I didn't ski this weekend, but drinking someplace other than the chair facing the mirror at you-know-where is an adventure in itself. And while there was no free popcorn, the windows at the cabin were reassuringly reflective.
We ate meat at every meal. I slept in front of a fire, dreamt of blackened feet, woke up to bacon. I ran up the slope in the backyard and found two ponds where the land tabled off. Got to look over the hills and study the bluing effect fo' reals. Played tag at 1 a.m. with an overweight cockapoo until my fear of bears sent me scurrying inside. Drank wine. Ate guacamole.
Altogether good. Even without Raisin Bran or Wikipedia. Though I'm not quite convinced I've sold the Garvs on Sigur Ros.
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