Sunday is traditionally house-cleaning day at der Garrisonhaus, and these days there's lots less acreage to cover now that we've down-sized living space. Unfortunately that means we gave up the washer and dryer provided in the larger apartment and must now use the community laundry rooms.
Cripes. I hate picking up after other people, man. It's like our neighbors just moved here from the Pleistocene epoch, when people wore mostly dirt. Why must I get elbow-deep in somebody else's lint? You know when you walk into a laundry facility and the tops of the machines aren't sticky, the floor is swept, and the lint traps are clean? That's because I live in your complex. Say "Hi". I promise never to leave my detritus for you to wade through, nor anyone else's after I've left, most likely. I also will never leave my clothes in the dryers until they're dusty and have to be washed all over again. One thing that separates us from the beasts of the field is our ability to TELL TIME, see? I've always found it funny that people would dare get huffy when someone else had to haul their wet junk out of a washer because it sat in there for three hours. Did they assume everyone else had just left the planet for the day?
I won't say that I "love" my fellow humans, but I'll always respect them, and I'll always shake my head (or my fist) when I meet people who refuse to think past their own immediate needs.
Okay, rant off.
Last Sunday (I am SUCH a lazy blogger guy), The wife and I drove into Cibola National Forest and up to Sandia Crest.
Isn't that just awesome? This was taken from Sandia Crest. Notice that there is NO RAILING. I find it refreshing that visitors are required to look after themselves and those in their charge, don't you? No railing, and therefore no reason for you to be this close to the edge. No mollycoddling here, boy. Watch your step.
Since the trail continued along the very brink of the precipice, and the missus is not fond of heights (nor am I, truth be told), our hike came to an abrupt halt. We'll come back and hike it another day, or I will while the little woman dials our insurance agent, as she has less faith in my middle ear than I do. Besides, there were thunderclouds and lightning in the distance and we had no desire to tempt the godz. We've read of something like ten people being struck by lightning since we moved to Albuquerque . I love to watch lightning storms (Portland sees something like three per millenium) but when you get worried just walking to your car in the parking lot, that's a tad creepy, gnome sane?
These warm sunny days have been a balm, but I'll admit I'm looking forward to autumn. Autumn was once my favorite season, before I moved to a part of the country where it rains almost incessantly between September and May (and NO, I won't forget that's part of what makes Oregon so lush and beautiful), so I hope to recapture that romance now that we've settled once again in the Southwest where it precipitates in the spring and summer as is proper.
Earlier this morning I took a virtual walk past Valley View Elementary, the school I attended in Roswell, via Google Earth. The photo I'd zoomed into looked as if it had been taken in the fall or winter and I was immediately struck with the scent of dry, brittle grass on the playground. My schoolmates and I staged mock superhero battles at recess, sprawling on that grass and later taking it home with us in the folds of our jackets for our mothers to tut over. Y'know, I can't even remember what superhero I chose to be back then. I'm sure he was cool, though.