Still going up the creek, sometimes with the Other Dog…

the better to inspect mountain mahogany’s clever seeding strategies.

But afternoons [or sometimes, if the laundry’s up, mornings] or around time to light the barby or have dinner out it seems the rainy season’s come at last…

 

In between and down the meadow, sunflowers and Casa Mesa [1987]; up the meadow Casa Actuale [1978 – 1994];

Friday another trip to town, intersecting a plethora of Sandovals [Harold, for roof repairs, his cousin Terry to stucco our disintegrating north side and also Brittany, the artist-aspirant granddaughter from San Diego] who will hopefully accomplish, we having shelled out a bunch for materials, Results before we go.  Despite all that I still managed to sort the sixty-three eighties canvases into decades and get the first three years [15 canvases = 14 paintings] cataloged and into the racks by 12:40 before heading up Hendren past this excellent ’65 Polara…

and on out of town.

Some miles later I espied a bright blue mid-sixties Chevelle wagon, an unlikely vehicle [for Villapandos] at the Villapandos’, to admire from afar and in passing….

on to that lost forest adjacent to Linda’s house [the building in the foreground is more recent; 2009 – 2010]

and, after dinner and ravens’ migrations,

an unusually unnerving electrical storm [not shown] in the night.

Saturday we were late, the creek was wet…

and the Farmer’s Market was shaken by three huge red Halliburton fracking rigs rumbling through Gardner followed by, not much later, two immense tourist coaches heading east.  Hmmm. The freaking frackers were the worst, though…

On to the P.O., El Depot [not shown] and back to the hills.  The beat goes on.

Sunday morning bug-spotting at Dry Creek Crossing;

[Moon precluding Perseids ]

Monday became kind of an ordinary day save for a visit to our visionary neighbors’ fields of dreams down the road, a Novy from sixty years ago and the incremental moon.

Tuesday, however, was truly unruly; after two solid hours on the phone to UPS, Global Industrial, UPS, Global Industrial etc. Linda determined, by the time we left at 9:05, that the nine [9!] packages in which Global had sent our one [1!] set of shelves, which were to arrive in Walsenburg today, are actually three [because three tracking numbers were duplicated, two were delivered to an unknown location yesterday and one was never picked up] and those three will not be out for delivery until Wednesday. Having at least managed to change the addresses for the three [well, four once the never-sent is sent] to forestall any more sixty mile roundtrips to town we gingerly navigated, low fuel light gleaming brightly, the twenty-eight miles to the nearest gas.  Successfully.

We finally reached the Habib around ten and began an edgy search for yesterday’s two packages, which were decidedly not on any ‘porch’ of ours…but down the block on the scary “submariner’s”.  As I repaired the fence L. discovered both the mail and the glue to repair her models were somehow no longer with us, but after procuring glue ends up spending all the time remaining anyway [mea culpa for suggesting they meet] fielding Brittany’s many unrelenting questions about the artworld before excusing herself in order to rush madly through the week’s grocery shopping.  Meanwhile I dispensed with the eighties [48 more paintings cataloged and racked] and sorted the nineties into decades.

L. was done just barely in time for us to drive to La Veta for a bite in Jytte’s parking lot before my PT appointment but on 160 we fell into line behind a convoy of “Wide Load” trucks, twenty miles under the speed limit and assholes like you’ve never seen; whenever a passing lane appeared the rearmost pulled into it preventing anyone from…well, assholes like you’ve never seen.  I didn’t catch the plates, but they had all the behavioral earmarks of cracker truckers straight outa Dixie, flexing their pathetic muscle.

Speaking of pathetic muscle [and of course we were too late to catch that bite in the parking lot] my foot issues were co-opted by the pathetic lack of muscle in my shoulders for which were prescribed some rectifying exercises before we headed home in spits of rain,

pausing halfway across Yellowstone to change a tire in the mud.  A good upper body workout, as prescribed, only different.

From there without a spare tentatively on to Libre, where a Gardner VFD firetruck was stuck in the road at Jim’s, who was fortunately present to show the kid who’d driven it into the ditch how to engage fourwheel drive and easily eased it out.  Signs of a major dousing were everywhere, including our front steps on which, most improbably, three packages from Global Industrial lay soaking.  WTF?  Does this mean, then, like there’s NO TOMORROW?

Hopefully no tomorrow like Tues-day, anyway…

ha!

M