It is gray and cold. Muddy. The snow is melting slowly--and we have another storm coming in tonight. We should see several more inches of the white stuff. Joni went to town to get a weeks worth of provisions (in case we are snowed in).
I have become a soft Californian; this Bing Crosby White Christmas Winter wasn't a part of the contract. It makes me want to get in the car and escape to the Desert, Tuscon, Death Valley, Bad Water, Organ Pipe or Joshua Tree National Park.
On the phone with my friend Jeff yesterday ("Hunter", I call him, as his hero is Hunter Thompson and Jeff mimics Mr. Thompson in appearance, temperament, paranoia and recreational activities)-- "Hunter" tempted me to take a roadtrip. He is unemployed right now, having been fired from our facility for telling a patient to "Grow up!". (When Facilities want to clean house they come up with the dandiest reasons to fire you.)
Anyway, Hunter wanted to take a road trip. He has plenty of free time being gainfully unemployed. Cash the Unemployment check. Pack the car with tons of booze and a sleeping bag. Head out to the desert to escape the cold and the snow, the Californians and the Concowians. Commune with the Rattlers and the Desert Schizophrenics. See if we can enlarge our livers a bit more. Sleep on the sand listening to Coyotes. Maybe wander up through Las Vegas, Hunter Thompson Style, and do the honorary Fear and Loathing, inebriated, Three AM hike up the Strip (classified as a "strenuous hike" by the mythical guide: Druidian Hikes of the Desert Southwest).
I was sorely tempted.
Of course, my dream is to have a Desert Home for just precisely times like these. Times when it snows. Times when Rain is in the forecast for the next couple of weeks (months?). The Solar Compound can take care of itself for these few months. I'll be gone. Vacationing from my Vacation Home. On the road. A snow bird.
Does every recovering Minnesotan dream of this?