Little feet, big mischief

Heron had to work today. 
They had the regular bar crowd, and then something about a St. Patrick's Day race or something.
I'll do a time jump. 
He called late this evening, said he was off work, and going to his girlfriend's house for the night.

Springtime: when the world becomes your playground

 The kids started stirring at 8 am, if they were awake any earlier they didn't wake me up for once.

Cowboy was awake, and had me and Badger out the door heading for Kodak by 11 am.
We walked around the Flea Market, he needed a phone harness or at least that's what he calls it.

“After all,” Anne had said to Marilla once, “I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.”

This is going to be one of those super quick, yo, I'm still alive type of posts.
Absolutely nothing happened today, but I've been writing daily since 2002, for the most part, and I'll be doggone if I miss a day.

Feeling lucky?

 

“Sharing space across generations requires boundaries; otherwise, love and duty can turn into exhaustion.”

Thirty‑three years ago today was the Blizzard of 1993.
We had roughly twelve to fifteen inches of snow.
Cowboy and I lived in a trailer park in Jefferson City. 

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do."

The days are long and all I see stretched out in front of me is sameness.
Nothing changes, nothing will ever change.
I put pen to paper, figuratively, just to remember what day it is.

"Gravity is not my friend anymore."

 I had a bit of bad luck this afternoon that turned into a bit of good luck.
I was walking down the road, looking at the creek, trying to decide if I had a beaver or a log, not paying one bit of attention to where I was going.