The crew and I are spending this summer in Arizona in our recently purchased home we will share with my sister, Nancy, and her dog, Marg, beginning in mid-August when they arrive from Florida.
These days I’m writing about life at our Arizona home while photos display a camp from the past. Today’s post features a pretty boondock northwest of Pagosa Springs, Colorado, not far from Williams Creek Reservoir.
Bridget, Reggie and I camped there in June 2016.
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Forest Road 631 on the way to Bridge Campground, Williams Creek Reservoir, and our boondock on Trail Ridge
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Williams Creek Reservoir, Colorado
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Trail Ridge boondock, Forest Road 639, San Juan National Forest
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Saturday, July 7, in Arizona
The day rolls by. Reggie and Roger eat, play with their toys, run, take turns on my lap, bark, act cute, sleep.
I clean, read, gather photos for this post, sit on the porch with a smoothie drink, watch the rain (It lasts only a few minutes.).
For supper a burrito: refried beans, Italian seasoned chicken sausage (chunks browned in a bit of olive oil), chunky salsa, whole green chili pepper, cheddar cheese. Watermelon. A movie on DVD.
When the air cools (high of 98 degrees today), the crew and I walk up to the mailboxes where I find a package from Amazon.
Oh, it’s my new nightie!
One thing I’ve wanted for a very long time is a really nice, quality nightgown. Strange as it may seem, this is something I’ve wanted since childhood.
Always some expense seemed more urgent or more sensible, so that nightie became a “someday” item.
Well, at last, someday is today!
The boys and I return home and I rush inside to open the package, leaving Reggie and Roger out in the yard to play. This is the time of day when their pal, Buddy, walks by with his person. Reg and Rog don’t want to miss exchanging hellos with Buddy through the chain link fence.
Anyway . . .
About the quality nightie . . .
That which makes us happy often develops from a childhood experience.
This is my pink nightgown story.
When I’m about seven years old and my sister, Pauline, is ten, we spend a summer night at the house of our paternal grandmother in New Jersey. Maybe more than one night. I don’t remember.
I also don’t remember the circumstances as to why we’re there when it’s so far from our home in upstate New York.
Pauline and I don’t have nightgowns. Gram slides out the drawer of her big, polished wood dresser. I vividly recall the moment when she lifts those two, neatly folded gowns, one pastel pink, the other pastel blue, and they float open before us as delicately as butterfly wings.
Which one for me? Oh, I hope it’s the pink one! Please, the pink one!
Gram hands the pink one to Pauline and I get the blue one.
That’s okay. The blue one is prettier than anything I’ve ever worn. It slips on as gently as a sigh, oh-so-feathery-light on my skin.
Okay, so here we are some sixty-plus years later.
I grab a kitchen knife, slit open the Amazon box, and lift out my new nightgown.
I ordered it in pink, of course.
I never buy pink clothing.
I don’t do ruffles either. This time though, pink is perfect . . .
. . . and the ruffles are for catching my dreams.
Sunday, July 8
A rooster crows (as opposed to a crow roosters) and Reggie wakes up. This means Roger and I have to wake up, too. We pad along behind Reggie to the back door. As we pass the stove, I note the time on its digital clock.
“Reggie, it’s only 4:20,” I complain. “It’s not even light yet.”
Potty run, breakfast, coffee, quiet time on the porch, check emails, news online, write this blog.
After I publish this post, I’ll close up the laptop and enjoy what’s left of morning coolness!
Talk to you later, blogorinos . . .
NOTE: You may enjoy visiting these posts from the summer of 2016:
Here’s a link for those of you curious to see my “butterfly pink” nightgown. It’s also available in “lilac rose,” “vintage rose,” and white.
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