Pieces of the Last 24 Hours

1.  Nora and I are at Grandma's house.  She's beside me right now and appears to be suffering from "toddler insomnia."  Luckily I found a bedtime mix on youtube, and we're "mellowing" out to it right now.  "Hello, darkness, my old friend..."  The muzak version of "The Sound of Silence" plays as Nora attempts to breathe through her plugged-up nose.  Why does this song choice seem like a cruel gesture on a bedtime song mix?  Maybe a quick google of the lyrics will help me uncover why I'm intuitively cautious of falling asleep to this song.  Oh, it's because it's about a nightmare.  Right.

2.  I ate nachos and chicken strips for lunch at the Spur today.  They were both awesome and disgusting.


3.   Uh oh.  This sleepytime mix is starting to get to me.  Must...resist...relaxation...still so much to do tonight...

4.  I watched a movie last night called Sweetgrass that followed a sheep ranching operation up in Montana.  I say "up" as if I'm still living in Colorado.  I should say "over yonder."  That's better.  I loved it even when we get to the last few minutes and one of the hands is standing on top of a pile of dead brush trying to get some cell reception and complaining to his mom.  "I can't do it.  I can't do it another night.  They won't stay in place and I've only got one dog and he's been running so long he doesn't have any skin left on his paws and my knee keeps cracking every time I walk.  I go to sleep at 11 and I'm up all night because these bastards won't stay where I put them and I'm starting to hate these mountains and I don't want to hate these mountains..."  He goes on and on like this for about 10 minutes (saying words I'd never speak to my mama), and while you can't hear her voice in the background, I'm sure she's doing exactly what I do when Nora feels like letting off some steam.  She's just listening and being present and waiting for him to run out of things to complain about, and once he can't think of one more thing that stinks about being on top of some of the most beautiful mountains I've ever seen, he'll do just what she thought he'd do:  his dissatisfaction will exhaust itself leaving only that clean, washed out sigh that says, "Well, all right then.  I feel better now."