July 17, 2022

  4:00 am and the sky is turning light blue.  Vireos sing wildly, but it's too early for me yet.  I contemplate getting up and adventuring up Bald before breakfast, but my bed is too warm.  

A little later than usual, I decide it's time.  It's still still.  The sun's rays are low and golden, I jump up, ready, noting that my back is not sore this morning; it's a good day. Less than 8 minutes later, My feet feel the sand and rocks; my orange buoy bumps against the backs of my legs like a tail.  I look right towards the Gap in the mountains and can see the cigarette buoy of Bowley Rock beyond Bragg's Point (which I call Stinneford Point because that's what Christa called it when she babysat me years ago); I look left and see the cigarette buoy of Elephant Skin Rock by Pine Point. It's Sunday, too early for the campers to be up so it's a day for Elephant Skin Rock and DeeDee beyond it.  The mountains and pines are mirrored in the lake's surface, I cut into the water with my hands and quickly develop a cadence.  

When I return after touring Stinneford's Point, Elephant Skin Rock, and DeeDee, I see Dad is on the porch eating his cereal. Today's a trash day, a paint day, and a day to maintain the plants.  But food must come first.  After the shower, I begin to combine ingredients for Granola.  When it's in the oven, I start on the bread. When the bread's rising and granola's toasting, I gather the trash and recycles, loading them into the car.  I collect the give-aways for the transfer station and ask Dad if he's like to make the trip to the dump.  Of course he does. 

I have a warm bag of granola for Judy who monitors people's sorting practices at the Transfer Station, and a couple of books I think she'd enjoy.  I'm purging our books and getting great pleasure watching children and adults browse the books and make choices excitedly.  Judy and I had a great and passionate conversation about Jimmy Carter's historical fiction about the ante bellum South; this time I've chosen for her a couple Tony Hillerman mysteries that display a portion of Navajo culture in western New Mexico.  

Heaving our kitchen waste into the dumpster, I notice Dad has grabbed the 5 cent returns (we don't get the returns, it's ultimately a "fee" for using the dump when we place our bottles with 10 cent or 25 cent returns in the dump shed. ) I break down the boxes and sort the newspaper, glass, tin, aluminum and plastics. Dad  returns to the car and is greeted by Eric, who is chatting in an animated fashion with Dad; I decide to hang with Judy a little longer.  Even though she brought 40 pounds of snap peas from her garden to sell, they are all sold as are her green beans and new potatoes.  I'm bummed that I missed out and make a note to travel earlier in the day to the Transfer Station.

Jean and Paul -- the "other" Jean and Paul -- drive up in their red truck; Jean waves at me, enthusiastically, So I wander over so we can chat.  'How was your winter?" I ask. 

Paul's eyes light up; "Awesome! My fat tire bike is perfect for riding on the snow mobile trails on the lake,"  Jean says she's learned to cross country ski.  Sounds like their first winter in Weld was a success.  

Back home, I water the plants and begin the laundry in the small machine hooked up to the kitchen sink.  Three loads today.  I inspect the sealing/protecting job I did on the wood furniture and decide to add another coat to several pieces. I gather the paint cans, brushes and something to protect from drips and head up the hill towards the cabin stairs to paint.  Upon opening the can, I discover that it's the wrong color.  I decide to use it on the railings.... and half way through, I realize that I'll need to get the correct color; this rust color is not for the whole stairway, just for the trim. Even after the long time at the paint store, I couldn't get the right color. I'll head back tomorrow; it will be an all-day adventure, of course.