In case you've missed my stream of consciousness blogs--
For starters, there's the Close Encounters of the Third Kind theme. Making a five foot tall sculpture of a mountain is a hell of a lot more fun with bubbles than mashed potatoes.
Then, there was the realization that with my nephew's new daughter, we have four generations alive in my Dad's family. On my Mom's side, we have two.
The realization that you still love snow is always tempered by the thought of my long-ass driveway...on a hill. Thank the gods for snowblowers.
That when you get a stomach virus and a back injury on Ash Wednesday, you're doomed to give up some things for Lent whether you want to or not.
Oh my god! Will I ever get these bubbles out of this huge tub?
How many days does South Park come on during the week now anyway? 8?
Hmmm....you know what happens when you turn the jacuzzi jets BACK on? Eeenteresting.
Back to Close Encounters. I now have MORE bubbles.
No kitty. You don't want to jump in here.
Poor kitty. Let me wash those bubbles from your terrified, surprised little face.
Sleet makes such a great sound when it hits the window, just like my ass when I slip on the ice in the morning and hit the pavement.
Football season is over. *grin* I sure am glad I wasn't Tom Brady the day after. he had to have HURT.
Cold bubbles are not as much fun. Hopefully I'll be able to rinse them all away tonight. I think I'll try about three.