Sunday

Charlie is building a bench. Crimea is voting to secede. Who knows where that airplane is? Django somehow got a tick in his nose. My mother is roasting a chicken and baking potatoes for my dad. Everyone in town, minus about five of us, are at the mountain enjoying the wind and the very last day of the t-bar. The wind is roaring. The dogs are sleeping in sunny spots on the floor. Yesterday Charlie and I each got haircuts. We watched Nebraska with Norm in the evening, after they ate lasagna which I made. Brownies too. I was thanking Norm for saving me from what I was seeing as imminent disaster in my cellar on Friday. It was a very nice, peaceful evening -- even if the boys got a little carried away with talk of Central Asia. Where is that plane?