I can’t get enough of the greenery of my new state, but another big bonus are the cloud formations. In Arizona when we saw one cloud, we got excited. Here, they have something called weather and it produces moisture, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera (in my best Yul Brynner accent).
In a future post I will put together a few pictures for you to check out.
Of course I don’t have it ready today. I just unpacked our desktop and I still haven’t had the chance to download anything yet. Plus add in that after driving all over God’s Green Acre today with all the running around that moving in entails. Plus (the Domestic Despot Osama bin KAREN just had to chime in) for me to remind you that I just hit a double bowl of Old School OG Kush and evidently I have a somewhat crooked smile on my face.
I passed out under a maple tree in Michigan while on a fishing (drinking) trip. I passed out under a great oak tree in Palo Alto, CA (that is a story for another blog, another day. There was not a tree in sight when, after drinking all morning with crazed Arizona State students in Tempe, AZ, I must have suddenly felt exhausted and decided to lay down on a patch of cool grass, itself a rarity in Arizona.
Others would characterize it as a drunk passing out in public.
Like the time in my elongated youth when I went on a helicopter ride with a golfing buddy of mine in Norman, Oklahoma. He was a chest-cutter (a term from M*A*S*H) and he was a terrible golfer no matter how much cash he threw at the game. Hell, I was better than he was and I was still learning the game. We would fly around to the best little out-of-the-way golf courses all over the state.
What a wild man. He became a heart surgeon after starting out his military medical career plying his craft on submarines. This dude was a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, and I saw him drink some pretty big heavyweights under the table.
He had every golf tool and doo-dad available, and of course the latest and greatest in clubs, especially drivers.
We would tee off and he would bitch-slap his drive out about 200 yards maximum. Now I am OK with my place on the golf totem pole and I am absolutely OK with occasionally chasing scores in the low nineties while old visions of past golf trips and people play with me.
I outhit him by fifty yards, but it seemed like miles to both of us duffers.
I fully enjoy the wildlife and let’s face it, I am not dead—YET. The little hotties in their short-shorts and tight T-shirts is a good thing.
We played Fred Couples’ Kelly’s Plantation course in San Destin, FL and at the turn, our foursome was greeted by four of the yummiest morsels in the form of typical blonde and green-eyed beauties. Two were holding a huge silver serving platter packed down with iced Jumbo (and I do mean jumbo) Gulf Shrimp and one girl was holding a bucket of Iced Mango face towels with which the fourth sporty little thing was patting our foreheads and giving good head-towels.
I know, shame on me.