What's Purple, Has Four Arms, And A Pouch Full Of Milkshakes?

We drove through Vail at nine at night in our quest to escape Denver before the coming storm reduced us all to cannabilism. I don't want to die, stranded in my home, to have my well-fed family emerge without me, blinking and wan, after the snow has melted.

It was a brisk fourteen degrees, with ice forming on the windshield and yahoos a-plenty on the road in rear-wheel drive sedans with bald tires... On top of which, it was snowing about four inches an hour and drifting three times that. We passed them, in the median, if necessary, to make sure any subsequent dumb happened a long way behind us.

We played games with Sage to improve her mind on the way over.

"Sage, what's yellow with brown spots and has four legs and a loooooong neck and likes to eat leaves?

"ummmm, a zebra? "

"No, it's not a zebra. What else could it be?"

"A duck."

"...no, it's not a duck. It's really tall."
"Uncle Richy?"
"No."
"EYEBALLS"
"Yes, you're very clever, it was 'eyeballs.' Go back to sleep."

No mention of a helicopter was made, so we're at least semi-hallucination free. Some of you will understand this.

Grand Junction was a balmy thirty-five, and it hit a high of fifty degrees at two in the morning, pulling into the motel in Moab.

I turned off at what I thought was the Cisco exit that drops you down the river canyon, and instead ended up on a road with tumbleweeds growing through the asphalt and several pygmy buffaloes scurried away as we approached. We ran away before the ghosts of forlorn drifters and ex-convicts could infest the truck and made it safely back on to I-70.

No lukachooki adventures resulted. Only dad can do those.

During the first night at the motel, I slept soundly through the storm that had Tammy at the window, making sure the truck hadn't become a spectacularly heavy kite. Lot to be said for fatigue overcoming the smell of strange pillows and bed built for people shorter than 5'6".
Tammy was ever so pleased to find that I'd forgotten to pack her suitcase when we started unpacking the truck the next morning. She showed her delight at wearing the same socks and suchlike by hitting me vigorously about the face and neck until I was very sorry. Luckily, her dad pulled some strings with a courier agency and we got it overnighted to Grand Junction. Hooray for clean skivvies.

...and, it's still snowing here. First time in thirty years that I've ever seen it snow in Moab. Beautiful, but strange, like the first time you saw RuPaul.

Hey Look, Snew!

It done made winter here agin.

Sage was out running in little circles on the lawn when I got home from the store, covered in snow, lank hair and wet-little-girl smell (it smells like cinnamon and hugs.)
Lauren took a more measured approach and just frolicked briefly in a photogenic manner before retreating to warmer climes.

Moab in two weeks, a true return to earlier days when we'd go... and freeze to death in a land shaped by baking heat. Mom, I hope you know how much we're giving up for you here. Just seems so wrong to walk amidst hoodoos and arches while wearing mittens instead of shorts and a thick coating of deer flies.

Party last night with friends, learned many fine Spanish words and managed not to accidentally blurt any of the ones that I already knew... not so appropriate for mixed company.
Party today for Burke's friend and the one-year party for the kiddo next door.

Not sure what happened that we're suddenly not hermits anymore, but never fear, we'll go turtle as soon as possible.


... and yes, still snowing.

- Ryan