her old friends.  Mindy and Taya and Rachel went to Middle School and were on the same soccer team together — 20 years ago.


Often the sky and aetherealelements entertain us with displays of the intermix of the seasons, and atmospheric currents and other unseen but hinted-at goings on …




Last weekend/weakened we drove to the top of “the Mesa”, and (below) is the road up-&-down we usually take.



13 thoughts on “72-Hours of Extreme Trauma, and the $400 bottle of tequila

    • whoa, dood! and we (here in our valley) ain’t known for “green” and the “verdant” is pretty much restricted to the fruit orchards. high desert — but the top of the Mesa (which is 10,000′ elev., more than double my house) stays green much easier. right now there are a hefty bunch of cumulus piling up over it .

      Cap’n Crunch? I personally last liked (and ate) it some 55 or so years ago! and the kids didn’t need hangovers cured (i’m pretty sure). I tried to adhere to a strict regimen of coffee ’til noon, then beer. however, the middle day of the “ordeal” it was 11 a.m. and I said to myself –> “it’s past noon back at my house!”

      Liked by 1 person

      • Of course it’s always close to noon somewhere in this world. As for me, I stopped eating the Crunch only a few years ago. But I stopped the booze more than 20 years ago. I’ll drink an O’Douls, but that’s about as far as I’ll go. Mostly I just drink tapwater. And surprisingly, it hasn’t killed me yet.

        Liked by 1 person

    • it was … was … like, after a while, we were all on the SAME WAVELENGTH. so … not ‘trauma’ really, but it took me DAZE to (uh…) re-adjust to whatever it was (mentally/emotionally) I was before. now i’m back to my bitter back-biting small-minded un-nutritious sleepin’-in-late self!


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