Last night we were driving at night, heading east to this strange little resort, searching for a radio station to cover the gap between cities where not much can be found on the airwaves. So we left the search function on, until it magically found a station on Copper Radio, Dick Clark's Rock Roll and Remember. And so we were transported for a time to 1961, with every third song being a Buddy Holly and the Crickets hit. This was in stark contrast to the world outside the car, which was this amazing and scary parallel universe of sideways wind and swirling snow crystals and ice and distant, diffused headlights.
It is spring break, though spring has not reach Montana yet. I'm trying to remember how to relax and just let things happen, rather than always lookng forward to getting to the next activity. It is nice not to be wearing black. I made dinner last night. I am reading the Poisenwood Bible, which is the last Barbara Kingsolver book for me, until she writes another. Been putting this one off, just because I know there will be no more new ones for a while. There is a spa here, but I can't quite justify getting an expensive massage. Sigh. Gary Warchola, you better pay up when you get back from Utah. You still owe me for those textbooks.