Unconnected thoughts and observations which don’t rate separate blog posts, but when aggregated together might amount to something:
We’re in Las Vegas, visiting the kids. Gregory’s birthday was the 10th; Polly’s is the 16th. Of course we’re spending time with our grandson Quentin, too, and campaigning to have his parents send him down to Tucson for his first solo visit. Maybe, they say, later this summer. Taylor, our granddaughter, is off in St. George, Utah, playing in a softball tournament, but she gets back tonight and we’ll be able to catch up with her then. Our dog Schatzi is traveling with us; as usual, she’s being a model citizen (other than the farts she’s gotten from eating Gregory’s dog’s food, which she’s not used to — yes, I am making excuses for my dog’s flatulence).
Gregory and I pick up a pair of BMWs this afternoon. Sunday’s a riding day, probably to Valley of Fire, Blue Diamond, and Spring Mountain. I’ll take a lot of photos and write up the ride when we get home . . . we drive back to Tucson Monday morning.
I quit drinking on the 13th of March, 2007. So today’s my three-year anniversary. I don’t want to make a huge deal out of it. Plenty of others have been sober longer, plenty of others have overcome drinking problems far more serious than mine. And I don’t wish to tempt fate; plenty of others have fallen off the wagon after three years or even longer . . . not that I think I ever will. I love the way I feel. I love going to bed feeling good; I love waking up every morning feeling good. As for the booze itself, I don’t miss a single thing about it. I used to worry I’d be a different person without it, that certain activities I loved, things like hashing and motorcycling, had become so identified with drinking I wouldn’t want to do them any more . . . but not at all. I still love the same things, just without booze. Okay, I’m starting to sound preachy, so I’ll stop.
Las Vegas has an FM jazz station. I think it’s an affiliate of the local NPR station. Why the hell doesn’t Tucson? There are a lot of things I love about Las Vegas . . . I mean Las Vegas as a place to live, not a place to gamble . . . and that radio station is one of them. At the rate Lake Mead is dropping, though, I don’t give Las Vegas more than a few years before drought shuts the entire place down. Without the dam, without Lake Mead, the place will be unlivable.
As I write, Donna and Polly are out shopping. Gregory and Beth just left with Quentin for a morning at the batting cages with Q-Dog’s team (Gregory’s the coach). I’ll finish this entry, then go shopping myself. We’re meeting up at 12:30, going to pick up the motorcycles, then taking the gang to Hooters for our traditional boys’ weekend lunch.
Life is good. More soon.
Update (6:00 pm, same day): Motorcycles are in the garage. Gregory got a K1200GT, I have an R1200GS. The K1200GT is new to both of us, so we’ll take turns wringing it out tomorrow — it looks super-hot just sitting there. I’d be out riding now but it’s just too windy. We hope it’ll die down overnight so we don’t have to wrestle to keep the bikes on the road like we did riding home from the dealership today.
We’re barbecuing tonight, watching a movie, mostly being with the kids & grandkids. Life continues to be good, very good.