Rocky Mountain High, Part V

Good grief!
We're only on Saturday!
Ah, but Saturday was the pinnacle of fun....
Do you remember in the movie Cars, that little Italian tire dealer? How he was always saying, "Thees...ees the most GLO-ree-ous day....of my life!"?  I felt like saying that, everyday I was in Boulder.  But Saturday really WAS the most GLO-ree-ous day. Of my life.

And Saturday started late, because we slept in.
Actually, I got up, went outside thinking I might go for a run, jogged about 4 blocks and realized I didn't remember Sara's address, jogged back, looked at the house number and decided to bag the run.  And went back in and crawled into bed, sleeping until nearly 10.  I've NEVER slept that late. Ever. In my life. Glorious!

After everyone sort of shlumped out of bed, drank a little coffee, strolled Max around for a token "walk", we decided to go to breakfast (at noon) and then to the zoo in Denver.

Breakfast was at Walnut Cafe', a fun, funky little place that serves incredible food. (Yes. The theme of the trip was "incredible food".) You can peruse the menu on the link and imagine how good it was.  I had quiche, breakfast potatoes, banana bread and triple shot breve.  Mmmmm! 

Am I the only one who loves to read menus? I love them! Which, actually, is what caused Sara H. and I to know we were going to be friends....she'd send me menus (wickedly at first and then kindly, later) of places they'd gone to eat and I'd pour over them and write back with comments. I also read cookbooks like other people read novels.  Anyway, that's why I include all the menus in these posts.

On to the zoo!
From here on out, it will be photo intense....little warning for you. 

Lions!

 And tigers!

And bears! Oh, my...

This is the first "real" zoo I've ever been to.

I've been to Zoo Montana several times, but most of the animals there are animals I have out the back door.

I was trying to be all cool, but it was so exciting to see...

Baby giraffes!

 And they were frisking all over the place, because the sun was out and it felt SO good.

I thought the baby giraffe next to the brick wall was such an interesting play of lines and form...

The other animal that we looked at for a long, long time was the polar bear with his fish-cicle.

They froze fish in a block of ice and the poor old bear had to worry and wool it around to get even little tastes. It would be like someone freezing little bits of coffee in ice and tossing it to me in the morning. (And everyone shudders at the thought...)

There were "How big are you?" things like this all over the zoo, and it was crazy to see how truly tiny we are in comparison!

 A slightly bigger mouthful than Sara...

All over the zoo, the animals were out sunning and sleeping...

 This tiger cracked me up!  Much like Angus, he wanted "pwivacy"...

The pachyderms were fascinating to me.

I wish the crest on this crane was easier to see in the photo. I thought they were such amazing birds...

 Fat lipped camels...

 Anxious hyenas...for all their giggling, you'd think they'd be more laid back, but apparently it's nervous laughter.

 Camera-shy kangaroos...

Actually, this kangaroo was quite "rood" and this is the only publishable photo I have of him.

Still friends, still smiling...

*whew!*

Oh, the carousel!!!  It was the most beautiful thing...

For some reason, I allowed myself to be persuaded that only children or people with children were permitted to ride on it. Eternal regrets...we all have them...and one of mine is that I didn't ride on the Denver Zoo carousel. But next time....I shall.

 And who doesn't like the tiggers? 

Teeny little train that runs through some of the habitats...

Again, we thought you had to have a child to ride.  (That's what Chad told me.  After getting home and looking at the Denver Zoo website, I'm thinking that's not the case. If ONLY I had thought to bring a kid, just to get on the rides...I'm always so unprepared....)

Laughing at the bears!

The male was pacing around the enclosure, looking for trouble, and decided to liven up the joint by waking the female. Bad idea. She was NOT happy. And his life was not enriched by that foolish move...

All day, we could hear this crazy honking/yelling/yipping sound and thought it must be a hyena.  Turns out it was a penguin! He really got into his song (if that's what you could call it) and threw his head back, chest out, arms flung and let 'er rip...

After his little show, he posed for pictures.  I wouldn't have been surprised if I could've gotten an autograph, too...

So our day at the zoo was wonderful, but the BEST part of the day is yet to come!!!

Do you see why I said it was like five vacations in one?

It gets better!

Really!

To be continued....

Rocky Mountain High, Part IV

Pat Green!

So Sara's husband Chad got home from Houston, just in time to escort us to supper and the Pat Green concert.  Bless his heart, he was a good sport about it, too, because he must've been just exhausted from travelling. 

Chad is a great guy; thoughtful, funny, smart, hard working, well-traveled.  You know.  All the things Sara is, only with a simmering sort of temper and he won't be rushed. (Fair's fair...we all have our flaws, and I can't mention hers without mentioning his....) Here's a picture, just so you have an idea of who I'm talking about.

They're perfect for each other!

Anyway, back to the day...

We got all cleaned up after that exhausting hour in the hot tub and a nap, and set out for Protos, a Napoletana pizzeria.

It was packed.

(This would turn out to be the theme of the evening...)

After a short wait, in which we had a glass of wine (beer for Chad), checked out the other patrons' pizzas, glared at people who were lingering needlessly over ice cream and memorized the rather fabulous menu, we were seated and ordered. 

So, I did not know that the traditional way to get pizza in Italy is to have it uncut.  It's supposed to just come out in a big old pie and you slash away at it with knife and fork, like a flat steak.  So that's how we ordered our pizzas and I spent some time wondering if I was coordinated enough to eat pizza that way. And not drop it all over my Pat Green jeans.

I'll put a link to the menu for you, so you can lust after the pizza...

We EACH ordered a pizza...the Atomica, the Roman and the Pontiff.  Check 'em out!

And there was some mix up in the kitchen, so mine came out already cut, despite having been ordered otherwise.  Ah, well....not a big deal, because it smelled GOOD. I teased her that there went her tip, and we commenced to eating.

One of the great things about eating with Sara and Chad is that we got to share everything.  We'd order different dishes and then happily cut it up and hand portions around the table.  And discuss them as we ate.  That was the most fun!

So right in the middle of the sharing of the pies, the waitress comes back with an uncut version of my Pontiff pizza and apologetically puts it down on the table. I felt bad for about 2 seconds, then we all but arm-pumped over the free pie.  YES!

We staggered out, finally, to head to the Grizzly Rose for Pat Green!

(I KNOW.  You thought I'd NEVER get there.  Well, we're not there yet, kids...)

The Grizzly Rose is a huge country western nightclub/dancehall sort of place on the outskirts of Denver that manages to attract all sorts of big name entertainers, one every weekend.  The best way I can describe it is to tell you it reminded me of how Gilley's in Texas was portrayed in Urban Cowboy. Almost exactly. The same atmosphere, the same big dance floor, the same long bar, the same women wearing string tank tops and holding a Bud Lite, the same guys wearing Tony Lamas and awful dude cowboy hats.  (Now we're all going to have to rent that wretched movie so you can see what I'm talking about...)

The place was packed.

Beyond packed.

Apparently, Sara H. and I are not the only ones who love Pat Green.

And there are no seats, for the concert.  You all just cram in on the dance floor area as close to the stage as you can, and rock out.  You don't leave for a beer, you don't leave to go to the bathroom or you'll never get back.  One guy in front of us had brought an actual six pack and we were admiring his planning. 

It was hot and almost hard to breathe for a while. I was surprised at how close we actually were to the stage, really.  I'm a terrible judge of distance, especially in buildings, so I'll have to ask Sara the distance in feet, but I could see Pat's dimples and the buttons on his flannel shirt, easily. And not on the screens...in real life!  Did that give you an idea? :)

He's a great entertainer. Of course, I think Pat Green could probably stand on the street corner and sing "Do you know the muffin man..." and get people going.  He doesn't take himself too seriously, and he really and truly has a good time interacting with the crowd and singing.  I loved that he didn't just play current hits, but dug back into the vault for Cannonball and Three Days and Take Me Out To A Dancehall.  There were about four times that I just held my hand over my mouth and stopped, just stopped everything, because I realized that I was THERE and that was PAT GREEN, and I could see his dimples. (Marina, back me up here, girl....) Of course, it was just me and Pat....and 2000 of his other biggest fans.

It was amazing.

*sigh*

Incidently, I had the coolest jeans in the joint.  Apparently, Miss Me hasn't hit Denver as big as it has hit Miles City and Midland....

To be continued...

 

Condensed version, for my impatient friends...

Sara and Chad are a kick in the pants!
Pat Green met and exceeded expectations.
We ate like fat sultans every day.
The Denver Zoo rocked.
I remember more Government 101 than I thought.
It's possible to sleep until 10 a.m. and not feel guilty.
The meaning of life is surely found in a good wine.
A good wine is surely found in Sara and Chad's private cellar.
Sara and Chad are a kick in the pants!

The End

Now....
the rest of you detail people, stick with me...this was like five vacations in one, and I'm going to relish every single minute of it! And torture you with them.

:)

Rocky Mountain High, Part III

It's Pat Green Day! You've been waiting for it....

But first, a tour of CU, where Sara H. works and takes classes. 
It's an absolutely gorgeous campus...HUGE, to me, and all the building are made of the same materials and in the same style, so it has a feeling of cohesiveness and continuity.

When I first started walking around the campus, while Sara H. was in her meeting, it was eerily quiet.  The people I met on the sidewalk were completely silent, even those who were walking together side by side.  I said hello to a couple of them and there was no response. Student zombies? I don't know.  So I started taking pictures of the buildings, to avoid the CU zombies.

I absolutely love this phrase, on the library building.

I went into the library and immediately felt smarter for having done so.

How little I know! And I could (and would) spend days in that place, learning as much as I could possibly absorb, if given the chance.  I think it would be so easy to disappear into colleges, never to be seen again.

I'm not sure what building this was, but I was trying to show how lovely the setting is, with the Flat Iron mountains behind it. 

I'm always fascinated with angles and strong lines....

Those little bump looking things on the wall are actually gargoyle-y faces. 

Ah, the spiral staircases!

I went into this building, too, to see if I could find the magic path to the enchanted staircases, but it was an administrative sort of place and there was no magic. And no humor, either, from what I could tell. (No, I didn't ask about the enchanted staircases, although some of you are thinking that I surely would have...)

I'm sure there's some sort of symbolism, here.

Something mobius-like or ancient druidism....

I just think huge architectural art is fun, and I spent a lot of time looking at this, waiting for Sara H.

*A note, here, about the CU zombies....that was between classes. When class got out, the campus flooded with students nearly running and hollering "Text me, dude!".  Thank GOODNESS. It was a happy sound to my ears, because a silent campus is just wrong....

After Sara H. got out of her meeting, about noon, we were HUNGRY!

(Again. Still.)

So we walked off campus to a great little street that had a myriad of crazy shops and eateries.

A side note, here, on crazy shops...Medical marijuana is legal there, and it's pretty obvious that the term "medical" is very open to interpretation. So along with ski shops, art stores and Thai food carts, there are places to stroll in and get weed and all its accoutrements.  And cookbooks, just in case you get bored with your medical marijuana the old fashioned way.  We saw in one of the entertainment weekly papers, an ad with a heart shaped box of marijuana. Because nothing says "I love you" like a box of weed...

Anyway, Sara took me to this little indoor plaza where you can get ANY sort of ethnic food you can think of.  Thai, Indian, Greek, Italian....it was all there, along with a burger stand, just in case you might be feeling a little bewildered by the choices!

She wanted to take me to her favorite little stand where they served gyros.

Big gyros.

Two pound gyros.

With fries and a Coke.

And baklava, if you thought you were man enough.

I don't know how many of you like the Greek sandwich of seasoned roast lamb, cucumber sauce, and veggies, wrapped in flat bread, but I completely crave it sometimes and this was glorious!

Here's the little stand. I like the poster of the hot chick behind the counter, trying to convince that eating gyros is sexy. I guess I've never thought cucumber sauce oozing out of a sandwich and running down your arm to your elbow was all that alluring, but I've been wrong before...

You can't really see, but there are all sorts of combos....next time, I'm getting a curry.

We missed the really good special, it would appear. But the gyros were very special and we both inhaled ours. (As well as the BEST french fries I've ever eaten...double fried...and ice tea made with rose water.)  We sat at a table with three ladies who were waiting for take-out from the Thai counter.  One of them was on a diet and was so hungry that she'd ordered TWO entrees, much to the surprise of her friends.  She was very cheerful about it, and fully intended to consume both in one sitting. I love that "can-do" attitude!

Students waiting for their Thai.  That was a very slow counter, but no one minded because all the food was made from scratch...no pre-done anything. 

We then went to a used bookstore downtown that made my heart beat fast. It was so crammed with books that you had to step over piles to get to the shelves. And the shelves were from floor to ceiling, crammed full of every sort of used book you can imagine.  For a while, I thought there was no order whatsoever, but then I saw the hastily scribbled sheets of copy paper tacked up on the ends of the bookcases, telling you that there was "Fiction" or "Alternative Medicine" (which I'm assuming meant medical marijuana) in that aisle.

To my GREAT happiness, I found fishing books shelved under the "Addiction" section.  This is a store that really knows its business and clientele! I bought a leather bound copy of Sir Izaac Walton's "The Compleat Angler" and nearly dropped happy tears on its blessed cover upon finding it. 

Then, worn out from treasure hunting and eating our weight in Greek fast food, we wobbled home to recover by sitting in the hot tub outside, so we'd have strength for....PAT GREEN!

To be continued....

Rocky Mountain High, Part II

(I fear this is going to get into Roman numerals I don't know off the top of my head...)

So, you need to meet Sara Hagedorn Calvert, referred to as Sara H. from here on.  I MUST call her Sara Hagedorn, because that's how I've been hearing her name for 12 years, now.  But Hagedorn is a rather cumbersome name to type, and there you have the "H".  (In your head, you can say Hag'-uh-dorn...I do.)

I shamelessly stole one of the pictures on her FaceBook page, because it's my favorite.  Look at the dudes in the background...

This is Sara H.

Isn't that a beautiful face to be waiting at the top of the escalator to welcome me to Colorado?

She's even cuter in person. 

The best way to describe Sara H. is "passionate".

About food, politics, music, books, culture, agriculture, family...

She's one of the smartest people I've ever met, and funny. 

And stubborn. And quick tempered. (Lest you think I'm just buttering her up, here...)

I'm not going to take a ton of time, here, describing her, because it will come out in the rest of the story, which is exactly how I got to know her...in little increments, over the course of five days.

Anyway, we had plenty of time to visit at the airport because all the Great Lakes luggage took just forever to get to the baggage area.  We stood there in front of the conveyer watching the same six grey-black bags with wheels go round and round and round.  Occasionally, a new suitcase would pop up out of the mouth of the baggage belt and we'd get all excited! Just one.  To join the other six. 

It's so funny to watch people waiting for their bags at an airport.  They try to be all cool, but there's a sense that each person is thinking, "Well, DARN! They DID lose my bag. Glad I packed that extra underwear in my carry on...". And the look of relief when they see their bag come clattering around like an old aunt that takes her time getting across town.

We grabbed my bag and dashed to the parking lot, because we were HUNGRY and still had to drive into Boulder for dinner. (You'll notice that food plays a large role in this narrative.  In fact, it's almost like another character, hovering in the back of the stage, coming out for its hour in the spotlight, then receding, waiting for the next cue.) 

It was dark, when we headed out, and I really had no idea how far or which direction we were going, but we visited as fast as we could, catching up on family news and current personal events. It was no time until we pulled up to her house and I met

Max.

The world's second smartest, most adorable dog.

(After my Molly, of course.)

He wanted to come home with me. I wanted him to come home with me.

We couldn't seem to work out a fool-proof plan, so he's still in Boulder. *sniff*

Then off to eat!

We went to The Med, in downtown Boulder. It was HOPPING! There was so much energy in the that place that I lost any jet lag I might've had. (I know. What would you call it? Mini-plane lag somehow lacks the punch I was looking for, here...) Be sure and hit the link...it was fantastic.

I had the Ravioli Raimundo, which was a chicken-mushroom ravioli with vodka-tomato cream sauce and Sara H. ordered the Canelloni Lorenzo, which was braised pork, spinach, ricotta and parmesan cheese rolled in fresh pasta and baked with marinara & bechamel sauce.

I'll give you a moment to wipe the drool off your chin. I know I have to.

Both dishes have names like Italian guys, don't they? Raimundo and Lorenzo.  They were rich and comforting, the perfect pair for us. Later in the week, even, we were fantasizing about Raimundo...

And back to Sara H.'s house for a big glass of wine from her private cellar, and then early to bed, because the next day was PAT GREEN!!! Can't be all worn out for THAT....

To be continued...

Rocky Mountain High, Part I

I flew out of Miles City on Great Lakes Air on Thursday afternoon and THAT was an experience all on its own.  There are some of you thinking, "Miles City has an airport?"  Yes, it does!  I believe there are two incoming flights and two outbound flights.  You can either go to Denver or Billings.  Perfect.  Where ELSE would anyone from Miles City want to go, anyway? You know. Besides Tahiti. And you can get there from Denver, anyway. 

The plane was about the size of our Cohagen School bus.  On a big day, it could carry maybe 21 passengers.  Three of us got on in Miles.  And the security people took their job VERY seriously, because we were obviously terrorist material.  It took four of them to screen the three of us.  My charm bracelet nearly detained us, which would've thrown the WHOLE crew and process, and probably provoked a pat down and interview.  In Miles City!  Fortunately it passed and we all heaved a sigh of relief. 

When the plane got there, one guy got off.  With no luggage or carry-on or anything.

We got on and just picked a seat, after consulting with the attendant where the optimum seating would be.  (Mistakenly, we thought we could sit anywhere.  Turns out we actually DID have seat assignments, but none of us thought to check that out.) There was a row of seats on each side, separated by about 12 inches of aisle to walk in.  And it's only, like, 5 foot of clearance from the floor to the ceiling, so you have to sort of sidle AND duck at the same time. Tricky. After careful examination by the attendant to make sure we had our carryons safely stowed and our seat belts buckled, it was time for take off.

I love take offs!  That rush when the plane takes off, the little tummy lurch as it leaves the ground, the shrinking houses...everything.  Turns out not everyone does, and the poor white knuckled lady across the aisle (6 inches away) kept saying, "Most crashes happen during take off or landing..." I was sort of thinking of "the unlikely event of an emergency water landing", myself, and plotting how to lash together the unused seat cushions so I'd have a raft. You know. In case of the unlikely event of sharks...

Half an hour to Gillette, Wyoming, where we FILLED the plane.  Filled it up.  Loaded 12 people. The guy who got on in Miles was moved out of his seat by someone who HAD read their ticket and seat assignment, and wasn't going to sit anywhere else but there.  Very serious.  The other 11 boardees had to wait while this was arranged to his satisfaction and delayed us nearly 2 1/2 minutes....to the great distress of ANOTHER passenger who had a connecting flight to catch in Denver to St. Paul or something.  One wouldn't think flying from Gillette or Miles City would be so intense, but it was pretty high drama stuff.  And no in-flight cocktails to ease the tension.

Mostly because the flights were no more than 63 minutes long, at the most.

Well, we finally made it to Denver International Airport, in the right seats, about 2 1/2 minutes EARLY, thanks to a tailwind!

And I made it through the airport, all dazed and wondering if I'd be able to find Sara OR my 80 pound duffel bag. (If anyone from Great Lakes Air asks, it was 50 pounds. Exactly.)  At the top of the 12th escalator, I hear "MARY! MARY!" and there was Sara.

To be continued...

I've always loved this!

Seeing red...

I'm not going to burden you with yet MORE snow pictures.
And I'm not going to try to scramble around and find appropriate examples in my stash of 2347 assorted images.

You'll just have to read and use your imagination.

*GASP!*

Eastern Montana is not known for its spectacular color. 
With the exception of the sunsets and sunrises, the tones and hues of the land are quite subtle.
And in the autumn and winter, one might even use the words "monochromatic", "bland", "monotonous" and downright "depressing". 

Which is sort of funny, considering the fact that the people who live here are usually quite colorful. 
(Remind me to introduce you to Judd Twitchell, someday...)
Not in their dress or their outward appearance.  In that way, most everyone is very restrained.  There's a lot of practicality....a lot of beige, blue, black and green.  In a way, people around here dress as though they could somehow fade into the landscape.

Anyway, living here sometimes makes the eyes and heart crave color.  After looking out, day after day, at grey as far as the eye can reach, or white land and sky and water, people like me (and I'm guessing many others as well) are so very thirsty for ANY sort of difference!

For me, it's red.

The color of ripe fruit, of hearts drawn with great feeling and little skill by children, of ladybugs and tulips and rose hips and tomatoes, of cheeks fresh in from the cold, of lifeblood.

My friend Lilly once told me she thought every room should have a touch of black in it.  (Lilly has scads of good taste, so I listen when she says things like that.) But I've come to realize that my rule of thumb is to have a touch of red in every room.  And a little goes a long ways.

Never having been one to do well with boundaries, I went right ahead and painted my kitchen red. It's the happiest room in the house!

And it matches my toenails, 11 1/2 months out of the year.

My phone is red.  My computer is red.
Red heels, red lipstick, red front door, red cap, red wine...
My football teams are even red, for heaven's sake!  (Just occurred to me, this winter...doing laundry. How handy is THAT?)

When I went out this morning, Day 110 of winter, to start the Farmer's pickup, I realized how much I crave that color.  Mile after mile after endless mile of white and grey...which to some people would perhaps be soothing and restful....was like purgatory for my eyes.  The sun was just starting to come up, with its cold brilliance, and the first tone to sneak across the horizon was red.  And I was so very grateful. 

Now...when the greys and whites get too much to bear, I go to Pollywog Creek, where my friend Patricia lives. (Well, I don't actually go there....but in spirit....) Her photographs are like medicine for the Eastern Montana eyes and her words are like sunshine for my heart.  I tell her this time and again...and now I'm going to share it with you, in case you haven't been there.  Perhaps you've seen her comments on sticky notes...and smiled.  Well, put on your sunglasses and make a visit! (Ask her about the Swamp Cabbage Festival...true story.)

In the meantime, look around you and see if your rooms need a touch of red.

Really!

Pat Green Jeans

You may be wondering who Pat Green is, and why I have his jeans...

It's a long story.
And you're going to get most of it.
So go pour yourself a beverage and get comfy...

Here we go:

My friend Anne and I took a mental health day to Miles City, the first part of December, in which we mostly just ate out, pretended to Christmas shop and ended up spending about two hours (conservative guess) in a little shop called Ravishing.

It's a store we dare not even walk by, with children.
It's a store we don't let our husbands check the price tags. On anything.  Not even the belts.
It's got the most FABULOUS clothes you can imagine.
Sort of like a celebrity dress-up store, in a little cowtown!

And we must've hit the owner on a magnanimous day, because that's what she let us do: try on clothes to our hearts' content. 
It takes awhile.  Our hearts weren't content for a long, long time.  And it was only when we started baiting each other and disagreeing about styles, that we called it quits.

Typical snatch of conversation at the beginning of the session:

"Oooo! Anne, I really like that.  You should try it on.  It'll be FUN!  Besides, you look great in that style!'
"Mary, that dress is perfect.  You need that.  How much? Oh. Well. I wonder how long you can wear it around the store..."

Typical snatch of conversation at the end of the session:

*"I don't like that.  At all."
"Well, I DO. I'm going to try it on."
moments later...
"I still don't like it."
"I DO.  I think I'll have her write it on my Wish List!"

Aaahhhh, the Wish List. 
The owner keeps a little index card with each customer's name on it, the size and style of the desired clothes, and the price.  We didn't really count as "customers" per se, seeing as how we didn't have $198 on us at that moment to buy the perfect dress.  And probably never would.  But she kindly wrote down our information and thanked us for coming in and wearing all her clothes. Sort of. 

(Incidently, the maximum time you may wear a black, shimmery Joseph Ribkoff dress that fits like it was made for you that day, is around 20 minutes....Anne distracted her and I took advantage.  *sigh*)

On my list were two items: the previously mentioned perfect dress and some jeans that I impulsively tried on and fell in love with....because they were so impractical and...well...you'll see....

After we returned home, we excitedly told our husbands about our big day, and they sort of asked what the prices were, turned a pale-ish sort of shade, and the matter was dropped.  Or so I thought.

The Farmer, knowing I was going to the Pat Green concert in February, and feeling flush with dough, or insane or something, snuck into Miles and bought the jeans for me for Christmas.  I never imagined that he would.  I was slack jawed when I opened them at his parents house.  (So were they, to be quite honest.)

And here's why:

What are all those things on the back of them?

Those would be rhinestones.

(Karen, tell me what Dad says....I can only imagine....)

They are incredibly flashy, for this Eastern Montana girl, and I love them.

They are also completely form fitting, with not a milli-skeeter to spare, so I've been trying them on once a week to make sure the runs are still working.

Only just...

Anyway, when you see a post about my trip and it refers to the Pat Green jeans, now you have the background on 'em! I don't REALLY have Pat Green's jeans. (Poor Marina probably just about fainted with envy, on that first statement.  Sorry!)

(They go GREAT with my tiara...)

*Just in case you were wondering, Anne and I left the store as good friends and decided it was low caffeine in our systems that was causing the irritability.  We went to Kafe Utza, got a good slug of the good stuff, and had a great rest of the trip!)

500!!!!!

*The VERY MINUTE I had to wait to make the 500th post, I had 10 pop up in my head.  The VERY MINUTE I sat down to write this, pffft!, I couldn't think of a doggone thing!

We have the tiara!

Honestly. Do you know how often the need for a tiara arises in day to day functions? It's astounding! 

All the socks matched in that load? Tiara! 

 Jello for a potluck sets up? Tiara!

Only got yelled at once, in the corral, all day? Tiara!

Remember your mother's birthday in time to send a card with no apologies after your signature? Tiara!

Every woman should have one.

I don't know what I did without mine!

 We have cake!

Liberally coated with sprinkles and those magical frosting flowers...

You can't tell, but it's Funfetti cake, too!

Nothing says, "Cohagen Chronicles" like Funfetti cake with sprinkles.

The very first Chronicles post was during a snow storm when I couldn't go to town to get my hair done.

And I didn't tell ANYONE that I was blogging for nearly 6 months.  I didn't really know how to drop that into conversation...you know?

"Hi! So...um....I have a blog where I write about skunks and dead flies and hole-y underwear and near-death experiences with bull relocation projects.  You should check it out! Pass the ketchup?"

Ah, yeah....no.

Today, I was trying to think of the earliest reader.  I think it was Country Wife. 

The most far-flung reader? (That admits to reading the Chronicles..)  I'm sure it's Nancy, in Britain.

The most famous reader? I gotta tell you, I know Patsy Clairmont read it once, and Homer Hickam reads it!

The most surprising lurker? Texas Ghost Rider.  He scared the dickens out of me!

Most faithful readers? Well, I know for sure that Denise and Sara are all over me when I miss a day or two. Or 10.

I can't even remember how we found each other, Alice and Patricia!

The guys who won't admit in public that they read the Chronicles....the Mikes. (There are two of them. They don't know each other. God forbid they ever meet...)

Family, family of family, friends of family of family, friends, neighbors, people who stumbled on The Chronicles when they typed "Ranch wife" in Google, Singaporians who are looking to make a buck....

We aren't going to get into youngest, oldest, or any of those sensitive areas...

I can't believe the posts that get the most comments.

George Strait.

My crazy purse, Madame Serenghetti.

Squeezers.

I can't believe the people that walk up to me on the street and confess that they are long time Chronicles readers, secretly. Then tell me what they'd like to see more of.

I can't believe how many cool people I've met and corresponded with, thanks to this blog.

I can't believe I came up with 500 things that I thought were publish-able.

So, in the sticky notes box, if you'd tell me how you got here and what your favorite post was, I'd love to know. I wish I could say I'd send you some sweet thing in the mail, like a box of 500 Bequet caramels, but realistically, that would never happen.  I still have 3 Christmas cards sitting here that need mailed. The odds of the caramels making to the post office are astronomically slim. 

AND, because there are so many who say they don't know how to leave a comment:

Write your message in the box and sign it.

Choose the "Anonymous" box.

Type the weird word and enter.

Voila! Comment!

I love the sticky notes.

They're why I keep writing this blog, you know?

So, YAY 500 posts!!!!

Thanks for the fun.