47 And A Wake Up

Up to now I thought that 1960-1970 was the most interesting decade since WW II. You know you are living in “interesting times” when the most often repeated phrase during the news cast is ” no one could have predicted this”.

I’m sure someone predicted the exact mess we are in right now. I’m also sure that those predictions were dismissed as the wild and crazy ravings of conspiratorialists (I couldn’t find the right word for that mental condition so I made one up. Further research reveals that it already exists, the Oxford Dictionary defines it as “A person who believes in or promotes conspiracy theories, a conspiracy theorist.”). Anyway, who’s crazy now? Remember, you aren’t paranoid if they really are out to get you.

For those of you not familiar with the title of this post, it means in 47 days I’ll get up (never a sure thing at my age) and board the ferry to Whittier. On March 22nd I’ll cram the last of my non essentials into my storage area and hit the road. After a brief grand baby fix, I’ll work my way north to Bellingham for an April Fools Day sailing.

I’d been toying with the idea of going skiing on my 70th birthday (yesterday) but recently talked myself out of it. When I realized the the best case scenario involved sever cramping as many seldom used muscles revolted at the end of the first run and the worst case involved surgery; I decided that I didn’t need to prove that I could still make it down the black runs. I’ll just say I could and have a beer in the lodge. I’m throwing that log on the continuous bonfire that is fueled by the list of things that I’ll never do again and saving myself a couple hundred bucks.

So I’m going for a nice walk along the river instead.

Perfect weather for it.

Stay Warm.